Tuesday, September 18, 2018

Kim Petras Struts Thee GLAAD Gala In San Francisco!!!

Pop youngin' and all around rising gem, Kim Petras set ablaze single handily taking to the stage at 2018’s GLAAD Gala in San Francisco. Honoring LGBTQ honey bears and allies who manifest support for the LGBTQ community with their work in technology and media.

In the heydays of the early 1980's when Madonna first began and she alone would dip and do it across a multitude of stages around the world hustling in support of her debut musique or in 1999 when pop icon Christina Aguilera would perform anywhere at any time at the drop of a hat her debut single "Genie in a Bottle". So followed suit later towards thee end of the 2000's with Selena Gomez followed by a new decade with a new voice, 2010's arrival of Ariana Grande.

So on so forth goes the tradition in pop musique history.  Petras sashayed and strutted like no one's business, electrifying the stage despite her simple modest stage set-up. Performing her underground pop classic and an all-around favorite pop tune of ours to have been released in thee last year, “Heart to Break”.

Also surprising the audience, Kim unleashed her new tune entitled “All the Time”. The following are words by Kim herself to put emphasize of the significance of GLAAD's advocacy work.

“I really love GLAAD. What you guys are doing is really, really important. I Grew up a trans kid in Germany, moved to L.A. at, like, 19, hustled really hard to, you know, make something out of myself and hopefully, one day, protect trans kids.”

Hosted by Leslie Jordan, thee shindig also honored 1980's & 90's darling Alyssa Milano with the inaugural Ariadne Getty ally award for her impactful allyship work for the LGBTQ community. Let's get to advancing queer acceptance everywhere carebears. So all you loyal lovebots don't forget there's only one love, one human race. We are not so different after all. respectively.

Dig out Kim Petras’hot hot-toddie performance medley right below!

Madonna debut.

Janet debut.

Christina Aguilera debut.

Gwen Stefani's Pop Debut.

Selena Gomez debut.

Ariana Grande debut.

Lisa Stansfield Talks Upcoming North American Tour, Sharing Cigarettes and Bacon Sandwiches With George Michael

All around the world and we can always find a nightingale baby in 90's pop singing goddess Lisa Standfield:

"When Lisa Stansfield’s eighth studio album Deeper arrived in April, it signaled that she was ready to take her brand of northern U.K. pop and soul on the road again. Following a springtime jaunt in her home country, the English singer will next trot across North America for 13 dates in October.

Backed by a ten-piece band, she aims to get audiences on these shores on their feet for the first time in over two decades, armed with a mix of new cuts, such as recent Billboard Dance Club Songs hit “Never Ever,” and '90s radio classics like “All Around the World” and “Change.”

Sitting tucked away in the corner of the the lobby of the Edition Hotel in Manhattan, Stansfield, 52, is clad in all black, looking not unlike she did when she first arrived on the American pop scene in 1990, complete with short-cropped hair and a smart beret. Despite not having performed in the city in 20 years, she and her husband/longtime collaborator Ian Devaney have quite a connection to New York. In addition to previously owning an apartment in the city, the pair were married here in July 1998.

“It was our anniversary just a few days ago,” Stansfield says. “We went to Washington Square Park, because we got married under a tree there. It was only a baby tree when we got married, now it’s 20 years later. We see it all the time. But it was quite poignant at that moment, because our tree [is] really strong, like our marriage. I got all choked up!”

Stansfield and Devaney have since sold their Manhattan apartment in the Mercantile building and bought a place in Los Angeles: “Where Tower Records was on Sunset, up the hill. It’s like a sort of ’50-type building. You don’t wanna be getting drunk and walking up that hill!” Stansfield admits, however, that the couple spend most of their time in the U.K. In fact, Deeper was recorded in their home studio.

Just like her debut LP Affection, which introduced Stansfield to the global mainstream by way of the hits “All Around The World” (a No. 3 hit on the Billboard Hot 100), “You Can’t Deny It” (No. 14) and “This Is The Right Time” (No. 21), Deeper is packed with a smooth blend of pop, soul and disco vibes.

“I think there are certain songs that [remind me of] when I was younger, getting ready to go out on a Friday or Saturday night and putting my war paint on,” Stansfield explains. “And it is like war paint, because you’re going out and facing everybody! You’re gonna make your dreams come true. It’s the tunes you play before you go out.”

