Most music I love doesn’t make sense in a moving car. Most of it (i.e., the ambient stuff) is too quiet. The rest (DJ Krush, Autechre, Rrose, Monolake) makes me worry the car is breaking down. Driving is a whole other musical vocabulary, a whole other literature.Disquiet: This Week in Sound (nieuwsbrief, 26 augustus 2019)
I also found out Hemingway lied all the time. His books are mostly lies. In some respects, I found a brother in arms. I’d been telling advertising porkies for years.
One of my biggest mistakes was wanting to write something sincere. That’s the death of any writer. The minute you try that, you’re a phony. Some writers seem to pull it off. They sound wise. Gore Vidal did a pretty good job of it, but he was the biggest phony going. The only guy who made his writing sound truly sincere was Jimmy Breslin.
We learned a lot from people like Nixon. Bukowski said, “I don’t have time for things that have no soul.” Nixon obviously never had one. Politics is soulless, entertainment is soulless. Advertising is about as soulless as Hell itself.‘Things I’m Finally Willing To Admit About Writing’
@HutchbBen – What’s your favourite memory of working on the Beatles’ Abbey Road album?
Alan Parsons: Working with Paul on Oh Darlin’ – he would come in at 2pm every day and sing it a couple of times until he finally got the take he liked.
Een goed verhaal, dit is er eentje:
Went to Mexico to buy barbiturates for a humane and peaceful death.
Decided that if I was gonna die anyway I might as well fuck a prostitute before it was all over. After that a cab driver offered to sell me cocaine. One thing lead to another, and I got a room above a whore house equipped with a heart shaped bed, a stripper pole, and a hot tub.
Spent a full week snorting coke off tits, popping pain meds, drinking tequila, eating handfuls of Viagra to fight the whiskey/coke dick, and had three FFM threesomes.
Somewhere in the midst of my coke-fueled orgy, I decided life wasn’t so bad after all.