by Lisa Peet
She picks up a guitar because that’s what a music-loving art school girl dies, with no illusions about becoming a musician. “Mick and I go to Denmark Street to choose a guitar. I’ve got no idea what to look for. I might as well be going to buy a semi-automatic weapon.” Continue reading
by Lisa Peet
It’s so much easier to laugh about the horror of middle of the road as a condition, not a place. Not the fact that I now have more years under my belt than I have left, but the way those years have softened me, worn down those exhilaratingly sharp angles on all of us. How, when we went to see Patti Smith a few years ago, the audience was wall-to-wall fleece and crocs. Continue reading
Bloom 