Ironically, just as we sit down to talk about the her latest LP and upcoming trek across North America, 23-year-old Londoner Ella Mai’s “Boo’d Up” has become the first single by a U.K. artist to top the Billboard Hot R&B Songs chart since Stansfield’s “All Woman” did so in 1992. Given that, it seems this is the right time (ahem!) to catch up with the singer on what she has up her sleeve for her October tour, and look back on some of her past pop glories.

Before your solo career, you and your husband Ian were part of the U.K. trio Blue Zone. He’s still heavily involved in writing and producing with you. How has the process of working together evolved over the past 35 years?

LS: Well, you don’t know because you’re together all the time! It’s like if you grew another arm. You wouldn’t even notice it being there, really. Sometimes we’ll argue in the studio. Sometimes you get along really well. But we’re always very diplomatic. It’s like -- when we’re in the studio, the music comes first.

How long did you spend working on your latest album, Deeper?

Usually what works out with me is about four years. The worst [gap between albums] was 10. I was really bad! But I was doing other things in the meantime.

Did the final result resemble the album you aimed to create?

We never set out to make anything [sound] like anything else. We have an idea and then you just have to watch and listen to the way the song is evolving. That’s what happened on this album. After a certain point, we recorded clumps of songs and then one or two, we’ll be like, “Yeah, those are really good.” So it all started to come together and it all started to make a weird sense. It was almost like me and Ian and Snowboy, who produced the album as well, we just thought, "We gotta let it do what it’s doing."

I was surprised to see film director and composer John Carpenter gets a writing credit, on the song “Hercules,” as it incorporates his theme song from Assault On Precinct 13.

And he got 50 percent [of the royalties]!

How did that come about?

We’ve always wanted to use it in a song, whatever song it was. I’ve not actually watched that movie in ages and ages. We said, “We’ll know when it’s right and we’ll just put in on there.” And with “Hercules,” it really made sense.

You’ve not toured the States in 20 years. What can your fans here expect when you hit the road in October?

Just really good music. We’ve got a ten-piece band that’s like a really good football team. If one note goes, we all hear it, but nobody in the audience does. We all know where to go, because we’re so slick like that!

But coming over here, everybody wants you to do it cheaper. “Can we do it with like three musicians?” It’s like, people who aren’t musicians expect three people to make the same noise as ten. If you could, we wouldn’t be using ten fucking musicians and spending all that money! But we did it. We’re all coming over. If we’re coming back after over 20 years, it’s gonna have to be good.

There are fights sometimes, though. You would not believe the people that start fighting at our shows! Not a lot, but there was one really big fight in Paris. There were loads of people beating the shit out of each other. It’s like, "All I’m doing is trying to make everybody happy!"

George Michael passed away less than two years ago. You famously sang Queen’s “These Are The Days Of Our Lives” together at the Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert at Wembley Arena in 1992. What stands out the most to you about that performance?

Everybody who did that show was just so famous at the time. It was like, legends all over the place, but nobody had an ego. The rehearsals were quite subdued. I remember at the rehearsals I was gonna do the thing with George, and I went and got myself a big bacon roll because I was starving. I had on one of Ian’s coats and a big hat on. I really did look like a homeless person, buried in a bacon sandwich. Then I had to go do this thing with George, and he said, “Fucking hell, how can you go eat bacon and [perform like] that?”

The same day, David Bowie was there. I went up to him, because I had a friend who was thought Bowie was God. She said, “If you see him, you’ve got to get his autograph for me.” So I went over and I did the thing that all fans do that gets on your nerves: I said, “Excuse me, Mr. David Bowie. Would you mind doing an autograph for my friend because she absolutely loves you.” He just looked at me and he was really rude, because he didn’t know who the fuck I was. I looked like a homeless person, like I’d just been dragged off the street. He looked me up and down and said, “Well, have you got a pen and paper?” I went, “No, I haven’t!” And I walked away.

Did you see George Michael again after that?

We went for a meal, actually [after the concert]. We met George at the Ivy, me and Ian. He asked, “Do you want to go out with me and Brian [May] and [his wife] Anita?” I knew Anita already because I’d done theater with her. So we’re all sitting at this table, me and Ian and George, waiting for Brian May. And then George just goes, “Fucking hell -- I never told Brian to come!” He had to phone Brian, and eventually they came and it was really nice. Maybe [George] was smoking weed then? He did smoke a whole packet of my cigarettes that night! I had two packets in my bag and he smoked one.

1990 was the year both you and George rebelled against your previous images. He burned his leather jacket on his “Freedom 90” video, but before that, you chopped off your kiss curl for “You Can’t Deny It.”

