Letter from the Editor:
“Jann Wenner, founder and publisher of Rolling Stone Magazine called me a silly groupie on national television…I’ve arrived!”—Krystal Simpson
I should have been born in the early 50’s so I could have been part of the youth of the late 60’s. I should have had a house in Laurel Canyon or been a G.T.O. I should have run away to Haight Ashbury or Greenwich Village, and slept once or twice in the Continental “Riot” House—and then trashed it. Even better, I should have been part of the upsurge of 60’s chick like Anita Pallenberg, Edie Sedgwick, or Jane Birkin. And I should have painted the Andy Warhol factory. But instead, I was born in 1982, too late for Monterey Pop, or even Live Aid—not to late, however, to live Almost Famous.
Those are the reasons I so selfishly themed this issue Pop Culture—something that could mean just about anything, but to me it represents all the things I missed out on. This issue goes out to all the others who have as much Fear and Loathing as I do— who write for the same selfish and neurotic reasons as I do, the same folks who have been knocked so many times there are splinters left all over the world—or all over internet blog spots. People who wish the world were a little less washed out corporate, and a little more backstage rock and roll—where a right-minded person could never imagine a concert ticket worth four hundred dollars, the same way I could never imagine myself appearing on a television show, or an advertisement for Ford Motors—but it still happened.
Now its 2007, and Pop Culture is lacking culture, and missing the pop, and I'm still foolish enough to be honest; I’ll never be one of those anonymous commentators who hide behind the safety of their computer screens criticizing people who actually have the nerve, and the strength to actually stick their necks out there and live their lives, whether it’s televised or not. No matter how old you get, know that you’ll always be in high school. I learned those naysayers have no direction in their lives other than the point in their noses.
Now Kate Moss is the heir to Anita Pallenberg, and you don’t buy records anymore, you download them. Everything you see on TV and read in magazines is an illusion—just like me. I've bridged the gap between William Miller and Penny Lane, but know this: I refuse to be called a groupie. For god’s sake, I'm a band-aid. No matter what you think you’ve seen on TV, I'm here for the music. Like Freddie Mercury once said, “Fuck them darling, if they just don’t get it.”