Eleven David Lee Roths

Not online anymore, published by the Onion AV Club in 2012. This is rough, unedited text.

Why loving Diamond Dave in Van Halen is not a crime.

Like so many things about the ‘80s, we didn’t know what we had until it was long gone. Van Halen’s classic lineup held court in American rock arenas from 1978 and reached artistic peak with 1984, an album which blew up the decade’s artificial and indulgent charms to totemic scale. In “Jump,” it expressed a footloose ife-loving exuberance with more bleached coiff swagger than most rockers muster in an entire career. Once at the top of the charts, frontman David Lee Roth dabbled in a cabaret-ready solo act and the rock circus tent collapsed under the weight of the massive egos it supported—regular joe rocker Sammy Hagar was called in to keep the machine rolling.

It was once fashionable to dismiss DLR as a buffoon—I once giggled dismissively when I found my unknown band playing a venue on the same Portland street as DLR’s in 1994—big hair wound around the block. But for my money, one of America’s greatest rock bands was never anything special once DLR had jettisoned. Certainly the most interesting character to emerge from the Sunset Strip scene, DLR can be seen as rock’s quintessential  loudmouth asshole by some (http://www.avclub.com/articles/david-lee-roths-crazy-from-the-heat,37187/). You can’t find an interview with the man that’s not exploding with vitality, humor and almost superhuman ego. But in this day and age, DLR is a welcome change for us from the faux humility of self-important indie rockers. Love him or loathe him, David Lee Roth contains multitudes. Here are a few.

1. The showman. DLR has long seen himself as “a song and dance man,” and he has never settled for simply fulfilling the requirements of the rock aesthetic. Like KISS, the unbridled excess in his art/music is no accident, but the result of studying the greats in ‘60s rock (witness VH’s great Kinks and Roy Orbison covers), Broadway musicals, the American songbook even vaudeville. Roth is fond of telling tales of the likes of Yip Harburg, a millionaire industrialist who lost it all in the Depression only to find a rebirth as an American songwriter—that’s what inspires him. No wonder, Roth’s roots in American pop culture run deep. His uncle Manny ran Café Wha? where everyone from Lenny Bruce to Bob Dylan got their start and Roth caught the showbiz bug.

2. The dancer. Roth takes dancing (and other types of movement, such as martial arts) seriously. Sure, MJ gets all the credit for making the moonwalk a part of the pop R&B musician’s toolbox and the Madonna and a rash of 80s artists brought in choreography via their videos, but Roth—like David Bowie with his mime training—brought art elements to the rock stage without losing the audience and literally kicked our expectations to the ceiling. He cites tapdance legends the Nicholas Brothers as a prime influence—and he hasn’t been shy about copying their magnetic moves over. He’s unabashedly and unashamedly a fan of the art form—check out those Peter Allen dance pants in the “Tattoo” video.

3. The film director. DLR (with Van Halen advisor and manager Peter Angelus) was the visionary behind VH’s visuals, its videos, unique image. When he went solo, his videos (albeit for novelty standards like “Just a Gigolo” and “California Girls”) had a seismic influence on MTV and a kind of broad appeal that cemented Roth as a pop music figure. Those two videos work almost like silent films—wherein the broad, easy-to-read action rolls along like a Charlie Chaplin movie. “Gigolo” even mocks the band performance video format via pots of burning flames and leather get-ups—both were standard at the time.  His weren’t the only videos at the time to use a prelude and postscript around the song but easily among the most popular.  Every time Lady Gaga and Nicki Minaj release a “short film,” you can blame Diamond Dave.

4. The raconteur. Roth goes off the rails in every interview, but interestingly so—he may weave equal parts bullshit and brilliance in his stream of consciousness, but DLR’s outlook and zest for life usually operates with the tap open fully. At this point, we’ve all read hundreds of rock interviews—few interviewees are as far ahead of their interviewers as Roth.

5. The author. Crazy from the Heat (1997) is simply one of the most beloved, most over the top unfiltered rock bios ever. It begins with Diamond Dave waking up after a tryst with a dancer only to find he and his one-night-stand are covered in the legal tender she earned the night before. It’s stream-of-Dave for hundreds of pages.  In one anecdote, he paddles a groupie with a hairbrush at her request. Is this book entirely factual? Dunno. Does Roth’s ever present need to impress make him the  only star in his movie? You bet.

