Setting the record straight.

And maybe that’s why I’ve ended up doing what I’ve done so far with my life, which Bob Quine called me up one day and summarized: “I’ve figured you out. Every month you go out and deliberately dig up the most godawful wretched worthless unlistenable offensive irritating unnerving moronic piece of horrible racket noise you can possibly find, then sit down and write this review in which you explain to everybody else in the world why it’s just wonderful and they should all run right out and buy it. Since you’re a good writer, they’re convinced by the review to do just that—till they get home and put the record on, which is when the pain sets in. They throw it under the sink or somewhere and swear it’ll never happen again. By the next month they’ve forgotten, but you haven’t, so the whole process is repeated again with some other even more obnoxious piece of hideous blare…. You know, I must say, I have to admit that’s a noble thing to devote your entire life to.”

L’immortel Lester Bangs dans Untitled, from Untitled Notes, 1981. Qu’on peut naturellement trouver dans Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung (Random House, 1987). Go buy it and see the light!