Like any teenager who reads The Great Gatsby, probably, I was madly in love with the teacher who had opened it up for me.
Thank you for the music, Sleater-Kinney. This gang of three was the best American punk rock band ever. Ever.
Thanks to the greatest invention of recent years, the MP3-playing alarm clock, I can now choose the song that wakes me up in the morning.
One of the best moments of any Liars show is hearing the crowd squawk ‘We’re doomed! We’re doomed!’ on cue during ‘We Fenced Other Houses with the Bones of Our Own.’ Maybe not the most uplifting audience sing-along in the indie rock world, but one of the most reliably entertaining.
But MTV relishes its vestigial role as a star maker, so every year it puts all its clout into making the VMAs the biggest, splashiest, loudest show-biz extravaganza of the year, honoring all this music for existing, after a year of paying barely any attention to it.
You can’t beat the beehive for glam punkette attitude.
We all get as miserable as Erika M. Andersen sometimes, but we rarely approach her musical-ideas-per-miserable-minute ratio.
Ronnie Spector’s hair was taller and meaner and scarier than all four Shangri-La’s combined, plus the drummer from the Honeycombs. You just know her rat-tail comb was a switchblade.
But the answer is simple. Love is a mix tape.
I realize that I will never fully understand the millions of bizarre ways that music brings people together.
A song nobody likes is a sad thing. But a love song nobody likes is hardly a thing at all.
Love dies in many different ways, and it’s natural for the grass to seem greener on the other side. But it’s not a competition; there’s plenty of pain to go around.
I had no voice to talk with because she was my whole language.
You know the Prince song where the girl’s phone rings but she tells him, “whoever’s calling couldn’t be as cute as you?” I long to live out this moment in real life.
I was totally clueless about social interaction, and completely scared of girls. All I knew was that music was going to make girls fall in love with me.
The hungry feeling and the lonely feeling merged until it was hard to tell them apart.
I didn’t know what I was. I didn’t have a noun.
Falling in love with Renee was not the kind of thing you walk away from in one piece. I had no chance. She put a hitch in my git-a-long.
One of the billions of things I love about Beyonce: The harder she tries to come on crazy, the less crazy she sounds.
In my headphones, I led a life of romance and incident and intrigue, none of which had anything to do with the world outside my Walkman.