No Such Thing As Was

Time 2020-11-19 21:05:30

Web Name: No Such Thing As Was

WebSite: http://www.nosuchthingaswas.com

ID:121129

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Such,No,Thing,

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When my younger brother Paul and I were kids we were gonzo KISS fans, coming of age right at the band's mid- to late-1970s peak. Alas, we could never seem to pool enough allowance money together to be able to afford memberships in the coveted KISS Army the perks of which taunted us from the advertising inserts inRock and Roll Over, Love Gun, and KISS Alive II but we were true fans, young enough to giddily, innocently enjoy the stomping riffs and cartoon camp, but old enough to reckon with our disappointment and skepticism the morning after the broadcast of KISS Meets the Phantom of the Park. (I finally jumped ship after Dynasty, Paul stuck it out through Music from "The Elder," God bless him.) When Paul moved our of out parents' house a few years after I did, he took with him our KISS albums first into Washington D.C, then out to San Francisco, then over to Manhattan, and finally to Berlin, where he lives and cranks them to this day.So I've been lately restocking my KISS albums on vinyl. I recently re-purchasedRock And Roll Over, the band's 1976 follow-up to their career-making Destroyer, and was looking forward to seeing the above, a drawing of the album cover rendered by some nameless besotted kid. "Includes awesome crayon drawing of album cover from previous owner, didn't want to split them up :)," the Discogs seller wrote, and that sold me. What I love about this drawing, in addition to its gleefully amateur quality, is its agelessness: I don't know when this drawing was made. Sometime in the '00s, '90s, '80s? The charming, school-notebook lined paper isn't terribly old, I don't think no yellowing, no brittleness but it might've been lovingly preserved. I'm guessing that it was recently made, but I'm not sure. I could send it over to forensics, but I'd rather have fun imagining. I'm terribly charmed, moved even, at the excitement that KISS brought brings to kids, and that I can't date this drawing to a particular decade. There's no time- or date-stamp detail, and that's the point: for all of KISS' of-the-era 70s bombast, there's something eternal about their appeal to kids who are running up to their teen years, hungry for the band's blend of comic book energy and theatrical spectacle. I can rock out to "I Want You" now as I did when I was eleven, and somewhere the eleven-year old who lovingly drew this is rocking out too. Or was, and is now looking back. Smiles down the decades.I just hope that he or she doesn't miss the drawing too much. Hey if you drew it and you're reading this, message me. I'll get it back to you. It deserves to be in the hands of its owner, no matter how old he or she is, or isn't.The Windbreakers: Tim Lee, left, and Bobby SutliffSome songs decline to age well. The music we listen to and obsess over when we're younger doesn't always keep apace with us as we move on. Last night I pulled out the Windbreakers' second album, Run, which was released in 1986, and was happy to discover that it holds up quite well, though I was nervous as the album neared the end. The closer "Nation Of Two" is one of those songs that was nearly unbearable for me to listen to when I was in my early 20s, devastatingly sad as the song is and so settled into my marrow it had become in a bout of depression. The song feels even weightier, and greater, to me now.Written by Tim Lee whose songs were always darker and more bitter to my ears than his partner Bobby Sutliffe's jangly-if-at-times-melancholy pop tunes, which I also love "Nation Of Two"'s jaded, world-weary outlook is summarized in its chorus: "In a nation of two, citizenship for few." That discovery looks melodramatic on paper, yet at the time the two lines spoke to me as if they were an ancient text. Embedded in Lee's torturous melody and head-hanging arrangement, the chorus arrives as a brutally sad epiphany, and the song hardly able to bear the weight of it all. I was afraid that I'd be embarrassed, now, by the song's agonies; when the album was released I was having yet another intense period of romantic trouble and, having loved the band's debut album, I snatched up Run and quickly sunk into the abject miseries of "Nation Of Two." At the time the chorus felt like a flame held to my fingers, and I listened warily that had, of course, as much to do with my narrow emotional perspective as it did the song's emotional power. The feeling's so melancholy and defeated that it feels as if the song's slowing down in its final third, the