That was [my idea]. I was just so sick of it. It became like a cartoon, caricature thing. There was a guy on the crew and he had exactly the same color hair as me, so we kept cutting it. We did so many takes of it, he was like half-bald by the end of the shoot. I did cut [mine] off, but we had to keep sticking it back on for every take.

One project you took part in just as “All Around The World” was blowing up was the Band Aid II recording of “Do They Know It’s Christmas” -- the version produced by Stock Aitken Waterman in 1989. Do you have any recollection of that?

Well, literally, it’s like -- you’re waiting to go to the fucking doctor’s, right? So there’s a line of us. And then just sing your part and leave. I think I sang around four lines.

I always remember when I first started out and first became a little bit famous, I went to a celebrity party. For me it was really intimidating. I thought, I’ve got to be normal in this situation, and I’m really not feeling it at all. I walked up to two of the girls from Bananarama -- not Siobhan [Fahey], by the way, because she’s really nice. They were really horrible to me. I said, “I’m called Lisa Stansfield. I don’t know whether you’ve heard of me?” And they were like, “Oh, right then.” They were really rude to me. So later, on that Band Aid thing, they really wanted to stand next to me in the video, and I just kept moving to the left of them. I thought, “No. Fuck off! You didn’t want to talk to me when I was no one.”

You later got into acting, beginning with the 1999 film Swing. Will we be seeing you on the screen in the near future?

I’ve just got a new acting agent, so when you get a new agent you usually get a part, then it goes a little bit quiet. They have to prove themselves and then they just sort of forget about you. So I might be doing something shortly. You never know.

Let’s wrap this up with one last question about Deeper: How did you feel the very first time you and Ian listened to the album the whole way through?

Incredibly proud. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I really do think if I never make any more music in my life I can die happy.

Deeper is available now. Lisa Stansfield’s North American tour kicks off October 9 in Toronto. Check out tour dates below:" - Billboard.com

10/09 Toronto, ON @ Queen Elizabeth Theatre
10/10 Montreal, QC @ Corona Theatre
10/11 Montreal, QC @ The Wilbur
10/13 Westbury, NY @ The Space at Westbury
10/14 New York, NY @ Highline Ballroom
10/15 Alexandria, VA @ The Birchmere Music Hall
10/17 Philadelphia, PA @ Keswick Theatre
10/18 Atlanta, GA @ Center Stage
10/19 Columbia, SC @ South Carolina Pride
10/21 Chicago, IL @ The Vic Theatre
10/22 Minneapolis, MN @ Pantages Theatre
10/24 San Diego, CA @ Music Box
10/25 Los Angeles, CA @ The Fonda
10/26 San Francisco, CA @ The Fillmore

The Number Ones: The Lovin’ Spoonful’s “Summer In The City”

According to one of our preferred musical sources:

"The Lovin’ Spoonful – “Summer In The City”

HIT #1: August 13, 1966

STAYED AT #1: 3 weeks

The summer of 1966 was a time of intense political division in the United States. Young people were realizing, more and more, that older generations were happy to send them off to kill and die in Vietnam, and older generations were in deeper and deeper disbelief that these kids didn’t want to go off to war. Riots over racism were starting to break out. A guy in Austin climbed a clock tower and shot dozens of people. On top of all of that, it was hot, especially in New York City, where a record heat wave was making everyone uncomfortable. Everyone was walking around, sweaty and stressed out. Sound familiar?

Maybe it’s not so hard, right now, to close your eyes and imagine yourself back through time, hearing “Summer In The City” when it hit. The Lovin’ Spoonful were a New York City band. Frontman John B. Sebastian, the son of the weirdly popular classical harmonica player John Sebastian, had grown up in Greenwich Village, and the members of the band had come from the city’s coffeehouse folk scene. (Guitarist Zal Yanovsky had been in the Mugwumps with two future members of the Mamas And The Papas.) The Lovin’ Spoonful started out making doofy, approachable folk-rock. There was nothing remotely threatening about them, and their light and fluffy take on the sound comes across laughably inconsequential right now. But with “Summer In The City,” they hit on something.

The Lovin’ Spoonful were operating at peak capacity by 1966. They made three albums and two soundtracks (including the one for Woody Allen’s What’s Up Tiger Lily) in two years. And they made it to #2 with consecutive singles, “Daydream” and “Did You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind?” “Summer In The City” is their only #1, and it’s also the only song of theirs that I would ever listen to intentionally. But it’s a hell of a song.

