25 09 2009

Alva Noto

alva noto live in malmö, sweden

02nd october 2009
unitxt live set @ full pull festival
inkonst, bergsgatan 29, malmö, sweden


25 09 2009

O))) Attila NYC


Pic Javier Villegas

24 09 2009

Words of wisdom

Scott Weinrich: Now I'm an electrician's helper. I make $150 a day, cash. We pull wire, I mule the tools up and down, and I'm learning about electrical stuff. One thing I'll tell you is, when you devote your life to art the way I have, when you devote your life to playing music that's under the radar and out of the mainstream and absolutely refusing to sell out -- I mean, I've had offers from rap dudes who want to buy part of my songs to put in rap songs, and I will not fuckin' do it. No fuckin' way, no how. You could offer me fifty fuckin' grand to take part of my song and put it in a rap song and I will turn you down on the spot, guaranteed. I'll never, ever compromise my art.

And when you have that kind of ideal, you can bet your ass you're never gonna be able to learn a trade, because you're gonna be out struggling on the road. You can bet your ass that you're gonna miss your kids' and your wife's birthdays, you can bet that the most important show you can get is gonna fall on someone's birthday, one of your kids' or your wife. That's the kind of thing you've gotta do. If you're not willing to do that, don't do it.

24 09 2009

Neurosis Retrospective

Neurosis Video Retrospective

Covering the years between 1994 and 2008
All exclusive, original and previously unreleased footage
Text contributions by Kevin Egan of Beyond and 1.6 Band & Stone of Trust Zine

24 09 2009

Karl Paulnack

Welcome address to freshman
class at Boston Conservatory given
by Karl Paulnack, pianist and director of music division at Boston Conservatory [September 2008]