musicians surrendering at last to dejectedness; hell, it can barely get out of bed, and it's late afternoon. Yet the moving guitar solo, stridently insisting on lifting us all out of our pathetic, solipsistic blues, yet wounded, also, breathes life back into things, if only to admit defeat at the end. (The songs' five minutes long but, depending on the neediness and self-pity in my mood, could feel as if it was a half hour.) The clarity of decades and a happy life have served not to diminish the song, but to firm it up it's as powerful a statement of heartache and loneliness to my ears now as it ever was. If it's a bit over the top, well, so are you when you're miserable.The song's woe-begotten melody and visceral performance by Lee, Sutliffe, and producer/musician ace Mitch Easter carry the sentiment into the eternal places where all affecting art resides, a room where a freshly heart-rended twenty-something, someone in their 80s, and I can sit, listening, nodding our heads in identification, scattered across decades and united in song.So science proves what we knew all along: when he hear our favorite song we're throwing a party in our head. French researchers say studies on the brain reveal that "many people go into pleasure overload when their favorite tunes start playing."Researcher Thibault Chabin and a team at the Université de Bourgogne Franche-Comté examined the brains of 18 people who regularly get these chills when listening to music. After answering a questionnaire about how much pleasure they get from music, each volunteer received an EEG brain scan. Participants of our study were able to precisely indicate chill-producing moments in the songs, but most musical chills occurred in many parts of the extracts and not only in the predicted moments, says Chabin in a media release.This all occurs in the orbitofrontal cortex, the region involved with emotional processing, "as well as in the supplementary motor area and the right temporal lobe, which handles auditory processing and musical appreciation on the right side of the brain."All these regions work together to help humans process music, stimulate the brain s reward centers, and release the feel good hormone dopamine. When you combine these reactions with the pleasurable anticipation of hearing your favorite chord strike in a song, the result is a tingly chill. This is a response that indicates greater connectivity in the cerebrum.Chabin adds: What is most intriguing is that music seems to have no biological benefit to us. However, the implication of dopamine and of the reward systemin processing of musical pleasure suggests an ancestral function for music."Study authors believe this inherited function tied to music may reveal the brain s ability to predict future events. As humans wait for something they know is coming, the brain releases more dopamine.Which is all well and good as I'm awaiting the guitar solo in "I Saw Her Standing There." When I know what's coming, and when what's coming is deeply pleasurable, I can virtually feel my kicking into gear, fooling me into believing that I'm elevating. Yet the brain's hard at work when I'm listening to devastatingly sad songs, too, and how much pleasure is at work then, when we sink into melancholy listening to those songs that soundtrack a bad break up, or griefs of other kinds. In a 2019 article inPsychologyToday, Shahram Heshmat writes "At the biological level, sad music is linked to the hormone prolactin, which is associated with crying and helps to curb grief," adding, "Sad music tricks the brain into engaging a normal, compensatory response by releasing prolactin. In the absence of a traumatic event, the body is left with a pleasurable mix of opiates with nowhere else to go. Prolactin produces feelings of calmness to counteract mental pain."In addition to the release of prolactin, Heshmat outlines other reasons why we're, sometimes perversely, attracted to listening to sad songs, including the bittersweet indulgence of nostalgia, the experience of empathy, mood regulation, and the ability of a sad song to provide us with an imaginary friend. ("Music has the ability to provide company and comfort," Heshmat notes.) So there's a shiver in the brain there, too, when the chorus or bridge comes and with it an image in our brain that we wish we could shake, of others, or ourselves, behaving badly, the song a kind of theme to regret.The brain is a room and in that room stand all of our selves, the one leaping with joy and fist-pumping, the one slouched and blue. Both turn up the song so loud that the rafters in the room quake. Over at Facebook I've been posting some my favorite 45s from my collection over a ten day period. Here are days