I’ve been thinking lately I should write a bit about what I’ve been reading. Not because you out there, at the other ends of the many Intertubes, are interested necessarily; more because I know that anything I don’t write down, I will forget. Sometimes I think of this blog less as something for people to read than as a searchable brain annex that’s far more reliable than my own increasingly leaky head-thing.
For instance, after a year or so of faithful bathroom reading I just finally finished Bill Graham Presents, a big book about the life of, duh, Bill Graham (born Wolfgang Grajonca). A damn fascinating life he had, including a childhood exodus across WWII-era Europe, the details of which are already long gone from my memory.
Later in life, of course, Graham achieved success and fame as a concert promoter, and in so doing helped to create live rock’n'roll as we know it today. The book is loaded with anecdotes about Graham’s interactions with artists like the Grateful Dead, the Who, the Rolling Stones, Janis Joplin, etc. One of my favorites is this one about Jimi Hendrix:
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