Jeff Smith 7 a.m., March 30
Dec. 14, 1989, page 16 I, Santa (Meltzer plays Mr. Claus)
March 15, 1990, page 8 Housepets I've in All Likelihood Killed or Maimed
March 11, 1993, page 28 End without End (friendship, death, music)
Dec. 23, 1993, page 30 Meltzer Family Christmas Beer Bust
March 16, 1995, page 46 Arnold, O.J., and the Brain from Planet Arous
Sept. 21, 1995, page 40 Soundtrack for Reading My Novel
Articles by Richard Meltzer
The joys of geezerology
Haiku #1 where the fuck’s my car? don’t even gotta be drunk no more t’ lose it! Gig Let it be known, to begin with, that I didn’t ask for this, but was asked — ...
Mr. C. Crowe was not one of rock-crit’s TOP TWENTY-FIVE figures.
By the time Cameron showed up, Rolling Stone was little more than a highwater marker for self-effacing, slave-drudge careerism: the most conspicuous place, nationally, to have your copy butchered, your ideas reshaped to fit the moment’s market-driven party line.
There’s nothing wrong with this — it’s great. Oh, okay — so what izzit? Two guys playing, well, one of ’em’s on saxophone, two saxes actually — soprano and baritone — and the other on ...
CD review: The Magnificent Meatsticks, MP3.com You can download all of this from www.mp3.com/magmeat, including a little ditty called “Richard Meltzer Is My Fucking Hero” — I kid you not. But it couldn’t be me ...
Gave up on the family thing.
Perhaps it’s a question of semantics, who knows, but I feel incredibly relieved to be done with “family,” “home” — these are things you grow up to leave and be done with, at least as ...
Robert Christgau, the Fugs, Moby Grape,the Germs, Joy Division, Jaki Byard, Ernest Tubbs, Gershwin, Lavender Hill Mob, Lester Bangs
Things we’ve saved and saved and SAVED. For all the stupid reasons you or I or anybody saves things. You can’t take them “with you,” not all, not any, but chances are what’s left is ...
I have no context, no history (other than remote; remoter than remote; wholly, utterly adventitious) to plug into when I listen to classical music, no environment in which to meet and greet it even halfway.
Why am I playing such crap?
Ten minutes later my guest arrives, John Cale, never my favorite member of the Velvet Underground, always struck me as a method actor, ugh, though some people thought of him as a progenitor of punk.