6. The big mouth. DLR’s mid-song ad libs (“Hot for Teacher,” “Panama”) don’t break the tunes, they make the tunes. And on stage Roth, sensing that the Clash were taking themselves a bit seriously, mocked Strummer and Co. from stage at the 1983 US Fest: "I wanna take this time to say that this is real whiskey here … the only people who put iced tea in Jack Daniel's bottles is the Clash, baby!". Van Halen was paid a cool 1.5 million for the gig. While the Clash’s music has certainly stood up, which band was it that soon fired their genius guitarist and let their manager in the band?

7. LA rock’s class clown. Van Halen in the Roth years, followed no leader and threw spitball at the paragons of good taste. Most of the LA hair metal blather that followed is woefully unsophisticated in comparison to the tongue-in-cheek of a Van Halen album. Clumsy double entendres, sleazy outfits, over-the-top testosterone were never handled as cleverly as they were in VH’s, or DLR’s hands.

8. The EMT. Once his career had cooled off, Roth showed the kind of chutzpah that few associate with pro rockers. He updated his certificates and licenses and got to work. Licensed as an EMT in the state of New York, Roth took hundreds of calls as a paramedic in New York City around 2004. 

9. The adventurer. David Lee Roth, a student of Portuguese who claims to be fluent in Spanish as well, tells us that he’s canoed around the island of Moorea, scaled Himalayan peaks, fallen ill in the Amazon, trekked into Papua New Guinea and kayaked around Manhattan. And that’s the tip of the iceberg. Roth may have enjoyed every flavor of rock star excess in production, but his wanderlust didn’t fade.

10. The Midwestern boy made good. Indiana-born Roth (who’s thespian mother was from Chicago) says he grew up “chasing muskrats” in Newcastle, IN. Raised in a Jewish household, he claims got into rock in part to overcome anti-Semitic stereotypes.

11. The rocker. Because Roth’s vision wasn’t exclusive to the Sunset Strip, VH soaked up everything from surf and biker gang culture to Latino music to the stoner scene at Ridgemont High (which counts the Van Halens alumni). From its debut album on up to 1984, it made bold, unsubtle records of lasting influence. In a commercial and artistic sense America’s answer to Led Zeppelin, Van Halen relied less on the blues and folk traditions, but expanded the production dynamics, guitar wizardry and built on the sexual bravado blazed by the Brit rockers. All would have been for naught without Roth’s vocal range and bigger-than-life—the leg kicks were a bonus. That this combination dominated radio for years and inspired a thousand dumb shitty rock bands the world over isn’t his fault. 

Rory Phillips | Interview

One of dance-punk’s key insurgents reveals what he learned from John Peel. By John Dugan Published: January 17, 2013

A decade ago, dance punk was preparing to storm the gates of big clubs and dance charts. In London, on the street level, the revolution was stoked by a wide-ranging, punk-spirited club night called Trash run by Erol Alkan and Rory Phillips. With Phillips headed to Berlin’s Stardust party, it seemed natural to ask him about the era and what he’s gotten into since.

What made Trash different?
It was a special time, fueled by youth and passion—just a collective playing records they loved but didn’t hear in the clubs elsewhere, to a community that got it.

It was a Monday night success story, correct?
I had a day job for the first few years, so I felt the pain of everyone that had to then go to work till Friday. Totally worth it.

We met in Miami at the Winter Music Conference. Do you still go every year?
There was a very exciting time out there back around 2003–4, with bands like LCD Soundsystem playing alongside the new breed of DJs, but we’ve gone back to the bad old days of the superstar DJ. That said, I have started going over the last few years as there’s always a lot of fun to be had. The Fixed party is fantastic every year. You just have to look beyond the headliners and stay on the outside.

Is there anything like Trash in London now?
I’m a resident at Durrr, which was Trash’s successor on Monday nights until our venue closed down. Now we just do big, irregular parties around London as well as my bimonthly disco party, Say Yes. Residents are a dying breed as weekly and even monthly clubs are practically nonexistent now.

You were on the forefront of the dance punk scene. What’s your current passion in terms of DJ sets?
There’s a lot of disco and a lot of music informed by disco, like house, postpunk and the like. It’s different from night to night, I play a wide range of stuff, really. I like to join the dots.

