So: I’m writing about music now, too. Don’t give me that look. I know you ostensibly “visit my blog” to “read about movies and television,” and that “my brand is all over the fucking place,” but the reality is this: Freelancing about the movies is great, but really hard, because every asshole who’s sat through a single black and white classic and also knows who Roger Ebert is thinks they can film critic*. One path to success freelancing: Diversify. Hence, movies, TV, beer, theater, and now music, which if I’m being honest is my real first love dating back to the days when I played a bunch of instruments and hid Marilyn Manson albums from my parents.
Anyways. I’m back at Northshore Magazine, and I’m covering this year’s iteration of Boston Calling, and I’m really really excited about it. I don’t see nearly as many concerts as I would like, for one, and for another I’m less in tune with what’s happening in music today than I would like (which isn’t to say I don’t know anything, just that I worry about being even a hair out of touch). So this is an opportunity for me to ingest a bunch of new tunes** through my ear holes, to touch base with my own musical roots, and to see music performed live, and then also to write about the whole thing (and maybe continue to write about music going forward from here).
*And most of them can’t.
**Being: Lillie Mae, Noname, Tauk, Royal Blood, Manchester Orchestra, Dirty Projectors, Citizen, Charly Bliss, Khalid, and Zola Jesus, none of whom I’d listened to prior to assignment, which does not touch on the acts I’m already crazy about, like Fleet Foxes, The Killers, Oh Sees, and St. Vincent.
A Constant Visual Feast 