six through ten:Day SixFrom the The Jam's astonishing run of singles from '78 to '80, this is about as perfect and as powerful as a story-song gets. Weller's details are evocative, chilling, and sorrowful. I'm always amazed to realize that the song's only four minutes long: it feels twice that length in its cinematic sweep.Day Seven1966 was an astonishing year for music, each week bringing new tunes more mind-bending or hip-moving than last week's, but this is a high-water mark among high-water marks. The ferocious playing on it never fails to amaze me. #PlayLoud in a controlled environment.Day EightThis insane fuzztacular stomp needs little commentary. Turn it up and blow your mind. #InTheRedDay NineMy favorite Hollies song, and among my favorite songs of the era, period. Glorious, curious, in love with the world, and like so many songs now, resonant in strange ways in these strange times.Day TenThere were a lot of contenders for this last day. I won't bore you with the over-stuffed contenders list, but Lennon's "Instant Karma" was in the running because like so many I'm here for that right about now. But I decided to go with this supremely cool '69 dance floor burner because we all need to let loose and have fun these days, too.Several years back my Mom turned 80. The family celebrated with a picnic at Wheaton Regional, the park a mile or so from my parents' house. A couple of hours in, after the cake and the celebrating and the food, people started wandering off. The August day was pretty, and nieces and nephews and siblings explored the park, looking at the rides, the petting zoo, the miniature train that still moves charmingly through the grounds, a mainstay from our childhood. At one point, two of my older brothers, John and Jim, left to check out Pine Lake where we used to hang as kids. I left a bit later to join them, and I was halfway down the path when I spotted them on the way back. An ordinary moment in an ordinary day, yet the way my bothers were silhouetted on that path, their heads down, talking quietly to each other at once transported me to the past. John and Jim are older than me by eight and seven years, respectively, and when we were younger that gap felt enormous, a chasm across which I'd strain to hear echoes of forbidden conversations, or on the far side caught fleeting glimpses on their faces describing emotions I'd heard about but hadn't experienced, a kind of foreign language their countenances spoke. Now, of course, the differences in our ages is a non-issue, yet I was startled at how quickly I devolved back into the yearning younger brother, the familiar chill or tingle in my chest reminding me of how I'd felt as if I'd never catch up with them and their tall friends and their adult behavior and bell bottom jeans. I don't know what brought on this: something in the way they held their bodies on that path, the way they walked, the animation between them as if they were sharing a secret. I was back in my bedroom, trying to eavesdrop on their conversations of course lurid in my imaginations that they muttered to each other on the opposite side of the wall. Older siblings are always standing in a room before you are, having sussed out the surprises there and now playing it cool as you catch up, breathless and embarrassed, the perpetual motion machine of feeling that you've missed something. I guess that that dynamic never truly dissipates. Anyway as soon as it arrived, the moment left, and we were middle-aged men again, standing in the woods waiting to be spooked by the past in surprising and unnerving but not unpleasing ways.Image: Woods Path by Julie TremblayOver at Facebook I've been posting some my favorite 45s from my collection over a ten day period. Here are days one through five:Day OneThis one's a no-brainer, one of my cherished singles and among my favorite songs of all-time. I crank it when I need the reminder, which is more and more often in these strange, dark daysDay TwoAnother all-timer for me, from the all-too-brief "Nashville A Go-Go" tradition. This one's got one of my favorite couplets:"Daddy preached Fire and BrimstoneAnd Mama did The Monkey all night long"A conflict as old as the bible, that.Day ThreeCall this rockin' Gentry Cordell-produced Bo tune a novelty, or an attempt at riding the late-60s "roots rock" revival. Either way it's got cool attitude to spare. #BoKnowsDay FourSam and Dave reached the heights many, many times in their extraordinary career, but to my ears they never topped this, quite simply one of the greatest and most sublime love songs ever waxed. I always say if you want to know whether the one you're with is "the one," play this song your response to it will tell you everything