Is it tough to make things like krautrock work in the clubs?
We’ve done a fair bit of that at our Say Yes parties; krautrock is so rhythm-based that it makes sense. I’ve seen Can records destroy a dance floor.

You’re releasing a series of 12" records (Mixed Fortunes). Do you still believe in vinyl as the medium of the DJ?
I don’t deejay with vinyl anymore outside of London, as I grew tired of lugging huge boxes around only to find the club’s turntables were neglected or badly placed. But the cliché is true: Nothing sounds like it at home or in the club. Not so much the warmth, more the thump. I’d say it’s more the medium of the music lover than the DJ.

I know you love John Peel. What about his approach do you keep in mind when deejaying?
If it works it doesn’t matter if it’s at the same tempo. Oh, and when playing vinyl always remember to play songs at the right speed.

Django Django and Night Moves at the Metro | Photos and review

​Posted in Time Out's Audio File blog by John Dugan on Mar 18, 2013 at 11:03am

To mitigate any jealousy I might feel about colleagues and friends hitting Austin to gorge on potential buzz bands, aging Top 40 acts shoring up their cred, cold Lone Stars and tacos from trucks, I usually try to hit one of the "SXSW tours" coming through town in March. U.K. band Django Django is not an unproven act, rather one championed by NME since 2009. It had a very big 2012 with a Mercury Prize–nominated album. But this year, "Default," a 2011 single from the band's debut, has wormed its way onto FM radio in Chicago, a format which might be discounted in this day and age, but usually means commercial viability—thus 2013 is Django's year in Chicago. And yet, the band is far from overexposed in the States, and a SXSW trip was clearly arranged to change that.

At Django Django's way-sold-out early show at the Metro (it played Austin before and after Chicago, which just goes to show how nutty SXSW has become), the band proved it is as unique as it is genius in translating its abstract, distant, '80s-derived sound into something with the freshness of the next wave, not new wave rehashed.

But first, Night Moves, a Minneapolis band with a debut album on Domino Records, took the stage. The band's Colored Emotions is one of my favorite albums of 2013 so far. It recalls the psychedelic side of T. Rex and Syd Barrett, but embeds it in a light funk feel and adds echoplexy guitar jams. Live, it lives up to the promise of the album. Singer John Pelant (who told us he works at a bakery) achieves an effortless organic dynamic on the microphone, he voice rising and falling and following notes in ways that recall the spine-tingling Jeff Buckley. At the same time, the band (playing as a quartet tonight with two guitars) plays a bit rough around the edges; some endings seemed a bit untied. Guest drummer Jared Isabella, however, has the chops of a pro, producing tight and subtly funky beats at mid-tempo or employing mallets to keep the trip soft and cushy. The only real complaint one could have was the shortness and promptness of the set, which was over and done by 9:30.

While Night Moves might have ticked off my classic-rock-vibe boxes, Django Django satisfies my postpunk hunger, even as its contemporary touches (a video wall with noir images, matching shirts) are meant to be of the current moment.

The band might look like a rock band with bass, guitar, banks of analog synths (one of which, a Roland, would fail during "Skies Over Cairo" and be replaced during the set), but it operates much more like a programmed music application like Ableton Live where rhythm and atmosphere create the backbone of the music. Drummer and producer David Maclean (cousin of Beta Band's John Maclean) is obscured by toms and pads, which he plays almost incessantly in engaging, rolling patterns. Singer Vinny Neff and bassist Jimmy Dixon's cryptic, layered vocals are the focus in their tunes—which have a kind of impersonal, almost militaristic delivery over Maclean's precision machinations. 

While the songs might be stripped of emotional histrionics, the band members humanized the experience between songs. Neff took the time to explain that he'd visited Wrigleyville before, and lo and behold, he's actually an Irishman from Derry, not Scottish—a big plus in drunken St. Patrick's weekend Chicago. While not sounding much like them, the band of former Edinburgh art school kids has the mannerisms and haircuts of another trailblazing Scottish indie act, Franz Ferdinand, which was oddly comforting.

The band's recognizable, modern sound shows room for some rock detours. "Firewater" has a westernish bassline and it picks up elements of early rock & roll, echo-drenched Link Wray guitars on "Life's A Beach" and spooky updates on Bo Diddley jams (which the band completes with woodblocks and extra tom-tom thumping).

