Okay, he's dead. All this brand new grief and hardship never befell him; never will. But words on pages remain: What is their lot? Lester's standard fare was so paradigmatically “of the moment" that he was the rockmag shootist.
N. Y.C., fall ‘72, Here, in author's highly uncomfortable living rm. chair, the man dozes, casually/mightily [see text], between beers.
Posted December 6, 1984
Stories this photo appears in:
Lester Bangs recollected in tranquility