Essays, investigation and opinion on today’s cultural landscape
In his first diary for the Quietus, John Moore had a nasty accident with a pair of scissors and a shredder. Ever the artist, he didn't let this stop him making some fingerbob bongo. Pictures may appear work unsafe...
Former thirsty absinthe importer, Mary Chain drummer, Black Box Recorder guitarist and debonair man of letters Mr John Moore starts a new diary for the Quietus. In Part One, an altercation with a shredder leaves him rueing the fact that, all too often, the first cut is the deepest
"Grand" Mof Gimmers gives it to us straight - whitey is just too damn afraid of Lady Gaga... and would rather take refuge in fucked old codgers Reed, Osterberg Jr and Jones... but isn't that missing the fucking point?!
Reflecting at length upon his intimate relationship with British music from his office in Nashville, Tennessee, the alt-country veteran at the heart of Lambchop discusses freedom, interpretation and the lasting effect on him of 1970s Sheffield with Luke Cartledge