“Summer In The City” started out as a poem from Mark Sebastian, John’s 14-year-old brother. He was a cloistered rich kid dreaming of all the life he saw all around him in New York. He imagined “Summer In The City” as an acoustic folk song, but John and bandmate Steve Boone rewrote the song, turning it into a sort of purposeful rock amble. They found the tension in it.

There is noise in “Summer In The City.” The intro, with those ominous organ plinks and those jarring drum-cracks, sets up Sebastian growling about the sweat crawling down his neck. And so there’s a moment of genuine catharsis when the harmonies and the gossamer guitar strums kick in, when Sebastian starts singing about how everything is better at night. The whole song keeps building up tension and then paying that tension off. We hear sound effects — horns beeping, jackhammers drilling. And then we hear what happens when those sounds blissfully disappear. It’s a beautiful little fantasy about what it’s like to be young and out on the town in an American metropolis, which is a truly great state of being.

The Lovin’ Spoonful never tapped into that “Summer In The City” feeling again, and they didn’t last much longer. That same summer, Yanovsky was arrested with weed while leaving a San Francisco party, and afraid of being deported back to his native Canada, he ratted out the friend who’d sold it to him. Word got out that Yanovsky had snitched, and there was a massive backlash against the band. Yanovsky quit soon after. And by the time Sebastian played a solo set at Woodstock three years later, the band was done. But their proudly goofy country-rock ambles would turn out to be a blueprint for some of the truly awful music that dominated the charts in the early ’70s.

GRADE: 8/10

BONUS BEATS: Here’s “Summer In The City” soundtracking the opening montage from the endlessly rewatchable 1995 movie Die Hard With A Vengeance:" - Stereogum.com

Mechanical Animals Turns 20!

We've been zephrying since 1998 with thee iconic release of "Mechanical Animal" by thee incomparable musician Marilyn Manson. An album that would forever change our musical lives tunes 20:

"When Marilyn Manson’s Rock Is Dead tour came through the Landmark Theater in Syracuse in the fall of 1998, I went down to see the show. I didn’t set foot in the Landmark. (Come to think of it, I’ve still never seen Marilyn Manson live.) The whole (dope) show was happening outside the venue, on the sidewalk. Roy Bernardi, the mayor of Syracuse, had tried to get the show shut down. He called upon the better nature of the bookers at the Landmark: “We have a moral obligation to the people of Syracuse.” He rang alarm bells: “I’m all for the First Amendment right, but are they going to harm our young people?” He threatened to withhold funding from the historic venue, or to get the show’s permit denied. But the show still happened.

Outside the Landmark that night, there was a line of cops in full riot gear. There were the Manson faithful, all done up in their most theatrically goth late-’90s Hot Topic gear. (Lots of skiing goggles worn across the forehead, lots of shiny vinyl boots, lots of whatever you used to call those beaded metal chokers.) And then there were the protesters. Multiple Christian denominations, both Catholic and Protestant, had their troops out on the sidewalks, holding signs or earnestly appealing to the goth kids in line.

It wasn’t quite the Westboro Baptist Church spectacle that I suppose I was expecting. The Christian protesters weren’t angry — at least, not that I could see. They were concerned. A lot of them were teenagers, probably the classmates of the kids in line, and they were just as bemused and flustered and inarticulate as all teenagers are, everywhere. My friends asked one kid what the Bible said that would lead anyone to believe that there shouldn’t be a Marilyn Manson concert in Syracuse. He stammered that he wasn’t quite sure. A few minutes later, an exuberant youth pastor came bounding up to us like a golden retriever: “Are you the folks who were asking about Jesus?”

For those of us in Syracuse, the day Marilyn Manson graced our village was the most important day of our lives — or, at least, it was a big deal. For Marilyn Manson, it was Tuesday. This, or some variation of it, was every night for Marilyn Manson in 1998. He’d become a less a man and more a symbol in the culture wars, a human harbinger of a corroded society. Like the rock stars of generations past, he’d effectively channeled and monetized the befuddled horror of parents and the transgressive impulses of teenagers, pitting one against the other. That reached a fever pitch six months later, when Manson became a public scapegoat for the Columbine massacre. But it was deafening even before that.