"One of my parents' deepest fears,
I suspect, is that society would notproperly value me as a musician, that I
wouldn't be appreciated. I had
verygood grades in
high school, I was good in science and math, and
theyimagined that as
a doctor or a research chemist or an engineer, I might
bemore appreciated
than I would be as a musician. I still remember
remark when I announced my decision to apply to
said, "You're WASTING your SAT scores." On
some level,I think,
my parents were not sure themselves what the value of
musicwas, what its
purpose was.
And they LOVED
music, they listened to classical music all the time.
Theyjust weren't
really clear about its function. So let me talk about that
alittle bit, because
we live in a society that puts music in the "arts
andentertainment" section of the
newspaper, and serious music, the
kind your kids
are about to engage in, has absolutely nothing whatsoever
todo with
entertainment, in fact it's the opposite of
entertainment. Let metalk a little bit about music, and how it
works. The first people to understand how music
really works were the ancientGreeks. And this is going to fascinate you;
the Greeks said that music andastronomy were two sides of the same coin.
Astronomy was seen as thestudy of relationships between observable,
permanent, external objects,and music was seen as the study of
relationships between invisible,
objects. Music has a way of finding the big, invisible
moving piecesinside
our hearts and souls and helping us figure out the position
of thingsinside us.
Let me give you some examples of how this
works. One of the most profound musical
compositions of all time is the
Quartetfor the End
of Time written by French composer Olivier Messiaen in
1940.Messiaen was 31
years old when France entered the war against Nazi
Germany.He was
captured by the Germans in June of 1940, sent across Germany
in acattle car and
imprisoned in a concentration camp. He was fortunate to find a sympathetic
prison guard who gave him paper anda place to compose. There were three other
musicians in the camp, a cellist,a violinist, and a clarinetist, and Messiaen
wrote his quartet with thesespecific players in mind. It was performed
in January 1941 for fourthousand prisoners and guards in the prison
camp. Today it is one of themost famous masterworks in the
repertoire. Given what we have since learned about life
in the concentration camps, whywould anyone in his right mind waste time
and energy writing or playingmusic? There was barely enough energy on a
good day to find food andwater, to avoid a beating, to stay warm, to
escape torture-why would anyonebother with music? And yet-from the camps,
we have poetry, we have music,we have visual art; it wasn't just
this one fanatic Messiaen; many, manypeople created art. Why? Well, in a place
where people are only focused onsurvival, on the bare necessities, the
obvious conclusion is that art mustbe, somehow, essential for life. The camps
were without money, withouthope, without commerce, without recreation,
without basic respect, but theywere not without art. Art is part of
survival; art is part of the humanspirit, an unquenchable expression of who we
are. Art is one of the ways inwhich we say, "I am alive, and my life
has meaning." On September 12, 2001 I was a resident of
Manhattan. That morning I reacheda new understanding of my art and its
relationship to the world. I sat downat the piano that morning at 10 AM to
practice as was my daily routine; Idid it by force of habit, without thinking
about it. I lifted the cover onthe keyboard, and opened my music, and put
my hands on the keys and took myhands off the keys. And I sat there and
thought, does this even matter?Isn't this completely irrelevant?
Playing the piano right now, given
whathappened in this
city yesterday, seems silly, absurd,
irreverent,pointless. Why am I here? What place has a
musician in this moment in time?Who needs a piano player right now? I was
completely lost. And then I, along with the rest of New York,
went through the journey ofgetting through that week. I did not play
the piano that day, and in fact Icontemplated briefly whether I would ever
want to play the piano again. Andthen I observed how we got through the
day. At least in my neighborhood, we didn't
shoot hoops or play Scrabble. Wedidn't play cards to pass the time, we
didn't watch TV, we didn't shop,
wemost certainly did
not go to the mall. The first organized activity that
Isaw in New York,
that same day, was singing. People sang. People
firehouses, people sang "We Shall Overcome". Lots
of people sangAmerica the Beautiful. The first
organized public event that I remember
wasthe Brahms
Requiem, later that week, at Lincoln Center, with the New
The first organized public expression of grief, our
response to that historic event, was a concert. That was
thebeginning of a
sense that life might go on. The US Military secured
theairspace, but
recovery was led by the arts, and by music in
particular,that very
night. From these two experiences, I have come to
understand that music is notpart of "arts and entertainment"
as the newspaper section would have
usbelieve. It's
not a luxury, a lavish thing that we fund from leftovers
ofour budgets, not a
plaything or an amusement or a pass time. Music is
abasic need of human
survival. Music is one of the ways we make sense of
ourlives, one of the
ways in which we express feelings when we have no words,
away for us to
understand things with our hearts when we can't with
ourminds. Some of you may know Samuel Barber's
heartwrenchingly beautiful pieceAdagio for Strings. If you don't know it
by that name, then some of you mayknow it as the background music which
accompanied the Oliver Stone moviePlatoon, a film about the Vietnam War. If
you know that piece of musiceither way, you know it has the ability to
crack your heart open like awalnut; it can make you cry over sadness you
didn't know you had. Music canslip beneath our conscious reality to get at
what's really going on insideus the way a good therapist
does. I bet that you have never been to a wedding
where there was absolutely nomusic. There might have been only a little
music, there might have beensome really bad music, but I bet you there
was some music. And somethingvery predictable happens at weddings-people
