Well, it’s not exactly Gossip Girl around here this week. Oh, wait. Yes it is. And it doesn’t end there when a composer lets the Cohen Bros. use his Brooklyn brownstone in a movie shoot. Did I mention the skinny jeans, trembling hotel maids, and the French bulldog? Jeremy Denk is having a positively Courtney Love-style tour run.
Speaking of fame and soldiers of fortune, Mr. Ross has slayed the opera queens and reduced Gawker to a state of non-sarcasm. His power; it’s scary. So is Mahler’s, tagging in Toronto from beyond the grave like he is. And who live-blogs a record review? Oh, right, Rolling Stone is down with the kids like that.
Other fortune hunters have been making headlines by suing housewives for their questionable record collections. I see where they’re coming from, but I’d also like to see a creative industry come up with a more—I don’t know—creative solution to their problem.
Even if you never get any more high-tech than a radio, think carefully before you crank it up and rip off the knob. (Actually, there’s a dude who drives down my street at 4 a.m. I’d like to hit with this.) I hear some people get cranky listening to Messiaen, whatever the volume. I suspect that no matter where you stand in London, you’ll be able to hear this, so who has to buy a ticket? Still, I don’t think that sort of thing will close the gap enough to help Jonny out. Springsteen, however, is offering a fan of the American orchestra an up-close-and-personal visit.