When I first walked into the office I inherited from the last music editor here at City Pages, I wanted to weep. The room was infested. Compact discs were everywhere—crammed into U.S. Mail bins, lined up on racks of flimsy shelves that seeded plastic jewel cases onto the floor when bumped even gently, and hidden in still-sealed envelopes and cushioned mailers. On the desk that would soon be mine, the CDs were stacked in shiny piles—piles which might have been random, or may have been a loose form of catalog; who could tell? My duty was clear: to open, listen to, evaluate, and archive these precious bits of musical history. I took a deep, restorative breath, removed my overcoat, placed my Music Editor's tiara on my... More >>>