speaking of killing the father (well kind of, but not really) this passage from his review of christgau's stupid memoir is hilarious:
"Christgau is likewise married, and has a child, and his wife had an affair while he was going through a midlife crisis, and all of that and more is in the gooey memoir he published earlier this year, Going Into the City. Like his more formalist counterpart Greil Marcus, Christgau’s attitude toward and descriptions of women, and sex, are hugely distracting, even unsettling; a transparent attempt to overcome the sexless impotence of a Rock Writer standing next to their venerated subject.
If you’ve ever seen Bill Simmons interview an athlete, it’s the same mortifying spectacle: you’re watching an average-looking guy in a blazer try to talk his way into a nightclub. Even if they’re rich or famous enough to get past the velvet rope on status, they will never fit in there. They will never belong in the club, at the after-party, backstage, or on the tour bus, because they will never be cool. If Nick Kent couldn’t pull it off, nobody can. So to the sucking and fucking and “zaftig” masturbation in his book, I’ve got to say, Bob, pull your head in. Nobody wants to know."
