This article originally appeared in the March 2002 issue of SPIN. Alanis Morissette is at one with the universe. Thank you, Canada. She wrote her new album, Under Rug Swept, in her native land on electric guitar in addition to her usual piano, and it’s a welcome return to pop after 1998’s murky, PMS-ing Supposed Former Infatuation Junkie. Apparently, the rock gods have been smiling on the 27-year-old alt-pop queen. In the past year, Morissette worked out differences with her label, Madonna’s Maverick; performed at a slew of charity concerts (pro-choice, clean energy, etc.); overhauled her personal life; and toured the Middle East. She even did a Gap ad. But, we’re happy to report, she still says fuck a lot. SPIN: This record is much catchier than your last. Sonically, it’s closer to 1995’s...
This article originally appeared in the May 2000 issue of SPIN. Slipknot have a motto: People = Shit. It’s a straightforward enough sentiment, but sometimes Iowa’s most famous metal nonet like to reinforce the theory with visual aids. “Shawn [Crahan, percussionist] decided to take a shit onstage in Virginia Beach last night,” drummer Joey Jordison says. “I’m the only one down with that, so he threw a turd at me. When I went to take a shower, I had this big shit smeared on my sock.” Jordison (a.k.a. #1), is loudly discussing feces as he and bandmates Crahan (a.k.a. #6), vocalist Corey Taylor (a.k.a. #8), and bassist Paul Gray (a.k.a. #2) stroll through the National Museum of Natural History in Washington. D.C., where they are scheduled to play a show tonight. Not surprisingly, the guys are ...
It’s difficult to underestimate how deeply and completely the iPod revolutionized music listening. Introduced in 2001, the pocket-sized device escorted music consumers out of the CD era and into the gleaming digital age. (“I don’t know who your product’s designers are,” Moby said in a 2001 promotional video from Apple, “but boy, you’re not paying them enough.”) Explore See latest videos, charts and news See latest videos, charts and news Of course, iPod commercials quickly became as iconic as the products they sold. Launched in 2003, the classic iPod ad campaign featured silhouettes of people dancing like mad in front of brightly colored backgrounds, with the iPod and its headphones in stark white contrast. These clips are deeply embedded in the memories of most anyone who watched televisi...
This article was originally published in the May 2006 issue of SPIN. Two years ago, Red Hot Chili Peppers went to Europe to play in front of the largest crowds of their 20-plus-year career. After surviving numerous personnel changes, drug problems, erratic recordings, relationship dramas, and assorted crises that have broken up countless bands, the Peppers have released back-to-back multiplatinum albums–1999’s Californication and 2002’s By the Way. Against all odds, they had reached genuine superstar status and this jaunt saw them headlining three nights at London’s massive Hyde Park. But for Flea–from day one, the bass-playing yin to singer Anthony Kiedis’ yang–these looked like the last shows he would ever perform with the group. “To tell you the truth, I really didn’t think I’d be ...
Not to be too much of a kiss-ass brown-noser — God, those two phrases, especially when paired, reveal themselves to be rather vulgar — but I have really loved writing for SPIN. In life, I like to go on adventures and see what happens. If I can do this and combine it with journalism, then my work life and my life happily cross paths. Essentially, I get paid for being an idiot and reporting on it! This, naturally, is in opposition to just being an idiot and not getting paid, which is what usually happens. Anyway, a few years ago, SPIN sent me to a goth music festival in Illinois. At the time, I knew nothing of goth music or the people who like it. One of my early literary heroes was Hunter S. Thompson, and so I always like to thrust myself into the story I’m covering. This gives me an excuse...