With only one album to draw on, it was over in a flash of a strobe, but Django Django held up. And there are few bands out there with such an unusual, almost progressive, sound that can also compete on the big-money airwaves. The band's fervent following is clear evidence that slightly challenging music has a wider audience. And there are fewer bands presenting the slightly weird with this kind of warmth.

A Certain Ratio: Early; and Various Artists: In the Beginning There Was Rhythm

VARIOUS ARTISTS

In the Beginning There Was Rhythm
Soul Jazz Records

A Certain Ratio
Early
Soul Jazz Records

When 1977 slash-and-burn punk rock flamed out, a new sound emerged from England's industrial corridor. In the late Seventies, with the economy in deep recession, England's postpunk youth thought better than to sport "Disco Sucks" T-shirts and crank up the Zeppelin. Rather, it was American R&B, funk, reggae, and, yes, the dreaded sounds of Studio 54 that kept them boogying their blues away in the nightclubs. Groups like Gang of Four, the Human League, and the Pop Group took elements from this dance music that saw them through the bleak times, and treated the songs with an attitude that was part art school and part street party.

Soul Jazz Records' new compilation In the Beginning There Was Rhythm catches British postpunk funkers (Gang of Four), industrial-noise pioneers (Throbbing Gristle), and experimenters (This Heat) in their fruitful early days. These groups either blasted the system (Gang of Four on "To Hell With Poverty"), pumped up the groove (the Slits), or existentially pondered futile romance (the Pop Group). But they held one thing in common: They required that you move--and move now.

A more detailed time capsule of the era is Early, a double-CD anthology of recordings by Manchester's A Certain Ratio (who also appear on Rhythm) spanning from 1978 to 1985. Tracks such as "Blown Away" consist almost entirely of percussion that could be field recordings from Latin America. In fact, the band picked up on Nuyorican rhythms after playing a gig in Manhattan (with Madonna opening, no less).

What's incredible is that the fresh sound on both albums hasn't passed its sell-by date--as has, say, "Like a Virgin." It hasn't been overexposed, but it's been influential. You can hear A Certain Ratio's influence on the Manchester sound of New Order in ACR's new-wavey almost-hit "Shack Up." And on In the Beginning There Was Rhythm, Cabaret Voltaire's "Sluggin' fer Jesus"--with its preacher sound bites--is a blueprint for today's abstract electronica. But it's the Pop Group's "She's Beyond Good and Evil" that's the comp's key track. Jerky, alien funk with shards of staccato guitar and dense rhythms, the tune jars the listener with its desperate vocals in a way that most music of the decade to come--the Day-Glo Eighties--simply couldn't.

The Tippling Bros.' Tad Carducci | Interview

The men behind Mercadito’s drink menu take charge of the cocktail list at sister spot Tavernita. By John Dugan

Published: August 31, 2011

Following their success at sex-Mex spot Mercadito, New Yorkers Tad Carducci and Paul Tanguay (known as the Tippling Bros.) are designing the ambitious drink list at Mercadito sibling Tavernita. The Mediterranean/Spanish spot takes over the former Martini Park space with chef Ryan Poli at the helm.

What are we going to see on Tavernita’s drink menu?
At Mercadito, we only use tequila and mescal, but here we want to use a variety of spirits. Gin and tonic is the national drink of Spain. We’ll play with that idea. [We’ll use] indigenous Spanish ingredients and flavors…. Spanish wines and liqueurs, spices [like saffron and turmeric]. Who knows, at some point maybe we will fat wash [the process of flavoring liquor with rendered fat] some ham ibérico into a drink. …Five to six [cocktails] will be served on tap. In Barcelona, you can go to bars and have vermouth on tap. We’ll be making our own vermouths and serving them on tap.

Vermouth is one of those things that Americans just don’t get.
It’s a crying shame because it’s a wonderful aperitif. It’s a great alternative to drinking spirits on the rocks or a cocktail.

I’ve heard you call Barcito, the bar within Tavernita, a “playpen.”
It has its own street entrance. It will have its own set of cocktails, its own wines, its own beers. We’re gonna have a guy behind the bar making tapas right there.

A good niche for you guys?
The Spanish and, moreover, Mediterranean, culture that surrounds food and family, friends, conviviality and socializing [is] something we are really excited about. I don’t think any of us thinks we’re gonna knock Chicago’s socks off with something it hasn’t seen before. We just wanna open a great spot.