you need to know.Day FiveBecause some days call for a cheery, mindless garage stomp in the face of toxic everything. Hell, most days call for that. I learned this 30+ years ago via The Fleshtones'brilliant "Kingsmen-like Medley." The band had expressed their love of the a-side, "Hide and Seek," to songwriter/producer extraordinaire Richard Gottehrer, who responded, "You guys like this stuff? I got a whole bunch of this junk lying around."I was honored to be invited to talk about two of my favorite Bruce Springsteen songs, "Tunnel of Love" and "You Can Look (But You Better Not Touch)" for Springsteen: Writers' Favorites, a three-hour special produced by Paul Ingles for the PRX media company in advance of Springsteen's new album Letter To You. I'm in absurdly good company: Anthony DeCurtis,Ashley Kahn,Holly Gleason,Jim Fusilli, andHolly George-Warren also discuss their favorite Bruce tracks.You can listen to the full show here.Re-posting this piece I wrote on the occasion of Tom Petty's untimely death three years ago. He would've turned 70 today.~~"Mourning a musician you've never met is inevitable and complicated. I can't say that I'll miss Tom Petty, the man; I never knew him. His family, friends, band mates, and musicians who've played with down the years one in the same, at the end of the day will miss him, and I feel awful for their grieving that begins today, and will never really end."What I and millions more are grieving is the end of a generous and supremely gifted musical career, a career that gave deep pleasures to so many in so many different ways during so many eras. Petty will never write or sing another song. That hits keenly today. I didn't pay close attention to his career from the late 1990s onward, but his songs will stay very close to me. It's always been my impression that Tom Petty was the Great Leveler. Put a handful of music fans of different stripes in a room a Rockabilly obsessive; a garage rock hound; a Punk/New Waver; an MTV kid; an Indie Rock stalwart; a millennial streaming Classic Rock into Hip Hop back to 60s AM hits; college kids raiding their parents' music collections; drunks, stoners and I'm pretty sure they'd agree on Tom Petty. His greatest songs were formalist gems that were so true and clear-eyed about what it meant to be alive that they cut across bias, taste, and generations, as all great popular art does. I hope that he knew this. I hope he knew how it feels.The timing of one's fandom is crucial. I was a teenager by a few months whenDamn The Torpedoescame out in the fall of 1979, and his songs the hits, especially scored that year and the next in graphic, indelible ways. The backing vocal on "Refugee" sounded exactly like a friend's voice, the same timbre and tone; Petty and his band were familiar already. And when I'd listen to the mumbling verses in "Here Comes My Girl" so masculine in their bitter, shrugging defenses and talky inarticulation, on guard against powerful sentiment and emotional surprise and then the lyrical melody bloom in the chorus, Petty, moved, singing at the top of his register, the room and the song lighting up with her and her presence, I had everything laid out before me, a lot of which I'd experienced but hadn't named: crushes; love; lust, the power of intimacy; looming adulthood; surrendering; all in one song. Thanks, Tom Petty, for this song and so many others.My buddy Marty owns a cabin in West Virginia overlooking the Cacapon River. We'd fantasize about inviting Petty to hang with us for a weekend jamming to tunes; drinking beer and smoking weed; laughing; busting on politicians and talking rock and roll; just hanging out. So many fans have adolescent fantasies like this, but with Petty we could actuallypictureit, see him in front of us hanging onto the deck, peering into the trees below, a half grin on his face, making some crack, the way we couldn't imagine Keef or Prince, or even Bruce. We knew, somehow, that we'd all get along, that he'd put his fame and fortune beside him and just chill. Ridiculous, I know. But his songs and low-key demeanor made the fantasy tantalizing, asked that we keep him close to us. We'll miss you, Tom. Rest in Peace.The last several years have been stormy for Lydia Loveless. Bumps in the road have been well documented: her split from her husband and bandmate Ben Lamb; a messy entanglement with and departure from her longtime label Bloodshot over sexual harassment allegations; a move from her native Ohio to North Carolina. It's tempting to call her great new record her "divorce album," the latest attempt in an unhappily long tradition of an artist working out marital woes in song and lyric, but that would be limiting. Daughterdoes begin