Author: J T. Ramsay

  • And the road becomes my bride…

    So The Road is pret­ty much a Pulitzer Prize win­ning, Oprah endorsed nov­el length ver­sion of “Wher­ev­er I May Roam,” that is, with­out all the lame band-on-the-run alco­holic non­sense. If you’re look­ing to read some­thing that takes Stein­beck­’s hope, Hes­se’s asceti­cism and Camus’ pesti­lence [or just the image of Sisy­phus], Ama­zon will prob­a­bly rec­om­mend this…

  • Now it probably can be told.

    …What lit­tle work remained was nev­er any fun. All that sum­mer no one took advan­tage of the city or the prox­im­i­ty of the lake for an aim­less stroll dur­ing a lunch hour because we were too rabid with spec­u­la­tion about how dire things had become and who would be the next to go. We could…

  • You should probably treat that stain out with a little Agendacide.

    I went first per­son at Sty­lus’ Agen­da. Fit­ting, because I attend­ed the Arcade Fire show in the first per­son too.

  • It might be the name of your favorite bar.

    Lis­ten: The Nation­al — “Mis­tak­en for Strangers” While my review of Arcade Fire’s per­for­mance Sat­ur­day night at the Tow­er The­ater will be show­ing up some­where on Sty­lus in the next few days, I thought I could write a few words about the Nation­al here. They’re got­ten a lit­tle U2-ier since I saw them close for…

  • In which I attempt to articulate the unutterable.

    Psy­chic Para­mount. I can only sum­mon a holy wow every time I see them play out, which has been now 2 or 3 times [I’m devel­op­ing a Pazz ‘n’ Jop mythol­o­gy about the num­ber of times I’ve seen them, I guess.] Even through earplugs things get a lit­tle dizzy, but maybe that’s just the delay…