Dawn in Los Angeles and it felt like I was the only person awake in the Hollywood Hills. Far from the comforts of my native Paris, I stretched out in my bed overlooking the morning mist of the city. Below me small homes and tall palms drifted into the fog. The streets seemed empty, and I thought it would make a good time to explore the city by automobile.

I squeezed the leg of Ines, (I can’t be expected to be without all the pleasures of Paris) who had just gotten to sleep, and briefly entertained calling my lovely wife, Coverton, of whom we shall speak no more.
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It was scorching hot, cloud-free day, September in Los Angeles. The air was as clear as it gets and the view from my office was obscured only by the smoke I was blowing. Hollywood was full of white buildings, grey streets, and billboards advertising films, television shows, and computers. Dusk was out there and ready tio take over, but Day was holding on. Out there lurked a man who had stolen something from me. Problem was, I didn’t know who he was, and I didn’t know what he’d stolen.
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Greetings, all. Ric Befara here. Ready to roast your rump, broil your bong, fry your fang dangly dang.

For the past few months I’ve been dating this 18 year old girl and sometimes it’s a pain in the ass. Back in the day, when I was young and limber in the late 70’s, any girl could get into any club if she was by my side– young, old or otherwise. And this girl’s gorgeous, but now I’m some overaged frang dangly dang and all the clubs are owned by earring wearing, color-haired bastards trying to look like the latest superstar of stage and screen.
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Terrence became a part of the usounds family sometime in 1998, and published his first review, of Cat Power, in 1999. He went on to become our most popular reviewer.

I have told you many times now that life is suffering. Thus, I would appreciate not receiving anymore marijuana leaves and find buds in the mail from some of my fans. As delicious and soothing as the sacred herb is, Buddhists do not attempt to quelch their pains and suffering with any kind of drug. We do not attempt to satisfy any of our desires by “blazing the pipe,” or rolling a nice, clean joint full of resin-soaked tight nodulated buds.
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Fairfax is a band that sounds like a lot of other bands, which is their biggest problem. The formula is pop-punk, basically hooky songs with crunchy guitars done in a fast tempo, but with some emotional singing about a bunch of crap no one cares about.
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