with the line "Welcome to my bachelor pad" and closes with "Carolina lost my identity, or it's coming in the mail, either way I'm not the same, and it isn't just a change of place," yet in between, Loveless sings about loss and disappointments, gains and setbacks, in eternal ways, moving from her own private travails to sketch out a persona that morphs into a silhouette of rueful longing, cut with cynicism and humor. As all great artists do, she moves from experience that begins in the dark to a shared understanding of what makes all of us get up in the mornings, uncertain that today's going to be any better than yesterday.Working with a basic lineup of Todd May and Jay Gasper on guitars and bass and George Hondroulis on drums, Loveless moves between her guitar and keyboards, nudging melancholy lyrics into the shape of melancholy songs. The alt country twang of the earlier records is gone there's a pedal steel on only two tracks but if the edges of her sound have been smoothed, the cowpunk propulsion tempered, the stuff she sings about's no less urgent and raw. She occasionally ups the tempo to fight the odds, as in "Never," in which she drolly identifies not as a liberated woman but as a "country bumpkin dilettante" who carries pain around; the song's upbeat against the confession, but doesn't really solve anything. What's she pushing against? Folk whom she's wronged, or been wronged by, navigating between the poles of the one who hurts and who's hurt. Often it sounds as if she's singing to herself, as in the opener "Dead Writer," where she acknowledges "I don't want to disappoint you anymore" but who's the you? Another, or the bumpkin in the mirror? Daughter is a sad album, spiked with sorrowful imagery, and,as always, Loveless's voice, which is both assertive and vulnerable, sometimes in the same line, gives that sadness dimension and gravity, reminds us that though sadness is an abstract zone, at its most genuine it's earthbound."Dead Writer"'s interest in art and legacy signals one of Daughter's chief concerns: work, the value it brings against the lofty promises it makes. A trio of songs addresses the dilemmas of a singer who's never shied away from singing about her vocation (see among others"Paid" from her debut The Only Man). In the lyrically clever "Wringer," she laments "I want to be a symphony but I'm just a singer, and all that singing ever does is run me through the ringer." In "Can't Think," she asks, "Why can't I just close the door and let the work be the reward," repeating that question later and wondering why her notebook and instruments won't allow her to be "more than yours." In the closing "Don't Bother Mountain," she sings, "I've been patiently taking my time, or I'm just lazy, your guess is as good as mine" and the whip-lash of that burns every time I listen. The arrangement of "Can't Think" plods and move sideways, frustrated, the phrase the work is the reward repeated like a hopeful mantra.The title track is the album's standout, and one of the greatest songs Loveless has written. She's singing, again, to a man who's made present by his absence, who's taken off or been chased off, it's unclear, but for whom the singer still has some hope. "I wanna be a part of you," she sings, but it's not enough, there's too much between them still. Then the kicker: "If I gave you a daughter would you open up?" She repeats the question later, adding, "would it be enough?" The question is enormous and also fragile, and the music is tentative, gently searching, the honesty in the proposition so hot that it has to be approached carefully lest it combust. "Daughter" is a frightfully adult song, if an adult can be someone so scared of yet hungry for communion that she stands on the outside of things, wondering. And of course an adult is that someone, whose honest skepticism is as well-worn as anyone else's courage. We have Loveless' five albums to prove it.In "Love Is Not Enough," sheimplores someone to tell her how it feels "to always see everything in a major key." I'm not surprised that she has trouble imagining what that feels like. A few years backI wrote,"Every note Lydia Loveless sings sounds as if it's in a minor key." The final words of Daughterare "everything's changed," and of course I don't believe it. Loveless will keep writing songs that stubbornly, painfully, yet with wry humor make it back to that point before ever the adult she has to start all over again.Two paragraphs from two books I'm currently reading:"Sam tried to imagine Grace Slick bellowing out at the enemy."With that kind of music, why didn t the North Vietnamese just lay down their weapons and get stoned? If they had understood English, maybe the music would