Tuesday, April 14, 2009


Prefatory note: Nothing in this post will suggest that Spanish Harlem by Ben E. King or River Deep, Mountain High by Ike & Tina Turner are not among the greatest records of all time.

Phil Spector was genuinely a genius. He's very likely the reason any of us know what a record producer is.

Of course, even before actually killing someone, he was already the kind of raving lunatic who give other geniuses a bad name.

(And, too often, give non-genius lunatics a good name. I was recently reading the Dean Koontz introduction to the book Screamplays, in which he recounts an experience with a director who seemed to be presumed to be a genius solely on his madness. It made me even sorrier that his more pleasant experience with Phantoms led to, well, Phantoms, but that's another story...)

I found Jury Convicts Celebrity! by Timothy Noah to be interesting, although I can't say I found the snarky comment about Let It Be to be entirely appropriate. I also appreciated The Verdict by Mark Evanier, from whom I also got the first link there.

I feel like I should say something, but I'm not sure what.

I've always enjoyed the lovely and talented Lana Clarkson, but then I can't see that matters. I'm glad she got justice. I'm glad the world got justice.

I hope someday I'm able to listen to the greatest pop records ever made without feeling a little creepy, though.

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