It's blatantly obvious to anyone over, oh, the age of 35 that Rolling Stone magazine is well past its "use by" date, struggling steadfastly and usually embarrassingly to soldier on as the climate of rock and roll, now an inevitable component of star culture, changes on an almost monthly basis.
A direct reflection of the industry it covers, it is now nothing more than a snake oil sideshow of smoke and mirrors, spinning its wheels in a bottomless quagmire of musos, actors, and faux celebrities who trade talent for a good spot under the lighting.
One need look no further than their recent "50 Moments That Changed The History Of Rock & Roll" special issue for a quick snapshot of how far Jann Wenner and his merry gang of corporate teat-sucking writers have sunk. The first shred of readable text doesn't appear until 32 pages in, to wit the fairly innocuous letters page (although it's hard to fathom someone actually admiring Prince enough to put pen to paper), which nearly blends in with the 31 pages of ads for Mercedes-Benz, vodka, hair dye, satellite radio, the ACLU, and Tower Records which precede it.
After jumping ahead 20 pages, past a "Rock & Roll" section which trumpets news of a Madonna tour, the break-up of Phish (there really is a God!), and the booming ring-tone business, we arrive at the first example of the tripe Rolling Stone has become famous for: a Q&A session with Canadian "teen terror" Avril Lavigne, who puffs herself up in a laughable bid for street cred by professing to drinking nothing but straight vodka ("swear to God"), "kickin' it" with Marilyn Manson, and a coquettishly close encounter with Fred Durst.
Her favorite T-shirt, which fits her perfectly, is a vintage Offspring item she picked up on Melrose for $50. She has no problem with people accusing her of not being able to sing, but don't dare dis her writing ability because that really ticks her off. Here's a two-word history lesson, Avril - Joan Jett - who accomplished more with three chords, momentum, melody, and about 1/100th of the corporate push your worthless MTV fodder gets. But fear not. You're only 19 and a cinch to grow out of it.
A direct reflection of the industry it covers, it is now nothing more than a snake oil sideshow of smoke and mirrors, spinning its wheels in a bottomless quagmire of musos, actors, and faux celebrities who trade talent for a good spot under the lighting.
After jumping ahead 20 pages, past a "Rock & Roll" section which trumpets news of a Madonna tour, the break-up of Phish (there really is a God!), and the booming ring-tone business, we arrive at the first example of the tripe Rolling Stone has become famous for: a Q&A session with Canadian "teen terror" Avril Lavigne, who puffs herself up in a laughable bid for street cred by professing to drinking nothing but straight vodka ("swear to God"), "kickin' it" with Marilyn Manson, and a coquettishly close encounter with Fred Durst.
Her favorite T-shirt, which fits her perfectly, is a vintage Offspring item she picked up on Melrose for $50. She has no problem with people accusing her of not being able to sing, but don't dare dis her writing ability because that really ticks her off. Here's a two-word history lesson, Avril - Joan Jett - who accomplished more with three chords, momentum, melody, and about 1/100th of the corporate push your worthless MTV fodder gets. But fear not. You're only 19 and a cinch to grow out of it.
Another complete waste of time, space, and ink is a short Lenny Kravitz article in which everyone's favorite affected retro rawk dawg laments a recent bout of depression brought on by being thanklessly immersed in a world filled with Brazilian models and homes in the Bahamas, New Orleans, Miami, and SoHo, namedropping Mick Jagger, Robert Plant, and Neil Young along the way.
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