Bruce Springsteen dives straight into the pain…and the ambiguity.
I'm reluctant to mouth off about something like the 30th anniversary of the Watergate break-in and all that followed. It makes me feel old.
In country music the greatest sins are pretense and snobbery
When I heard about the death of country singer Waylon Jennings in February, my mind flashed back to the day I first bought one of his records.
During the month of March, PBS affiliates will be airing a documentary called Welcome to the ClubThe Women of Rockabilly.
The song has again become a vital statement of hope and even a resource for resistance.
‘‘The [Harry Potter computer] game will feature a series of challenges, all inspired by the original book's storyline..."
For more than 20 years, Elie Wiesel has been America's official bearer of memory, keeper of accounts, and arbiter of propriety regarding the Holocaust.
Rock has done the most to break down social conventions and cultural norms. So where are the gay rock stars?
Disney's 'urban' experience is cleaned-up, dumbed-down, and smoothed-over.
This collection has no reason to exist, except as a shameless exploitation of the Lennon-McCarney catalog.
Who owns our culture? Who decides what our songs and stories will be?
In the 19th century, with much sweat and blood, immigrant labor gangs pushed a railroad across the newly continental United States.
I heard it in passing on National Public Radio’s All Things Considered one afternoon; it was a blurb for an upcoming story.
For the past 25 years, executions have taken place somewhere in America almost every week. They happened in the dead of night.
Something new entered history on November 30, 1999.
Get out the garlic! Hef is back. That was the gist of a series of articles last summer and fall chronicling the return to the limelight of Playboy magazine founder Hugh Hefner.
The 2000 presidential election promises to be the biggest fiasco since 1920, when monied interests foisted Warren G. Harding off upon a distracted public.
By now the Littleton, Colorado high school massacre has become the cultural Rorschach test for the new millennium.
We walked into a plush four-screen cinema in the affluent suburbs of east Memphis and took our place in the ticket line.
Twenty-five years ago, I was a 19-year-old college kid joyously wallowing in Watergate.
By now you've probably heard the news. The greatest rock-and-roll record of 1998 featured 50-year-old songs by a guy who's 10 years deader than Elvis.
A spectre is haunting Europe...." So begins The Communist Manifesto, by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels. Those words were true when The Manifesto first appeared in 1848.
When I began writing this column, way back in the second Reagan term, I held a certain spirit of optimism about the possibilities of American popular culture
When he died, Dr. Benjamin Spock had been a household name for more than 50 years. His book Baby and Child Care, first published in 1946, coincided with the first swell of the baby boom.
Thirty-five years ago, on June 12, 1963, Medgar Evers was assassinated in front of his home on the west side of Jackson, Mississippi.
Oscar time is a'coming, and with it another chance to consider the relationship between Steven Spielberg's world and our own.
Conversations about rock-and-roll music inevitably come up in my life. If the guitars and amp stored in my office don’t start it, the row of recent CDs on our living room bookshelf does.
The defining cultural struggle of the early 21st century will be between the local and the global. This is already familiar ground in this column.
The settlement between the tobacco companies and the 40 state attorneys general has been widely noted as a landmark in public health and consumer safety. And it is.
During Easter weekend this year, I finally visited the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum in Cleveland.
The mass audience message is on the front page: "Rosenberg spied."
Not many meaningful public rituals in America remain.
''Of the making of books, there is no end" goes a moth-eaten quotation. But maybe there is after all. At least that's the war cry of the latter-day Luddites.
The Atlanta Summer Olympics descended upon media-mad America like a vast mind-numbing, soul-sapping fog.
For weeks this spring I was obsessed with the (alleged) Unabomber.
If Pat Buchanan had not roared, grinning and sweaty, through the American political scene this year, someone would have invented him