get all pent up with all kindsof emotions, and then there's some
musical moment where the action of
thewedding stops and
someone sings or plays the flute or something. And
evenif the music is
lame, even if the quality isn't good, predictably 30 or
40percent of the
people who are going to cry at a wedding cry a couple
ofmoments after the
music starts. Why? The Greeks. Music allows us to
movearound those big
invisible pieces of ourselves and rearrange our insides
sothat we can
express what we feel even when we can't talk about it.
Can youimagine
watching Indiana Jones or Superman or Star Wars with the
dialoguebut no
music? What is it about the music swelling up at just the
rightmoment in ET so
that all the softies in the audience start crying
atexactly the same
moment? I guarantee you if you showed the movie with
themusic stripped
out, it wouldn't happen that way. The Greeks: Music is
theunderstanding of
the relationship between invisible internal
objects. I'll give you one more example, the
story of the most important concert
ofmy life. I must
tell you I have played a little less than a
thousandconcerts in
my life so far. I have played in places that I thought
wereimportant. I
like playing in Carnegie Hall; I enjoyed playing in Paris;
itmade me very happy
to please the critics in St. Petersburg. I have
playedfor people I
thought were important; music critics of major
heads of state. The most important concert of my entire life
tookplace in a
nursing home in Fargo, ND, about 4 years
ago. I was playing with a very dear friend of
mine who is a violinist. We began,as we often do, with Aaron Copland's
Sonata, which was written during
WorldWar II and
dedicated to a young friend of Copland's, a young pilot
who wasshot down
during the war. Now we often talk to our audiences about
thepieces we are
going to play rather than providing them with written
programnotes. But in
this case, because we began the concert with this piece,
wedecided to talk
about the piece later in the program and to just come
outand play the
music without explanation. Midway through the piece, an elderly man
seated in a wheelchair near thefront of the concert hall began to weep.
This man, whom I later met, wasclearly a soldier-even in his 70's, it
was clear from his buzz-cut hair,square jaw and general demeanor that he had
spent a good deal of his lifein the military. I thought it a little bit
odd that someone would be movedto tears by that particular movement of that
particular piece, but it wasn'tthe first time I've heard crying in a
concert and we went on with theconcert and finished the
piece. When we came out to play the next piece on
the program, we decided to talkabout both the first and second pieces, and
we described the circumstancesin which the Copland was written and
mentioned its dedication to a downedpilot. The man in the front of the audience
became so disturbed that he hadto leave the auditorium. I honestly figured
that we would not see himagain, but he did come backstage afterwards,
tears and all, to explainhimself. What he told us was this:
"During World War II, I was a pilot,
andI was in an
aerial combat situation where one of my team's planes
was hit. Iwatched my
friend bail out, and watched his parachute open, but the
Japaneseplanes which
had engaged us returned and machine gunned across the
parachutechords so
as to separate the parachute from the pilot, and I watched
myfriend drop away
into the ocean, realizing that he was lost. I have
notthought about
this for many years, but during that first piece of music
youplayed, this
memory returned to me so vividly that it was as though I
wasreliving it. I
didn't understand why this was happening, why now, but
thenwhen you came
out to explain that this piece of music was written
tocommemorate a lost
pilot, it was a little more than I could handle. How
doesthe music do
that? How did it find those feelings and those memories in
me? Remember the Greeks: music is the study of
invisible relationships betweeninternal objects. This concert in Fargo was
the most important work I haveever done. For me to play for this old
soldier and help him connect,somehow, with Aaron Copland, and to connect
their memories of their lostfriends, to help him remember and mourn his
friend, this is my work. Thisis why music matters. What follows is part of the talk I will give
to this year's freshman classwhen I welcome them a few days from now. The
responsibility I will chargeyour sons and daughters with is
this: "If we were a medical school, and you
were here as a med student practicingappendectomies, you'd take your work
very seriously because you wouldimagine that some night at two AM someone is
going to waltz into youremergency room and you're going to have
to save their life. Well, myfriends, someday at 8 PM someone is going to
walk into your concert halland bring you a mind that is confused, a
heart that is overwhelmed, a soulthat is weary. Whether they go out whole
again will depend partly on howwell you do your
craft. You're not here to become an
entertainer, and you don't have to
sellyourself. The
truth is you don't have anything to sell; being a
about dispensing a product, like selling used Chevys.
I'm not anentertainer; I'm a lot closer to a
paramedic, a firefighter, a rescueworker. You're here to become a sort of
therapist for the human soul, aspiritual version of a chiropractor,
physical therapist, someone who workswith our insides to see if they get things
to line up, to see if we cancome into harmony with ourselves and be
healthy and happy and well. Frankly, ladies and gentlemen, I expect you
not only to master music; Iexpect you to save the planet. If there is a
future wave of wellness onthis planet, of harmony, of peace, of an end
to war, of mutualunderstanding, of equality, of fairness, I
don't expect it will come from agovernment, a military force or a
corporation. I no longer even expect it
tocome from the
religions of the world, which together seem to have brought
usas much war as
they have peace. If there is a future of peace for
humankind,if there
is to be an understanding of how these invisible, internal
thingsshould fit
together, I expect it will come from the artists, because
that'swhat we
do. As in the concentration camp and the evening of 9/11,
theartists are the
ones who might be able to help us with our