Tavernita

Cool and Collected: highs in the fifties

Published in the Chicago Reader, March 7, 2002

By John Dugan

Last year was a dark one for the big auction houses, with the economic slump and September 11 hitting an industry already rocked by the Sotheby's and Christie's price-fixing scandal. But according to Richard Wright, his young West Loop auction house is on the upswing. "Our business has thrived, while Sotheby's closed the Chicago location," he says. "I just see that there is a place for someone who is not a multinational corporation." Except for Phillips (the number three house), he also thinks the bigger houses haven't picked up on the recent surge of interest in midcentury design: "They are missing the boat. A lot of this work is important and will go up in value."

The utopian, largely American-led school of design that characterized the 50s has been rediscovered in recent years thanks to magazines like Wallpaper, which packages modernism as a lifestyle. Now names such as Eames, Knoll, and Saarinen roll off the tongues of those who grew up with neocolonial and Ethan Allen. Wright attributes the rediscovery to "a generational thing," but also to modernism's inherent integrity, optimism, and utility. Also, modernism was a bit ahead of its time on the first pass. An original Isamu Noguchi paddle fin table can now fetch $18,000 at auction, but it flopped in the marketplace when copies of the ovoid, three-legged table were mass-produced.

"I feel really strongly about the postwar period. It was the first time that America led the design world," Wright says. Between 1945 and 1958, modern design was informed by a populism and idealism that could be construed as naive today, but for Wright it's infinitely preferable to the elitism of the French deco that preceded it. A prime example, Wright says, is one of Arne Jacobsen's late-50s egg chairs. "These things weren't done tongue-in-cheek like you see now. They felt they had come to the right solution." Now the egg chair has "that nostalgia factor," like a James Bond film. "It's over-the-top."

A native of Portland, Maine, Wright got hooked on modern design in the mid-80s, when he dropped out of the University of Massachusetts to sell entry-level collectibles like 50s plastic clocks and boomerang ashtrays at east-coast flea markets. It would be several years before he developed an interest in furniture, and a few more before egg chairs started popping up in New York Times Magazine design issues. "I would tell people I was looking for things from the 50s and people would laugh. Now people take it very seriously."

In 1987 he drove his hatchback to Chicago with his girlfriend Martha Torno (now an owner of Wicker Park's Modern Times). For two years they ran a shop called Torno-Wright on Lincoln Avenue before parting ways. Next, Wright built up modern sales at Oak Park's Treadway Gallery, which did most of its business in Arts and Crafts furniture. Wright left in 1999 and opened Wright Gallery in 2000 with his wife, Julie Thoma-Wright, an interior designer.

He's been in the business for almost 16 years and notes that there have always been those who lament the passing of the "good old days, when you could just go out and fill up a truck." But, he says, "it hasn't dried up. If you collect Arts and Crafts, it's all recycled through collections." Wright's items come from all levels of the food chain: pickers, the hunter-gatherers in the field, dealers, and original owners and estates. Over five auctions the house's reputation has grown and Wright draws pieces from all over the country. "The work starts to find you," he says. "You sell a Bertoia sculpture, and someone sends you four more."

The next auction, on Sunday, March 10, features iconic pieces such as tables and chairs by Charles and Ray Eames, George Nelson's marshmallow sofa, Jacobsen's egg chair, and prints by Andy Warhol, but also some pieces that have yet to enter the lexicon, such as boldly colored Italian glassware by Fulvio Bianconi and translucent acrylic columns by Vasa Mihich. And Wright swears that buyers don't need deep pockets. "I'm committed to things that have design integrity. We've tried to do that from a $300 item to a $30,000 item."

Wright Gallery is at 1140 W. Fulton, 312-563-0020, and is open Monday through Friday from 10 to 5 and Saturday and Sunday from 11 to 5. If you don't want to spring for the $35 catalog, pieces from the upcoming auction are available on the Web at www.wright20.com, where previous auctions are also archived.

Nick Waterhouse | Interview

The R&B obsessive isn’t your average soul revivalist. By John Dugan

Published: October 3, 2012

What if we wake up in 2013 and all the cool kids are listening to Mel Tormé? It’s not as ridiculous as it sounds. R&B disciple Nick Waterhouse makes a studied but lively revival of the kind of music the Velvet Fog specialized in during his younger days, jazzy but rockin’. Back then, it was considered pretty cool, and to Waterhouse, it still is.

