By Less Lee Moore
Duran Duran have often been accused of shamelessly plagiarizing from Japan, via their sound as well as Nick Rhodes’ makeup sensibilities. Both accusations are true; however, the Fab Five at least had the good sense and manners to acknowledge the influence of Japan on their own music.
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By Adam McIntyre
Drew and Natalie Dee are a husband and wife duo, creators of a handful of well-known webcomics. I discovered them through their joint creation, Married To The Sea, which updates with a new comic at midnight—every night. Their webcomics—and now videos on YouTube—often become viral Internet phenomena. I had a chat with Drew about the nature of their work and where it may be headed.
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By Michelle Patterson
I want to lavish praise upon a few of my new favorite strong female role models on the small-screen. More realistic than the perfectly-tousled china dolls of Gossip Girl (although dammit, do I love me some Blair!) and much smarter than the featured bad actress of the week on Supernatural, I’m relieved to know that young girls can and do attempt to be like the women they see on their televisions when these types of characters exist. Ladies who have the required sass and the ability to kick-ass, but who also bring across the most poignant and heart-breaking moments are my favorite kinds. The following are my top five female role models on television.
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By Laura L.
Although the Beastie Boys released Paul’s Boutique in 1989, I was too busy gushing over Joey McIntyre of New Kids on the Block to even notice. Like most eight-year-olds at that time, my taste in music wasn’t all that hot. Thus, I did not listen to anything considered “edgy” or even “cool.” However, as I got older, I started to listen to the Beastie Boys and grew to appreciate their lyrical delivery and New Yorker commentary (much, much better than a commentary from The New Yorker, believe me). Finally, during my freshman year of college, I went on a music-shopping spree and bought a used copy of Paul’s Boutique. It has been a solid part of my record (CD?) collection ever since.
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By Chelsea Spear
Working as a production assistant on a low-budget movie teaches and rewards the novice cineaste in ways that might not immediately pay off. One of the most enduring lessons I learned during my internship involved an archaic slab of film technology. While the film’s director was working on color correction, I frequently almost-spotted the image of a woman’s face at the start and end of a reel.
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By Less Lee Moore
Every Mardi Gras, the suburban kids in Metairie, Louisiana would congregate in the 7-11 parking lot on the corner of Bonnabel and Veterans Boulevard to “watch the parades.” It was mostly an excuse to escape the watchful eyes of parents and hang out with fellow miscreants and misfits. For many, it was a way to smoke dope or huff amyl nitrate. But for me, it was a way to rub shoulders with the only new wave and punk rock kids I could find.
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“I started collecting records when I was five years old.” I can say this with total honesty. However, I’m actually quoting part of the Keynote Address at the Grammy Northwest MusicTech Summit, given by Ian C. Rogers on November 6, 2008.
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By Less Lee Moore
Years and years ago, a friend made a mix tape of old records she’d scrounged up from another friend’s grandmother. These were all pieces in the style of what was once called “Easy Listening” or “Elevator Music,” i.e., orchestral, instrumental versions of popular songs. The Muzak Corporation began producing music of this type in the 1930s.
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By Hanna
The 60s British TV series Adam Adamant Lives! is now mainly remembered for being the inspiration behind Adam Ant’s stage name. Although he says nothing about this in his auto-bio Stand and Deliver, he does talk a lot about how much he loved television as a child growing up in the 60s.
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By Michelle Patterson
Squealing at the top of our lungs, we sprinted to our softball coach’s station wagon, desperate for cover from the pouring rain. All of us wiped down our dirt-streaked legs with the towels meant for cleaning out the bottoms of our cleats and seriously mulled over what type of Bubble-Yum to have on the way home. As we chomped down hard in frustration at not getting to play a game, and popped piercingly loud bubbles, coach gave us a glare. He clicked on the radio to drown out our sullen chews. A gospel-tinged, country-flavored song with a soaring guitar line in the background roared to life. All the other girls in the car immediately started singing along. It didn’t take long until I figured out the simple loop and repeat of the lyrics, so I was screaming with them in no time. It was a thrill; I felt like I belonged and was a real part of something. And now we were singing, howling together with the ridiculous passion usually reserved for cheers of victory after winning a game or stealing second base. This “Purple Rain” song was painting real grins of satisfaction on our faces.
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