WOODY GUTHRIE. BOB Dylan. Bruce Springsteen. John Cougar Mellencamp. Jon Bon Jovi. Which one of these names does not belong? Or two? Or three? Note the snot-clotted Okie twang passed from one generation to the next; the fancy lyrics wrapped in a prole vernacular; the particular way of wearing a white undershirt. Call it imitation or call it incest. Or imagine instead a coven of grubby A&R execs hunched over claw-footed bathtubs, molding new generations of golems out of ever-more-dilute material. Just circle the name(s) with a #2 pencil, rip this paragraph from the paper, and send it to the president of Polygram records, or the president of the United States, or anyone else who feels your pain, or feels you up--or manages to feel anything at all about the sad majesty of the aging Caucasian rock star at the twilight of our... More >>>