“When I was a teenager I started to figure out, hey, some songs didn’t ever make it to CD,” says the L.A.-based Waterhouse. Now 26, Waterhouse discovered 45s in high school, but the responsible, college-bound vinyl enthusiast kept his music ambitions under his hat, even after finding some success playing guitar with a snotty, Spencer Davis Group–like outfit called Intelligista. The band won a contest and ended up recording at the vintage-audio-outfitted Distillery Studio in Costa Mesa, just ten blocks from where he grew up. He would return to the studio again and again, putting to tape the tunes that became his debut, Time’s All Gone, released earlier this year.

It was a move to San Francisco for college and stints working at Rooky Ricardo’s Records between 2005 and 2010 that opened his ears to a people’s history of American music: “I started as a customer and spent enough time in there that I started picking up odd jobs for the owner. He would say ‘You have this big hold stack, if you do this favor for me, I’ll give you these holds.’ One day, he gave me a key so I could lock the store.”

A fan of music historian Peter Guralnick’s books, Waterhouse would while away slow days soaking up soul and R&B from Maxine Brown to the Marquees, but also gaining a wider understanding of garage rock’s place in American music. His musical journey was largely unguided by a scene—“That was important because I feel like then I wasn’t following some sort of dogma. I was more just cycling through the great weird wilderness of American music that ended up on 45s from the early ’50s through the early ’70s.”

At the shop, his boss noted how Waterhouse was beginning to listen like a musician, which boosted the young musician’s confidence. “I realized I could just do this,” Waterhouse says. Finding it difficult to translate his vision for local rockers, Waterhouse decided to make his own record with help from friends in the similarly retro Allah-Las. The result was “Some Place,” a 7" single self-released in 2010. “Having that record suddenly set the agenda for anyone who wanted to work with me,” says Waterhouse, whose ragtag group, dubbed the Tarots, has been on the road for roughly a year now.

Time’s All Gone is sophisticated stuff that sounds effortless, meticulously recorded and lacquer-mastered to analog specs. It also bucks the soul-revival trend, flirting instead with early rock & roll and R&B that swings. Rollicking barrelhouse vamps power “Is that Clear,” while Waterhouse croons like an early ’60s heartthrob on the tambourine-etched ballad “Raina.” What’s more, Waterhouse makes good on that garage education with a soul send-up of the classic made famous by Them, “I Can Only Give You Everything.”

But one thing Waterhouse wants us to know is that his attention to detail and his encyclopedic knowledge of soul, R&B and obscure record labels doesn’t make him a nerd. He’s just passionate. “I am so haunted by this music that obviously I want to figure out how they did it.”

Nick Waterhouse plays Lincoln Hall Wednesday 10.

Time’s All Gone is out now

The Lana Del Ray Affair

I wrote about Lana Del Ray and the blog backlash for the Economist Prospero blog.

March 12, 2012

AMERICA'S well-documented independent music scene once valued tour-van mileage, lean living, anti-commercialism and a layer of sonic inscrutability. The DIY work ethic of the 1980s and ‘90s meant everything from booking your own gigs to pressing your own debut single, if necessary. Would-be scribes wrote criticism in Xeroxed zines, published in copy shops. It was more concerned with a grassroots revolution in sound than SoundScan figures—the pre-internet gauge of sales. 

In the past decade, indie music blogs—often American, each fancying itself like a mini-NME—have become increasingly influential. Pitchfork and Stereogum, in particular, had the power to break bands from independent labels with every thumbs-up they give. Acts such as the Arcade Fire and Fleet Foxes owe much of their commercial viability to enthusiastic online editorial coverage. The online hype machine—which drops new tracks and videos along with breathlessly excited text, plus the usual reviews and interviews—can easily make a musician that has never played a live concert a buzz-worthy act over night. Often the more mysterious the act, the better for the site that breaks it. Traditional media blogs have restyled themselves along the same lines—Rollingstone.com for instance. In this day and age, that online hype may not translate into massive sales, but it can mean a career in music with potentially lucrative touring and licensing. Publishing and live performance are the profit centres in the industry these days.

(Complete article at Economist.com)

Detroit refurb

I talked to the band ADULT. about renovating their home in Detroit.