A blogger steals someone else's life story and calls it her own.
How William Orr's quest for better, cheaper gas became a crime.
The family of a dead judge blames a creeping fungus in the federal courthouse.
I worked at Kmart with John McCain's director of strategy.
Cursive,Happy Hollow(Saddle Creek) These Midwestern emo dudes make self-castigating concept albums about growing up. Less fun than drinking near beer with President Bush on the ranch, right? Still, there's a reason their peers in the Omaha indie-rock scene envy them. Conor Oberst (a.k.a. Bright Eyes) says singer/lyricist Tim Kasher is the scene's only true poet. On their fifth full-length, Happy Hollow, Kasher revisits Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz as a disillusioned middle-ager; embodies a homosexual preacher seeking forgiveness for being horny; and contemplates the Big Bang. It's heady stuff, and while there's less self-examination than on previous albums — a good thing — Kasher also pinpoints a major irony about himself: Both America's wannabe rock stars and conservative Bible-thumpers are fueled by naive, idealistic visions. The music features crosshatched guitars, snaky but powerful rhythms and harmonically rich horn arrangements. I'm reminded of the Stooges' thick maximum rock & roll and the fierce intelligence of punk bands who matured into adulthood (the Clash, Fugazi, Bad Religion, the Ex). Cursive play Avalon on October 26.
Sufjan Stevens live!"Put Sufjan Stevens on/And we'll play your favorite song," says Gary Lightbody on Snow Patrol's new "Hands Open." You know you're on to something when peers are literally singing your praises. On Stevens' just-completed U.S. tour, he debuted a remarkable nine-minute-plus theme song, "Majesty Snowbird," which began with a small piano figure redolent of Satie but drew tears with an expansive, noisy finale. The show was poignant by nature and funny by design: During a Christmas song, dozens of inflatable Santa Claus dolls were dropped on the crowd like beach balls at an REO Speedwagon show.
John Peel and Sheila Ravenscroft'sMargrave of the Marshes (Bantam Press)On October 25, 2004, the famed BBC DJ John Peeldied of a heart attack while on vacation in Peru. A year later came this (auto)biography — started by the man himself and completed by his wife. Among the book's revelations: Peel getting buggered by a bully as a teenage schoolboy; dissed by Marc Bolan after T. Rex became famous; and physically abused by his first wife, a 15-year-old Texas schoolgirl he married during a '60s stint living in America. Scandal, however, is not why you should read this. Rather, it's a road map to sustaining idiosyncrasy in a world where "eclecticism" is a brand. Buying Sub Pop records, shopping at American Apparel and listening to KCRW doesn't make you interesting; by contrast, Peel's tastes — which ran from grindcore to happy hardcore techno to the works of Africa's Four Brothers — were exquisitely unreliable. I always assumed Peel fell victim to a heart attack because he fell in love with too much, too madly — the Fall, the Undertones' "Teenage Kicks," Liverpool football. What comes across, though, is mildness, kindness and endless curiosity. Margrave is available only as an import, yet it deserves a proper U.S. release. Perhaps next October — upon the third anniversary of his death?