Imagine trying to exist at the center of that whole cultural cyclone. Imagine trying to make art there. Manson had willingly taken on icon status. He’s presented himself as more symbol than person from the very beginning. By 1998, he’d achieved all of his dreams, and he was smart enough to recognize how ridiculous the resulting shitstorm was. If anything, he seemed bored with it. “Rock Is Dead,” one of the singles from that album, spelled that boredom out in plain terms: “Rock is deader than dead / Shock is all in your head / Your sex and your dope is all that were fed / So fuck all your protests and put ‘em to bed.”

Soon enough, they would put those protests to bed. Manson was the last of his kind: the rock star as symbol for rebellion, the one that sent parents’ groups into public hysterics. The peak of his career was the last gasp of the idea that rock ‘n’ roll could be dangerous, subversive, or threatening. Soon after, it became just one genre of music among many.

For a few years, rap in general, and Eminem in particular, served the role that Manson could no longer fill. And then the internet atomized everyone’s tastes, to the point where concerned parents couldn’t even be bothered to get loudly stressed about whatever MySpace emo bands or regional rap figures their kids were into. Maybe Manson saw that coming. Maybe that’s what “Rock Is Dead” was about. (He wasn’t the only one who had that idea right then. At the same time as Manson was on his Rock Is Dead tour, Korn and Rob Zombie were on another tour that was also called the Rock Is Dead tour.)

In any case, as the fury surrounding him was at his peak, Manson did something that I don’t think anyone was expecting. He made the best album of his life. And he did it while consciously switching up his own image, presumably alienating plenty of the kids he’d pulled in over the previous years. Mechanical Animals was a concept album about cultural numbness and futuristic robots, or something, and it was explicitly modeled on David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust era. But Manson, being Manson, cranked things up even higher, performing at the VMAs while wearing prosthetic boobs and genderless Barbie-doll smooth crotch nothingness. (At the time, there were plenty of rumors that Manson had all that stuff put in surgically. This was the sort of rumor that Marilyn Manson lived on.)

I’d long written Manson off as any kind of musical force by the time Mechanical Animals came out, figuring I’d outgrown him. But Mechanical Animals surprised me. This was a good album, made at a time when Manson didn’t really need to make a good album. It was musically adventurous and dynamic and packed with bigger, more confident hooks than Manson had managed on his previous non-“Beautiful People” songs. It was a very good arena-rock album from someone who’d cultivated a fanbase that, by and large, didn’t especially care how good his music was. Its existence was a minor miracle.

Listening to Mechanical Animals today, it hasn’t held up quite as well as I might’ve hoped. The gleaming, processed crunch of brickwalled late-’90s major-label rock production has not aged well. Neither has Manson’s quavering rasp, or the way he latched down on a word like “fuck” as if he could scare people more by delivering it more vigorously. Plenty of the lyrics are very much in the “my first decadent Hollywood drug album” vein. Some of the wordplay is clumsy and goofy enough to leave you shaking your head today; he really said “pheno-Barbie doll.”

All that said, Mechanical Animals still pretty much rules. Much of it is a cleaned-up version of the mechanized riff-rock lurch that Manson had used on Antichrist Superstar, but the hooks are sharper and harder and more confident. And the further-out moments are genuinely fascinating. “I Don’t Like The Drugs (But The Drugs Like Me)” is slithering, strutting cocaine-funk with gospel-style backup singers. “Fundamentally Loathsome” is Faith No More-esque sardonic death-lounge. “The Speed Of Pain,” probably my favorite song on the album, is windswept acoustic cyber-blues shot through with lonely vocoder howls.

And it isn’t just the music that’s good. In 1998, high school kids were still calling each other homophobic slurs in the hallways. That was a normal thing. It was normal when Ellen DeGeneres came out of the closet and my friend’s dad was sitting around making “Ellen Degenerate” jokes. Someone, somewhere, was probably using the term “transgender,” but it had not entered the cultural lexicon. The way we looked at gender was a whole lot more rigid, regimented, and binary. And here we had one of the biggest rock stars in the world, on both his album cover and the VMAs stage, adapting a whole confrontationally post-gender persona. He was doing that as a shock tactic, of course, and it worked. But he wasn’t just aiming to unsettle his fans’ parents. He was aiming to unsettle his own fans, too. And he succeeded.