have won the war. But now, listening to All You Need Is Love, she realized how naive the words were. Love didn t even solve things for two people, much less the whole world, she thought. But it wasn t only the words. Sometimes the music was full of energy and hope and the words were just the opposite. Emmett had said rock-and-roll was happy music about sad stuff."Almost everything of interest in New York City lies in some degree of proximity to music."If you are in your teens or twenties and who isn t pretty much everything you do apart from your day job has something to do with music. And it isn t even just the permanent soundtrack on your stereo and in your head. The music is your spur. You were led to the city by music. You were fourteen or fifteen and wanted to crawl inside the music. The music was immense, an entire world immeasurably different from the sad one you were born into. If you could figure out how to get in, the music would suffuse you. You wouldn t even need an instrument: you would become one with the music and it would pour from you like light through gauze.The first passage is from Bobbie Ann Mason's novel In Country, the second from the title essay of Luc Sante's new collection. Mason was writing in the eighties, Sante in the 2010s, yet both were looking back to the early 1970s. Sam, whose father was killed in Vietnam, is eager to learn and know more about the war so she peppers local veterans with questions. Music threads its way through the novel, and here, having learned that soldiers routinely grooved to rock and roll while in country, Sam tries to imagine how songs might've changed things politically, culturally before giving in to ruefully to the truth. Sante's writing about the magic mayhem of New York City, pre- and post-Punk, when songs scored everyone's daily lives with urgency and a kind of magic-ball prophecy, flash-lighting dark corners and opening doors that Sante and his buzzing twenty-something friends didn't even know were there, let alone closed. His reckoning of his, and our, aging, of the perils of excess, and of general cultural obsolesce comes a bit later in the essays. But it comes.Like so many others beleaguered by the pandemic, noxious politics, and stay-at-home guidelines, we've been watching and rewatching (and rewatching) The Great BritishBaking Show as a balm against daily strife. While enjoying the second episode of the series's third season in which vicar's wife Sarah-Jane "freestyles" her plaited bread and suffers for it, I was waiting for something that never came. I'd remembered her embarrassed confession on-camera that she couldn't manage even a simple three-strand plait of her daughter's hair, much to her shame. And I remember her crying as she said this and, later in the episode, reckoning with her self-perceived failures as a Mum. Turns out that I'd invented this bit of narrative; she had mentioned her lame plaiting skills, but never upbraided herself for it in the weepy manner I'd remembered. I'd taken her bit of self-mockery and turned it into a story in which she'd allowed her meager motherly talents to get under her skin and define her as a poor mother. It's interesting to me what grows in the mind. Flannery C'Connor wrote that"A story really isn't any good unless it successfully resists paraphrase, unless it hangs on and expands in the mind," and I guess that was what I was doing with Sarah-Jane: letting her story hang on and expand except what I wrote was fiction, steering her story into places it hadn't gone (as edited for television, anyway). I took her small confession where I wanted it to go, into melodrama, a mother-daughter dynamic rich with pathos. I was surprised when that scene didn't play out as I watched last night, but then I was struck by where the imagination goes, adding rooms to a story as one adds rooms to a house. This is how fiction works, obviously, but this is also how our day-to-day minds work, thickening memories with sentiment they don't have, building up dramas in our head, adding dimension to our ordinary days by allowing events to lead to stories which expand and hang on, blurring the line between nonfiction and fiction, between fact and desire. What the imagination wants. Anyway, I wish Sarah-Jane and her daughter well, wherever they are.Joe BonomoDeKalb, IL, United StatesAuthor of Sweat: The Story of The Fleshtones, America s Garage Band, Installations (National Poetry Series), Jerry Lee Lewis: Lost and Found, AC/DC s Highway to Hell (33 1/3 Series), Conversations With Greil Marcus, This Must Be Where My Obsession With Infinity Began (essays), Field Recordings from the Inside (essays), and No Place I Would Rather Be: Roger Angell and a Life in Baseball