To give you a quick idea of how much this crazy music industry wankfest takes over this town: the first thing I saw in the airport when I got off the plane was a Young Heart Attack video playing on TV. On the local news.
To give you another idea: I’m sitting on the fourteenth floor of a gargantuan hotel that literally has a river running through it, and all I can hear is a band playing out on the street somewhere. It’s even louder than the Sleater-Kinney album on the dinky hotel room CD player. Speaking of which, I saw Sleater-Kinney walk by while I was eating lunch.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on March 16, 2005