Articles

  • 3 weeks ago | qromag.com | Dana Miller

    In blues, as in poker, if you don’t know who the sucker is, the sucker is you. Some people dabble in blues on a flotilla of pat self-marketing stemming from a temporary sabulous streak, a slippery sprezzatura that amounts to little more than sonic grocery-store tourism. Some do it to play nursemaid to the algorithm, others because they are insufficiently anguished and bizarrely long to feel the weight of an emotional sinker they will never know how to cast, much less how to hold.

  • 1 month ago | qromag.com | Dana Miller

    When anything unerringly, irrepressibly original is about torocket out of obscurity, set its own unassailable standard, and stake its flagon planetary ground previously deemed too alien by others, the speed of therise and the caliber of the claim is never about how many are listening at anystage, but always about who islistening, chiefly at the beginning. Truly great bands share much withrecord-breaking restaurants.

  • 2 months ago | qromag.com | Dana Miller

    SlinkyVagabond | The Eternal ReturnThecivically brilliant socio-anthropologist Sal Restivo once expertly observed,“If you give me a genius, I’ll give you a social network,” and the appealinglyApollonian art-rock band Slinky Vagabond, helmed by longtime creative confidantes Keanan Dufftyand Fabio Fabbri, has unerringly embodied that maxim via music for nearlytwenty years now.

  • Oct 6, 2024 | qromag.com | Dana Miller

    More20 Years of Hopes &FearsThe aspirations underpinning art areoften fickle, fame-drunk, full of opportunistic landlordism, and unpleasantlysurprising, like a cobra in a cake box. Hirola-rare are the bands like Keane that chased their golden echo through all the earlylow-tide landings of longform success to reach broadly legible long-termluminosity.

  • Sep 8, 2024 | thepunchmagazine.com | Dana Miller

    In the desert,in the midday time,he would meet me at the celestial soda counter on Tuesdays,wearing bovver boots and a leather choker studded with sardonyx— the exosuit of a peregrine. The entire duppy congregation set immediate fire to itself every time. There was myomancy in his murmur,Chekhov’s gun in his cheeks,and an intercepted treaty,waxed and blued and vulcanized,right where you’d think his tiger-in-the-tank ought to be.

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