By Jake Rossen
By Jesse Marx
By Michelle LeBow
By Alleen Brown
By Maggie LaMaack
By CP Staff
By Jesse Marx
Finally, the fight comes to an end with Long Nguyen giving J.R. a three-minute sleeper hold. But the unwieldy celebration continues the next night. J.R., Ed, Long, and Thai have just finished DJing at the Foxfire Coffee Lounge, and the gang, about 14 strong, winds up at the Riverside Avenue Perkins. They ask their waiter to indulge them with a mountain of straws, which he provides, and J.R. and Jeff set about fashioning a five-foot-long überstraw. J.R. attempts--and fails--to drink water out of a glass placed two tables away, and when that grows tiresome, his wandering eye falls on the glass of a Werker who has made the mistake of leaving his drink unattended. Grinning, he pours an array of condiments into his friend's beverage, and, with reserved glee, remarks, as much to himself as any possible spectator: "Think about it. We throw $20,000 parties."
Michaelangelo Matos, March 3, 1999
Do rock "critics" dance? I mean, can you imagine Dave Marsh hip-hopping to that 2 Live Crew record he wrote had good beats? Have you seen Jon Bream shaking a leg at a Prince show? And that guy on MTV--Kurt Loder--can you imagine him with hips?
I worry about these things, because popular music and dancing runs deep and wide. And how can you say you've experienced, say, Public Enemy, if you didn't stop gawking--even for a moment--and start translating beats to feets?
Terri Sutton, September 5, 1990
What was it about this man in the casket that signified so much to so many? I take a last look. Laid out with his ukulele on his belly, a stuffed white Easter Bunny at his side, a children's rosary book in his hand, and a smiley-face tie around his neck, Tiny Tim looks smaller and somewhat more dapper than he did in real life; his final makeup job, in truth, is more flattering than his usual pancake....
[L]ike many kindred obsessives--most of them shut-ins and misfits of one type of another--he was a walking encyclopedia of certain periods in American pop-music history. But it wasn't his knowledge of Rudy Vallee that stunned folks at Lee's Liquor Lounge in September. It was his ability to step out of a black stretch limo with a paper shopping bag, waddle into a working-class bar, and sing and play ukulele off-key for the better part of an hour--and make it seem like so much royalty--that drove people crazy.
Will Hermes, December 11, 1996