24 09 2009

L Magazine vs SUNN O)))

sonic brain sauna

I arrived in time to see Earth and Sunn O))). I am a long-time follower of both acts, and am perhaps biased in my fanatical review:

With a venue as grand as the Brooklyn Masonic Temple's massive hall, and an 8-foot-tall wall of fully restored vintage Sunn amps, there was no way I could have prepared myself for the sonic brain sauna that was last night.

Unlike any music venue in NYC, the Temple has absolutely no sound restrictions on its performers. That means that a band that has spent its entire career attempting to reach the lowest possible sonic limits at maximum volumes could finally reach its full live potential.

Earth soothed the audience with rich and clean guitar drones, the entire band slowly trudging through each measure and occasionally fooling the audience into thinking a song was over, when in fact it just took THAT LONG to reach the next bar. The overall effect was that of being lulled off to some ominous desert at dusk, the horizon disappearing into starry night as guitars echoed through the endless landscape.

Sunn O))) was next. Notorious for testing their audience's patience, the band played an elaborate trick on us. I was sitting smack dab in the center of the balcony, with a full view of the enormous hall. The stage lights dimmed and a recording of tibetan throat chants and percussion played over the house speakers. Dense fog emerged from the base of the un-peopled stage slowly, and over the course of 15 minutes, the entire hall was transformed from an already muggy dark room to a smoke filled sauna. In all honesty, all was rendered invisible and I could not see past two people to either side of me.

As the stage was hidden by fog, it took a moment to realize that the tape of the chanting faded out into an identical live rendition of the tibetan throat singing, provided by long-time Sunn collaborator, Attila Csihar, and seat-rumbling percussion and cymbals. The effect was a little too eerie for some, and a third of the balcony and floor dwellers left the venue before Sunn began their actual set.

Nothing can describe the physical sensation caused by the first rip of Sunn's guitars. The soaring feedback and barreling drop-B drones sent tremors through my entire body. For a moment, I was convinced that I was having a seizure and that I needed medical attention. After a good fifteen minutes of this, the guitars fell almost silent. Attila's draconian voice emerged from the silence, intoning an ancient riddle from Agartha (the opening track to Sunn's recent release, "Monoliths & Dimensions"). Green and Blue beams of light illuminated the fog as it shifted and casted swirling forms into the air above the crowd. This was not a concert. It was a full-on sensory incantation.

My reptile brain took over shortly after this point, so I'm afraid I cant very well recall what happened for the remainder of the show, but I ensure you:

Whether it be electronic current or plain-out sorcery, SunnO))) have succeeded in giving their audience a complete religious experience.

-Zev David Deans

24 09 2009

Limewire vs SUNN O)))


Sunn O))) at Brooklyn Masonic Temple, NYC 9/22/09

Countless shows spent standing around tables piled with miscellaneous electronics and pedals while some bearded dude bobs over them making disjointed noise has made me leary of seeing any band with even a tangential connection to anything that might be considered “experimental.” Sorry, but I have a short attention span and listen to punk rock, so if your performance isn’t trying, at least a little bit, to keep me interested, I won’t be. This made me nervous to see Sunn O))), an experimental drone metal band who put out one of my favorite albums of the year, the aptly titled Monoliths & Dimensions. Sunn O)))’s music (the O))) is silent) play dense and heavy guitar riffs at a glacial pace, and their live shows are known for dense room-filling fog, towering amps, mysterious cloaked figures, and unbearable volume. To me, the uninitiated, sounds interesting, but not especially exciting.

Sunn O)))’s headlining set at the Brooklyn Masonic Temple last night (could there be a more appropriate venue?), completely lived up to the band’s reputation, and yet they amounted to so much more than that. Before Sunn O))) took the stage, Mongolian chants emanated from the PA and smoke machines slowly filled the hot room with a dense atmosphere. I joked with my companion that the band wouldn’t start to play until the massive space was completely full, but by the time Sunn O))) took the stage 20 minutes had passed and fog had rendered half the crowd invisible.

Stephen O’Malley and Greg Anderson, the core of Sunn O))), eventually emerged, taking their places in front of a literal wall of amps, and began to fill the room with riffs as dense as the smoke emanating from their machines. Soon legendary death metal vocalist Attila Csihar appeared, dressed in a dark robe to match his accompanists, and Sunn O))) delved into “Agartha,” the first song on Monoliths. While band proceeded to lumber through the rest of the album, with O’Malley and Anderson laying down expert sonic assault, Csihar rose as the real star of the show. His vocal range, from banshee whale to demonic bellow, was unbelievable, and his costume changes, the first to a mirror-covered armadillo-like suit with laser pointer fingers and then to some kind of bondage tree-being, were a source of sustained awe.

