I find Bon Iver's records eminently listenable. But I also find they lack some unnameable quantity of soul.

Five years ago was a crazy time. Lots of artists I knew on the cusp of this and that. Below is one of the boys, below that ma' boy, and farther down still is the boy -- all of them in photos from half a decade ago, long before anyone cared.

I have a soft spot in my heart for Los Angeles Times emeritus pop critic Robert Hilburn. Back when I spent more time writing about music than enabling its makers to make a career at it, Bob was kind enough to invite me to the newspaper's dining hall for a pep talk.

Tickets went on sale last week for The New Yorker festival, the annual roundelay of uber-cultured readings, panels, concerts & events which -- much like The New Yorker itself -- are perhaps a bit too self-consciously about Culture with a capital C rather than about the culture (lower case c) that they are presenting.