In January of 1999, when South Park was still a cultural phenomenon, there was an episode about a man who’d been thawed out of a block of ice, frozen in the distant prehistoric era of 1996. He had to be kept in an isolated room, his environment made to look like nothing had changed since 1996. (He had an Independence Day poster on his wall.) Eventually, though, the man gets out. He sees a televised image of Manson, in full Mechanical Animals cyber-drag, and he freaks out, smashes a plate glass window, and runs wild in the streets. That was an exaggeration, of course. But for a moment there, Marilyn Manson really did cause hysteria wherever he went. And before he lapsed into endlessly repetitive self-parody, he did something with that hysteria. For that short window, Marilyn Manson was both an A-list rock-star experimentalist and a soldier of progress. He had a moral obligation, and he fulfilled it." - Stereogum.com

The Number Ones: Donovan’s “Sunshine Superman”

According to one of our beloved musical sources:

Donovan – “Sunshine Superman”

HIT #1: September 3, 1966

STAYED AT #1: 1 week

There’s a famous 1965 press conference where a whole horde of slightly befuddled reporters (and, for whatever reason, Allen Ginsberg) sits in front of Bob Dylan, firing one ridiculous question after another at him: “Do you ever paint or sculpt?,” that kind of thing. Dylan, smirking at the absurdity of it all, answers all the questions while subtly and mischievously mocking them. It lasts for an hour, and the whole thing is riveting.

There’s a moment in the press conference where a very earnest young lady asks Dylan about Donovan: “Do you think he’s a good poet?” Dylan noncommittally grunts: “Neh. He’s a nice guy, though.” The interviewer says, “I’m shattered.” Dylan, grinning bigger now, says, “Well, you needn’t be.”

There’s a running joke in D.A. Pennebaker’s Don’t Look Back documentary where people keep comparing Dylan to Donovan, playing around with the idea that Dylan better watch his back with this kid coming up. Dylan acts politely and insincerely bemused by it. Then, when he meets Donovan and they play songs for each other, Dylan says something nice about Donovan’s music. But there’s a clear hierarchy to every interaction. Dylan is the heavyweight, the eminence. Donovan’s five years younger, and he’s lucky to be in the guy’s presence.

So Donovan couldn’t muster the same voice-of-a-generation resonance that seemed to come so naturally to Dylan. What he could muster was pop music. Donovan’s best pop songs — and there’s a pretty good handful of them — were amiably pretty little pieces of nursery-rhyme nonsense. “Sunshine Superman” is the only one that hit #1, and it’s probably also the best of them."

When Donovan recorded “Sunshine Superman,” it was 1965, and he was an angelic little kid, a 19-year-old polio survivor from Scotland who’d learned fingerpicking guitar techniques on the British folk scene. He wrote it for Linda Lawrence, an ex-girlfriend of the Rolling Stones’ Brian Jones who Donovan had dated for a little while. She’d moved on and moved away, but Donovan loved her. His idea was that he’d write the song, she’d hear it on the radio, and she’d realize that they should be together.

“Sunshine” also was slang for acid, and so the song, with its shambling hippie mysticism and its lyrics about turtles and velvet thrones, was fully in keeping with the early days of the psychedelic era. The song has an endearing lopsided chug and a slick sense of rhythmic interplay. Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones, both working as session musicians at the time, both played on the song, though they brought none of the thunder that they’d conjure two years later, when they formed Led Zeppelin. (Zeppelin, it probably bears mentioning, only had one song hit the top 10 on the US charts, the #4-peaking “Whole Lotta Love” in 1970.)

Decades later, Donovan would talk a big talk about the song, saying that he “wanted to get to the invisible fourth dimension of transcendental superconscious vision.” But it’s really just a loopy, silly folk-rock love song, and it’s a good one. Because of legal issues, the song didn’t come out until the summer of 1966. The delay drove Donovan nuts, but it turned out to be a blessing; it’s hard to imagine a song any better attuned to that year’s zeitgeist.

The song did not get Linda Lawrence to get with Donovan again. Donovan moved on and had a couple of kids with another woman. But four years later, a friend set Donovan and Lawrence up again, and they quickly fell in love and got married. They’re still together today.

GRADE: 8/10

BONUS BEATS: Here’s Hüsker Dü’s “Sunshine Superman” cover, from the 1983 album Everything Falls Apart:" - Stereogum.com

La Baita

"Matteo Paglierani photographed by Simone Lini Trivulzio and styled with pieces from Nicola Indelicato‘s FW18 collection, in exclusive for Fucking Young! Online.

Production: 88_Prod." - Fuckingyoung.es

Calvin Klein 205W39NYC Spring/Summer 2019

"Raf Simons presented his Calvin Klein 205W39NYC Spring/Summer 2019 collection, during New York Fashion Week." - Fuckingyoung.es

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