Writing Music Columnist for The Normal School. Five-time "Notable Essay" selection at Best American Essays. Professor of English at Northern Illinois University.View my complete profile"Of the recent books I have read about baseball, Joe Bonomo's...is one of the best, not only for Bonomo's considerable writing skills, but also for his compelling portrayal of Angell's erudition and unique focus on the 'lesser and sweeter moments' of the sport he loves." America Magazine The collection s 18 essays do what the best music writing is supposed to do they make the reader care, regardless of whether they enjoy, or are familiar with, the material being written about; I was mostly willing to follow Bonomo anywhere he wanted to go. Los Angeles Review of Books "Joe Bonomo seems to have a Cornell box for each difficult, lyrical moment he remembers. He is a theorist of the self's construction out of the past, full of resistance and the heartbreaking urge to yield." David Lazar "Marcus's knowledge of music and his widespread interests in related topics make this a delight and a real page-turner." The Big Takeover "I've read most of the books about him and will now put Jerry Lee Lewis: Lost and Found on the indispensable list. It's one of the best books about the man and his music." Lincoln Journal Star "Joe Bonomo has written a fine book: a book not only about a band or times passed, but also about the rare virtue of endurance." Nick Tosches "Driving," How We Are, June 17, 2020"Touch Me, Baby," The Normal School, May 1, 2020"Is it Me?, or Withering Sadness, Self-pity, Loneliness, Abandonment, Spiritual Desperation, the Loss of Romance, of Love and of Childhood as well as the more obvious Rage and Frustration," The Normal School, November 13, 2019"You Don't Own Me," Longreads, November 2018"Genius Moment, or an Accident," The Normal School, V11 N1, 2018"On Van Halen's 'Panama," March Shredness, March 2018"On Exhibitionism," The Normal School, V10 N2, 2017"Home," The Normal School, V10 N1, 2017"Hunting Larry Hunting Hank," The Normal School, V9 N2, 2016 In Which I m Skeptical Of Edward Hopper, Who Said, The Only Real Influence I ve Ever Had Was Myself , The Normal School, V9 N1, 2016"Bridging the Inexpressible: On Music Writing," Joe Bonomo interviews Aaron Gilbreath, Brevity's Nonfiction Blog, March 3, 2016"Jerry Lee Lewis: Lost and Found": an interview with Author, Joe Bonomo, Let It Roll podcast, March 18, 2019Where Essays and Music Meet: An Interview with Joe Bonomo," Vol. 1 Brooklyn, November 13, 2017"'Read With Me' Author Explores The Impact Of Music," WNIJ, Northern Public Radio, June 19, 2017"The Skips, the Pops, the Hisses, the Clicks: A Conversation with Joe Bonomo by Joe Oestreich," The Normal School online, April 18, 2017"Seven Questions for Field Recordings from the Inside author Joe Bonomo," Counterpoint Press, February 2017"Cheap Trick: The band's iconic look, love of music is key to longevity," Rockford Register Star, April 12, 2016"Examining Jerry Lee Lewis With Rock-N-Roll Author Joe Bonomo," AMFM Magazine, October 25, 2015"A Chat With Joe Bonomo, author of Jerry Lee Lewis: Lost and Found," Jerry Lee Lewis: Live at the Star-Club, Hamburg, March 1, 2015"NIU Author's`Obsession': What Makes Memories True?", WNIJ 89.5 fm, Morning Edition, with Dan Klefstad, June 26, 2013"Joe Bonomo on sex, spirit implication," Draft No. 4, June 23, 2013"Q-and-A with NIU Author Joe Bonomo," NIU Today, May 22, 2013"The Next Big Thing," No Such Thing As Was, April 1, 2013"Conversations with Joe Bonomo, editor of Conversations With Greil Marcus," rockcritics.com, January 30, 2013"The Shit Interview With Joe Bonomo!", The Shit, November 12, 2012"Conversations With Joe Bonomo," Music Tomes, October 23, 2012"Joe Bonomo: Illinois Authors," WNIJ 89.5 fm, Morning Edition, with Dan Klefstad, June 29, 2012"Rock Book Show Interview: Joe Bonomo," Rock Book Show, April 2011"Interview with Joe Bonomo," The Fine Delight: Catholicism in Literature, January 2011"Joe Bonomo: The TNB Self-Interview," The Nervous Breakdown, December 2010"Plugging In With Joe Bonomo," Outsideleft Magazine, 2010"Music To Spazz By with Dave the Spazz," on WFMU 91.1 fm, 90.2 fm, December 10, 2009"Midnight Snacks Meets Joe Bonomo!," Midnight Snacks w/Big Business Conversations With The Underground, 2009 If You Step Across You Will Vanish: An Interview with Joe Bonomo, Quarter After Eight, V15 2009 Pardon Us For Living But The Graveyard Is Full, feature-length documentary on the Fleshtones, Geoffray Barbier, director. Coldcut Productions, 2009Podcast interview with Hans Frank, Goatsongs Productions, 2008"Never Lose That Beat," Trap Door Sun, 2008

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