The other star of the show was, of course, volume. Loudest show of my life. No question. Not only were my bones shaking and my gut totally busted, but I felt my clothes ripple and my nostrils flare. Seriously. If it weren’t for ear plugs I probably wouldn’t be able to hear the clacking of my own keyboard right now. This, though, isn’t novelty, or a badge of honor that reads, “I experienced Sunn O))) and lived to hear another day.” As any musician will attest, playing music is a physical experience, by which I don’t mean tactile sensation, or the action of playing, but the feeling of playing. Great music comes from the body, the instrument merely a medium for that expression, and the source of the most engaging of live performances. Sunn O))), with their amps turned up way past 666, offer this elusive sensation to their audience, in a real physical form: stomach rumbling, ribs rattling, and face melting. For a band that seemingly does so little on stage, Sunn O))) managed to play one of the best shows I’ve seen all year; totally not boring.

from blog.limewire.com

24 09 2009

Village Voice vs SUNN O)))


Live: SunnO))) and Earth Smoke Out at the Masons at Brooklyn Masonic Temple
By Christopher Weingarten
Wednesday, Sep. 23 2009 @ 12:30PM
SunnO))), Earth, Pelican, Eagle Twin, Brooklyn Masonic Temple, September 22

"Thanks to the Masons for letting us use their building" - Dylan Carlson, Earth

You should know the deal for these Southern Lord shows by now: oppressively loud doom metal riffs, guys in robes, limited edition posters, tote bags, slip mats, 180 gram vinyl, smoke machines, Mongolian throat singing as between-band music, seven amp stacks, a mile-long guest list (I spotted Matthew Barney and Yoko Ono). So the real novelty this time out is the Brooklyn Masonic Temple, billed by the promoters as "the loudest room in New York." The Temple is already a mystical place before you add the five hours of sitting in a rickety seat and the windowless hotbox effect of a steamy crowd. The balcony vibrates when, like, Jose Gonzalez plays in there. So how would wave after wave of suffocating doom feel? Here's a quick rundown:
Eagle Twin: A gentle seat-rumble--not unlike like sitting on a vibrator--which occasionally moves up to your cheekbones.

Pelican: A dull throb that starts in the armrest and penetrates your hands. It's a physical relief when they finish, like stepping out of a bumpy cab ride.

Earth: A gentle, fingertip-light wave. Some physical revulsion for especially icky guitar feedback. 

SunnO))): A motorcycle-ride vibration that starts at the base of the spine and climbs toward to the head, where it slowly evolves into a headache. Some mildly enjoyable but ultimately unpleasant tickling. Annoying twitch in nose and ear canal, even with earplugs. Dull drone after returning home, even after using proper hearing protection.

The echo chamber that is the Masonic Temple did wonders for slow, hypnotic doom riffs, but didn't exactly do drummers any favors. Eagle Twin's spasmodic Tyler Smith made an impressive show of whacking like a caveman, raising his sticks as high as possible before kicking his kit's ass. But he couldn't outplay the enormous amps of frontman Gentry Densley, who certainly looked like he was playing in a rock band, though he mostly stuck to coaxing unholy slime and inhuman drones from his guitar. Truly monumental sound from just two dudes: Think Big Business minus anything cute or fun.

Pelican returned from the shadow of their gloomy City Of Echoes somewhat happier and--dare I say--funkier? Their set--heavy on grooves and drones--certainly earned the gentle headbanging and booming applause it received, though crowd didn't exactly cut loose during the two mosh-ready avian openers. They clearly wanted something more meditative.

From the second Earth hit the stage to do their Neurosis Dude Ranch prairie metal, a giant weed cloud wafted from the floor. Slow, deliberate drummer Adrienne Davies telegraphed every punch as the whole band slowly lurched on. Someone shouted out "Let's kick it up a notch," to which Carlson replied, "You're at the wrong show." The crowd was pumped anyway. They cheered lustily for an as-yet-untitled new song, and hooted as the band broke down their gear. Dudes had to leave before midnight to make room for the two-hour SunnO))) marathon--an endurance test for even the most loyal fans.

SunnO))) brought nothing if not drama, spending the first 20 minutes of their set offstage, filling the entire room with a comically dense, mucky screen of burnt-hair-smelling smoke. For the next two hours there would be essentially nothing to watch--Were they even on stage? Are they in robes or just rocking their pajamas? People happily took pictures of a cloud anyway. 

