literature
Beat's music literature from the New York Times or the recesses of online. Our favorite stories showcase musicians.
Ice Riverville and Jack
I held Holly's hand as we waited outside the hotel for Jack and Sarah I was nervous I looked down at Holly she was excited she loved the zoo as she loved animals Marie had been happy for me to take Holly with me as she knew it would help me be more comfortable with going out with Jack and Marie was even more happy to have some alone time with Trevor for the first time in quite a long time Marie and Trevor didn't like to go out and leave Holly as they adored her, I saw Jack and Sarah approaching and I started to feel sick was this mistake.
By Jessica Howard4 years ago in Beat
My Boy Builds Coffins
My son is a carpenter like his father before him. Every day he rises with the sun, a hammer clenched in his fist and nails stuck between his teeth. Woodcraft is his passion, the grime of dust another layer of skin. Splinters and nicks cover his fingers, but they don’t bother him. He’s used to the pain. His workshop is small but filled with the tools of his trade. Hand planes and chisels line the walls, vises and clamps are strewn about on his workbench. He knows each of them personally, an extension of his own body. Part of his very soul.
By Rebecca Loomis 4 years ago in Beat
Damn You, Dave Grohl, You Made Me Cry
To say I wasn't always as impressed with the man's work as I am today would be an understatement. It was around 1996 and my big sister was going through her angsty Nirvana phase. Wearing flannel, a pair of Levi's 501s and a bomber jacket, her hair with that poor girl's Billie Eilish look, black with blue roots, that comes from the dangerous combination of teenagers and box dye. Nirvana's Nevermind playing every day, at ear-shattering volume. Her room, always with the windows covered with black curtains, with a huge poster of her idol, Kurt Cobain.
By Taru Anniina Liikanen4 years ago in Beat
HOME
Departure Trouble back home demanded change. So, like a leaf blown from its tree too early I left home on a gloomy morning. I can still remember my crying grandma waving me off, understanding the situation a lot better than me. She weeps on departure every time, and I dread the moment she’s not there to cry for me, just like the old dog that’s not there anymore to greet me in frenzied excitement, hump my leg and lay down next to me when I stumble home drunk.
By Viktor Hadzhiyski4 years ago in Beat
DAVID BOWIE
He was awarded 10 platinum album certifications. 11 gold and 8 silver in the U.K. He released 11 number-one albums. He was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1996. He has been placed among the 100 Greatest Artists of All Time and was called the “Greatest Rock Star Ever” following his death in 2016. He was David Bowie!
By Ruth Elizabeth Stiff5 years ago in Beat
Soundtrack To My (So-Called) 90's Life
At 16, I scoured the pages of my dELiA's catalogue desperately seeking something unique to call my own. Constructing myself like a magazine collage, I carefully procured each aspect of who I wanted to be. I hoped that in my small town of 10,000 people, the end result was individuality without seeming eccentric.
By Christina Hunter5 years ago in Beat
Dreaming in Blue
He eyed the other teenagers gathered outside the record shop, playfully pushing one another and laughing periodically at little jabs from the louder mouths. Had he gone to school he’d probably share a classroom with them, and he stood daydreaming of another life in their company while he waited impatiently, shifting his weight between feet, for his wristwatch to hit 9:04am.
By Jane Lynch5 years ago in Beat
Home Ain't No Place
I only had a few dozen interviews under my belt when I got the call that Smokin’ Bo Waites was willing to let me do a feature on him-- his first interview in over forty years. He was a fiercely private man and didn’t care at all for the media circus side of the music business. But when I reached out to his manager, I explained that I wasn’t just another young gunner, looking to break through by getting his name attached to my CV. I had been a disciple of his music since I was fourteen. The first time I ever heard one of his songs, it pierced me to my core and brought me to tears. He was more than just a blues legend to me; he was a religious figure, a mystic, a saint, who had led me through some of the darkest times in my life. I’d like to think that something I said must have convinced him, but in reality, Bo probably just decided the time was right to share his story.
By A. L. Hamilton5 years ago in Beat





