RIP Jim Marshall:

“The Marshall,” the iconic warm amplifier blast of raw fuzz lost its mastermind yesterday at the age of 88. Created as an alternative to the clean tones of the Fender in 1960, the “Marshall stack” soon rose upon the stages of artists looking to get filthy, in the rock sense of the term. From The Who‘s Pete Townshend, who initially encouraged Marshall to front the British-born company, to the current gnar sounds of Dinosaur Jr.‘s  J Mascis, the “Father of Loud” will be missed.

The Kids Are Not Alright:

For those that always wanted to see Jack White the victim of a dystopian teen-ruled nightmare, your wish has come true with White’s latest visual accompaniment to single “Sixteen Saltines” from the oh-so-soon forthcoming solo debut Blunderbuss (April 23). So goes another ferociously entertaining lead up to an album named after a shotgun. Rope, blue vomit, gasoline, severed thumbs, and White’s insatiable crunchy power chord hooks await. Meanwhile, fellow single “Freedom at 21” can be caught via balloon still.

Smokeable Snoop:

Of course there’s a smokeable Snoop Dogg book in the pipeline. Naturally, after slathering his brand over the rolling paper industry via San Francisco agency Pereira & O’Dell, the Kingsize Slim Rolling Papers will be the showcase of an all hemp, smokeable songbook dubbed Rolling Words. If you can italicize something like that. Debuting at this year’s Coachella Music Festival in poster form, the non-toxic book with a match-strike binder is looking to see an as-of-now undetermined forthcoming online release. For now, though, you can fantasize about all the interactive doobage sessions to be (via dieline).

If Cobain Were Still Here:

Today marks the 18th year since Kurt Cobain decided to exit this world from the greenhouse of his Seattle home. Considering he would have been 45 today, every year or moment of remembrance gets to prodding the mind as to where the dude would be today if not for the tragic loss. Usually one to dismiss such thoughts, Courtney Love threw a few passive suggestions at author Mark Yarm during some interviewing sessions for a book he’s writing, Everybody Loves Our Town: An Oral History of Grunge. One of the choicer comments: “We’d probably live on the Upper West fuckin’ Side now and have three fuckin’ kids.” Check out the other crystal ball-isms over at Spin.


Major League Baseball’s opening day arrived this morning, like it has every year since the inception of the league. Though we’d love to plug our beloved home team, we’re going to go democratic and point to the most infamous song of America’s Pastime, Jack Norworth and Albert Von Tilzer’s tin pan alley tune that has won the heart of 7th-inning stretches nationwide since 1908, “Take Me Out To The Ball Game.” Get your Cracker Jack ready:

Take me out to the ball game,
Take me out with the crowd.
Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack,
I don’t care if I never get back,
Let me root, root, root for the home team,
If they don’t win it’s a shame.
For it’s one, two, three strikes, you’re out,
At the old ball game.