The DBrief

Five days before September 11, 2001, I was interviewing James Taylor at his home in western Massachusetts and asked him what it was like to still perform “Fire and Rain.” At that point, his signature tune, inspired by the death of a friend and his own recovery issues at the time, was just over 30 years old, and he’d sung it at a large portion of his shows since then. “How do you do it for the 1000th time?” he mulled, seated in the backyard of his home, the Berkshires spread out in the distance.

Billie Holiday may be the singer most associated with “Strange Fruit.” But with the passing this week of Cassandra Wilson, let’s not forget Wilson’s role in reviving and reinventing one of pop music’s most startling and polarizing protest songs. On Wednesday, the sad news emerged that Wilson, one of the finest jazz-rooted singers of our time, had died at age 70. Calling Wilson a jazz singer was never quite right, actually.

The end of the summer of the sesquicentennial had arrived. The celebrations of the country’s 250th birthday were winding down. Memories of the aborted Vanilla Ice performance on the National Mall were fading like a week-old suntan. Yet there remained one pressing matter to resolve. After two and a half centuries, which song best captured the spirit, grandeur and promise of the country? What is the best and most enduring song about America? Last Friday night, I set out to answer those questions.

Ten years ago, Rolling Stone began working on a special section on touring musicians. In my role as a contributing editor, I had the good fortune of being assigned a piece on Dolly Parton and her legendary, Dollyized bus. I looked forward to speaking with her about it. Who wouldn’t? I’d logged hours on tour-bus drives for articles on Coldplay, the Black Crowes and other bands. But you just knew Parton’s would be far more lux and stylish. Enquiring minds really did want to know.

“Growing up, it all seems so one-sided,” once sang Rush's Geddy Lee. “Opinions all provided, the future pre-decided.” In that song, “Subdivisions,” Lee was addressing stultifying Canadian suburbs. But the same sentiments could apply to his genre. After decades of one-sided opinions, is there a future for prog? I’ve never been much of a Rush fan—I’ll elaborate a little further down—but part of me is glad the band is being feted and celebrated anew on their first tour without the late Neil Peart.

Thirty years ago this summer, Kiss rolled into Cleveland to play the Gund Arena. The show was part of their 1996 reunion tour, with its four founding members—Paul Stanley, Gene Simmons, Ace Frehley and Peter Criss—together again and back in their kabuki-rock makeup. I remember this piece of trivia for a reason: I was there, working as a roadie on one of the most anticipated and highest-grossing tours of that year. And, yes, I saw some things.