When the band finally emerged (I assume) from the 20-minute smokescreen of ambience, they unleashed a guitar woosh loud enough to crack the foundation. At forty minutes in, a vague figure emerged--Mayhem's Atilla Csihar. He opened with a version of Monoliths And Dimensions's "Agartha," a fantastic Vincent Price-style tale about being lost at sea, punctuating it with a growling solo and some concussive throat-booms. After a quick costume change, Csihar emerged again in a mirror ball suit--somewhere between Voltron, Gwar, the Donnie Darko bunny, and Duchamp's Nude Descending A Staircase. With laser-pointer claws. A set-ending third costume took the form of a big armless potato bug. Joke all you want, but SunnO)))'s intense stage presence and attention to detail are paying off. This is the fourth SunnO))) show I've seen in New York and the first where more than half the audience actually made it to the end. At 2 a.m. on a work night, no less.

photo by that.turtle

24 09 2009

SUNN O))) vs Brooklyn Masonic Temple






Photos: Greg Cristman www.gregCphotography.com

24 09 2009

New York Times vs SUNN O)))


September 24, 2009
Music Review | Sunn O)))
Two Bands, a Million Decibels

The music of Sunn O))), despite the band’s typographical karate, despite its ability to seduce a large crowd into attending late-night shows of megaloud compositions with static guitar tones and Hungarian battle cries, despite its wall of mystery, is not higher math. It’s pre-math. It’s sniffing the air to get a weather forecast, watching the moon and tide to track your birthday. It’s banging rocks together and chanting, but with an expert knowledge of high volume. It is rare to see an important band alongside one that directly inspired it, but this was what happened on Tuesday at the Masonic Temple in Brooklyn, at an experimental metal show presented by the Blackened Music Series, with Sunn O))), pronounced sun, and Earth, pronounced earth. Two other bands were on the bill — the instrumental quartet Pelican and the duo Eagle Twin — but the real story was the final pairing, two groups with roots in Seattle who enoble the drone.

Earth, the older of the two, has refined itself over almost 20 years. Formed by Dylan Carlson, still its leader, it once favored aggression and chord changes that felt like rock, even at a ritual crawl and without singing. But recently its music sounds more like a film background, with a scent of Miles Davis’s “In a Silent Way.” On Tuesday Mr. Carlson played a Fender Stratocaster with a clean tone; Adrienne Davies played drums, applying each slow beat carefully; Don McGreevy’s bass notes, reverberating in the hall, massaged the soles of your feet; and Steve Moore warmed up the chords with electric piano. Earth doesn’t really do peaks and valleys; it makes its case without a fuss and leaves you wanting more.

By contrast Sunn O)))’s kind of mystery, practiced since the late 1990s, can be suffocating. It started its show, as usual, with a 20-minute censing of dry ice and the recorded chants of Gyuto monks. Then the band started its march of long, long notes, played by guitar and bass and a little bit of keyboard. The members played through the pieces in unison, without a drummer, so slowly and loudly that small discrepancies of timing produced dissonances that worked like sonar drills on your guts.

With two musicians at its core — Stephen O’Malley and Greg Anderson — the band has rotating others in studio and onstage; its current tour includes Mr. Moore, of Earth, on keyboards and trombone, and the Hungarian singer Attila Csihar, once of the black-metal band Mayhem. To a crowd twice the size of any it has had in New York (sold out, at 1,100), Sunn O))) performed three-quarters of its new album, “Monoliths & Dimensions” (Southern Lord). The music was mostly unbroken, with some improvisations along the way, and finally too much of Mr. Csihar’s singing, mostly in Hungarian.

It’s music that creates an environment, and makes you want to walk around in it. Having tested different pockets of sound around the hall, I left the building, to hear how the loudest band I’ve ever heard sounded out on Lafayette Avenue. I’m glad I did: this music needs open air. I listened to Mr. Moore’s trombone solo, long tones over guitar harmonics, through a side-door. But then the door closed and the music downshifted back into the ritual low notes. A security guard said something great as I re-entered, and suddenly I felt I was in another show: Mr. Csihar’s.

First he wore a sort of Statue of Liberty crown, then a costume made of burlap and tree branches; he gestured slowly as he sang, and every time the music came to a perfect ending, he restarted it with a horror-house scream and more chanting.

What the security guard had said was: “That’s how rock started, man. Brommmm.”

photo: Katie Orlinsky for The New York Times

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