Let's Go (So We Can Get Back): A Memoir of Recording and Discording with Wilco, Etc.
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9%
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Peter Frampton was on the radio so much that I thought he was the DJ. I honestly thought that was the name of a DJ. I had no idea he played music.
15%
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It was a comforting fantasy as a preteen, but I’ve been disabused of the notion countless times over the years that music is in any way an effective means of revenge.
57%
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Every time somebody asks me, “How ’bout the Cubs?” I want to respond with “Yeah, the Cubs, they’re going to die someday. Do you ever think about that? All of them. All of them. Rizzo. Bryant. The one with the goatee. The other ones. The entire team. Some of them probably soon, you don’t know. They could be dying right now while we’re sitting here making conversation about baseball. Death is lurking.”
59%
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There’s so much power in that silence, just imagining what could happen but hasn’t happened yet.
61%
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Except for Ricky Martin. His performance was the good kind of fever dream. He had women on stilts with streamers, and drummers who looked like they were hitting the peak of an ecstasy trip marching through the audience, and Ricky was gyrating within an inch of his life in these ridiculously tight leather pants. It was like a Hieronymus Bosch painting come to life.
67%
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If Wilco is ever going to get the mainstream attention and adoration it deserves, I need to kill, and eat the heart of, Dave Grohl.