Chuck Klosterman on Rock: A Collection of Previously by Chuck Klosterman

By Chuck Klosterman

From Fargo Rock City; Sex, medicinal drugs, and Cocoa Puffs; Chuck Klosterman IV; and Eating the Dinosaur, those essays at the moment are on hand during this booklet assortment for fanatics of Klosterman’s writing on rock track.

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Chuck Klosterman on Rock: A Collection of Previously Published Essays

From Fargo Rock urban; intercourse, medicines, and Cocoa Puffs; Chuck Klosterman IV; and consuming the Dinosaur, those essays are actually on hand during this publication assortment for enthusiasts of Klosterman’s writing on rock song.

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The value of Frehley’s Comet is its quirkiness. I think it’s cool that Anton Fig is the drummer. I like the tune that sounds like Journey (“Calling to You”) and I love the song that sounds like a combination of Ted Nugent and the Jeff Twilley Band (“Love Me Right”). I find it intriguing that a male rock star would write a song that pays tribute to his doll collection (“Dolls”). And I am forever amused by Frehley’s obsession with making sure all of his lyrics rhyme exactly. Dave Barry once pointed out that Steve Miller found a way to rhyme the word “Texas” with the phrase “What the facts is” (in that same song, Miller also managed to pair the word “justice” with the phrase “other people’s taxes”).

Few people listen to entire albums, even when they’re released by their so-called favorite band. The single biggest force driving the compact disc revolution was not sound quality, nor was it durability: It was the convenience of being able to hear a specific track instantaneously, and then being able to move to another track as soon as the previous one got boring (usually, about two minutes and thirty seconds into a tune). Record reviewers spend way too much time analyzing albums in their entirety; this is because most rock writers have a problem—they like music way too much, often to the point of idiocy.

Finally—and here’s a big one—no albums from groups who have no logical reason to be listed here. If no reasonably informed person would classify a given artist as a “metal act,” I’m not going to put them on this list, even if I could make a semi-entertaining argument as to why they warrant inclusion. For example, the guys in Oasis may have been groupie-shagging coke addicts who could out-rock Trixter eight days a week—but “Acquiesce” ain’t metal, and both of us know it. I’m not listing these records in any real order, except that—at the conclusion of every review—I print the amount of cash someone would have to pay me never to listen to that record again.

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