This article originally appeared in the August 2005 issue of SPIN. In honor of the Foo Fighters headlining Lollapalooza again tonight, we’re republishing this article. The road to Studio 606, the new multimillion-dollar Foo Fighters headquarters, isn’t paved with gold. Rather, it’s paved with common asphalt, marred by rush-hour traffic, and dotted with all the symbols of suburban sprawl: take-out chicken joints, chain drug stores, a drive-thru Starbucks. On the heels of the band’s 2002 back-from-the-brink-of-breakup album, One by One (like all Foo releases, certified platinum), singer/guitarist Dave Grohl could’ve set down roots anywhere. After all, Foo Fighters are that rarest of breeds—a remarkably consistent, long-lasting rock band—and their global success, not to mention Grohl’s n...
This article originally appeared in the June 2002 issue of SPIN. It is the end of one of the world’s grandest athletic events. Seventy-eight nations have sent their best to this wintry city, and now just two champions remain, facing each other at last. The hours of practice and the years of work all come down to this one final moment. Bon Jovi vs. Moby. Tonight’s closing ceremony for the 2002 Olympic Winter Games is the sort of all-star, triple-axel extravaganza that makes Super Bowl halftime seem austere. Already here at Salt Lake City’s Rice-Eccles stadium, a fire-flanked Kiss have rocked (on ice!) with former Olympic figure skaters Katarina Witt and Kristi Yamaguchi; Harry Connick Jr. has sung for skating legend Dorothy Hamill; and Earth Wind & Fire have jammed with what appeared to...
This article originally appeared in the March 2000 issue of SPIN. In light of DMX’s death, we’re republishing it here. It’s nearly midnight, and Manhattan’s Hit Factory recording studio is teeming with nervous life as DMX races to complete …And Then There Was X, which his label wants in just three weeks. The environment is not exactly conducive to getting anything done: DMX’s wife, sister-in-law, various producers, and manager/uncle stalk about the studio’s windowless maze of rooms, while ruffnecks in identical skullys, boots, and puffed-out jackets stand guard at every door, enshrouded in blunt smoke so thick they can barely see two feet in front of them. At the eye of this hazy hurricane is Dark Man X himself, who’s slumped motionless at the monolithic control board, his face stubbled wi...
This article originally appeared in SPIN in October 2006 It’s just past 2 A.M. some-where outside Detroit, and the tension on Panic! At the Disco’s tour bus would send the most devoted groupie scurrying. “I hate Jon,” ruminative guitarist and co-songwriter Ryan Ross quietly announces, referring to bassist Jon Walker. “I’ve never felt it this much.” As if on cue, Walker emerges from the bunk area into the front of the bus, where the rest of the band, plus some crew, are sitting, listening to Ross’ lament. With a mischievous smirk, the newest member deliberately inflames the situation. “I lost a ten-dollar bill in here,” he says, scanning the plush couches and snack-strewn kitchenette. That would be ten of the 1,400 bucks he has just won in C-Lo, a street dice game that the band members play...
This article originally appeared in the February 2006 issue of SPIN Jenny Lewis is concerned that she talks too much. She does not directly say this, and there is no evidence to support her fear. But this is her concern. And I know this because of the manner in which she talks about total strangers, which is always the easiest way to admit things about yourself. “Let me tell you what happened to me on the way over here,” Lewis says. We are sitting in a Lower East Side restaurant called the Pink Pony, but neither of us is eating. I am pretending not to ask whether her mom had a substance abuse problem during Lewis’ childhood, and she is pretending not to care. But she eventually says this: “I was walking over from the Howard Johnson’s, where I like to stay, and there was an older...
This article originally appeared in the July 2006 issue of SPIN There are shoes, all sorts of shoes, lining the far wall of the studio. Many of them have the kind of heels for which only the adjective precarious will do, and some of the more glittery ones look like they’ve come straight from the set of Austin Powers in Goldmember (which, when you consider it, is kind of apt). Then there are the dresses, racks and racks of them, each noteworthy for its brevity (they finish where most dresses begin). An attentive fashion person is running a brush through a wig that the superstar will not need to wear, and somebody else is making haste with a needle and thread through a piece of sheer material that the superstar will don at some later stage. On a table in the middle of the studio sits fi...