Morning. September 2004. I drove past the Planned Parenthood protestors and a dozen "right to life" signs proceeding down the driveway. Routine exam, I thought. Within an hour, I was hospitalized w  

Plan: Meet Sohio at The Comet. Scratch that. The Sidewinder Café. Even after settling down in the private section, this already sidetracked interview gets worse. Like using tweezers to yank o  

First, words on sound. Singer Sara Yaste says, "Punkadelic Psych Rock. We invented our own genre." She's petite with elfin features, but her presence is slightly tough. Oddly cool, but approac  

At my family gatherings, we each drive separately, even when coming from the same house. We park cars in a haphazard, machine maze. Vehicles overflow driveways, spilling into the street. The offic  

Ah, monkey bars, slides, skinned knees and the good ol' days of superficial, playground wounds. Grandma's antiseptic, Mercurochrome, to the rescue. All better. Except the substance might cause m  

Come into the Batcave. When the door cracks open, momentarily, visitors go blind. Squint, then widen the eyes, nocturnally adjusting. Colored lights web-cover the ceiling and walls. Stimulation i  

The location of the "philosopher's stone" remains unknown. Legend says that it can transform metals into gold, cure illnesses and create enlightenment. Reminds me of post-college -- Vancouver,   

Ah, Northside Tavern. The space, the music frontier. We hook up here, in the land of everybody knows somebody. One by one, artists slip inside. No walking. Slipping. The atmosphere: coolness, wann  

Singer Tim Anderson snakes down a windy road, leading the way to Spindle's practice space. Crawling up a gravel drive, we reach a curious red barn atop a rolling hill. The backdrop could be a lan  

A fan's retrospective of The year 1990 went like this: I got laid, got pierced, smoked, drank, skipped, protested term papers and fell to my knees, having a nervous breakdown in the high school h