When the economy’s bad, crime get worse. That’s why I decided to hire a new lawman to clean up this one-horse-because-of-all-the-horse-thieves town.
I know what you’re thinking: “It’s called Bootleg City. If you outlaw the outlaws and start doing everything by the book, aren’t you defeating the purpose of the place? Isn’t there some sort of town charter you’d be violating? Seriously, Mr. Mayor, how stupid can you be?” The thing is, I agree with you. (Well, except for that rude rhetorical question you tacked onto the end of your thought. That seemed unnecessary.) After all, the welcome sign at the edge of town says the following: BOOTLEG CITY — A PLACE FOR BOOTLEGGERS AND SCOUNDRELS AND EVEN RAPISTS, AS LONG AS IT’S JUST THE VIKING KIND OF RAPE WHERE YOU WANTONLY DESTROY THE LAND, BUT BE A DEAR AND JUST DESTROY THE POOR SIDE OF TOWN, OKAY? WE’VE BEEN MEANING TO LAY WASTE TO THAT EYESORE FOR YEARS NOW. THANKS, AND ENJOY YOUR STAY!
Even so, crime is out of control here, so I’ve started interviewing candidates for the job of police chief (and judge, jury, and executioner if they have a talent for multitasking). Unfortunately, due to a nearsighted oversight on my part, I misread the caption on one particular photograph attached to a candidate’s resumé and ended up scheduling an interview with a guy named Marshall Crenshaw. See, I didn’t notice that second L at the end of his first name — it turns out he’s a musician, not the former marshal of Jaggedland. The imagined typo didn’t come up for the first 20 minutes of the interview, though, so I sat there wondering how this bespectacled Columbo-type character was going to strike fear into the hearts of criminals, and he was wondering why he had to meet a town’s mayor before playing a club gig.
Eventually we got the whole thing sorted out and had a few laughs about it. He told me I was his new favorite waste of time, so I told him rape was my favorite waste of time but go-nowhere interviews were a close second. At that point he started looking for the door and said he had to get to the hotel and take a shower before his show.
Musicians are so hard to read. Maybe I just need new glasses.

“But Mayor Cass,” the children always ask, “where did people go when they wanted to download music for free and write comments underneath the accompanying text that was only tangentially related to said text?”
The Lemonheads’ new album, Varshons (The End Records), kicks off with Gram Parsons’s “I Just Can’t Take It Anymore,” in which the resigned, lovelorn protagonist declares, “Well, we could’ve done a lot / We certainly did not / So I’ll try to do the things I did before.” In his own way,
For someone who can talk your ear off, Syd Straw certainly has built an enigmatic career. After establishing her bona fides as an arty modern-rock diva during the mid-’80s, as part of the Golden Palominos collective, Straw released her solo debut Surprise in 1989 – then didn’t make another album for seven years. Her next break, following 1996’s War and Peace, was even longer: a dozen years, ending with the appearance last year of Pink Velour.
The Golden Palominos, Visions of Excess (1985) and
Blast of Silence followed a year later and featured an utterly different sound from its predecessor; two decades on, it’s remembered as one of the albums that gave birth to the alt-country genre. Fier’s assemblage this time featured Matthew Sweet, Jack Bruce, T-Bone Burnett, Don Dixon, Chris Stamey and many others. Again, however, it was Straw who provided the most resonant contributions, including 