LET IT BLURT(ISBN=9780767905091) 英文原版 电子书 pdf 百度云 下载 epub 2025 免费 mobi 在线

　　Let It Blurt is the raucous and righteous biography of Lester

Bangs (1949-82)--the gonzo journalist, gutter poet, and romantic

visionary of rock criticism. No writer on rock 'n' roll ever lived

harder or wrote better--more passionately, more compellingly, more

penetratingly. He lived the rock 'n' roll lifestyle, guzzling booze

and Romilar like water, matching its energy in prose that erupted

from the pages of Rolling Stone, Creem, and The Village Voice.

Bangs agitated in the seventies for sounds that were harsher,

louder, more electric, and more alive, in the course of which he

charted and defined the aesthetics of heavy metal and punk. He was

treated as a peer by such brash visionaries as Lou Reed, Patti

Smith, Richard Hell, Captain Beefheart, The Clash, Debbie Harry,

and other luminaries.

Let It Blurt is a scrupulously researched account of Lester

Bangs's fascinating (if often tawdry and unappetizing) life story,

as well as a window on rock criticism and rock culture in their

most turbulent and creative years. It includes a

never-before-published piece by Bangs, the hilarious "How to Be a

Rock Critic," in which he reveals the secrets of his dubious,

freeloading trade.

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纽泽西州纽泽西市出生，恰是披头四到美国发展的那年。随后不久，吉姆·迪洛葛迪斯开始提出他对摇滚乐的简介。目前是《芝加哥太阳报》的流行音乐评论家，同时也在《Penthouse》、《Guitar World》、《World of Wrestling》等杂志和Launch、Iron Minds等网站发表评论。另外在WXRT-FM电台一起跟Greg Kot——另外一对主持人是Gene Siskel（芝加哥论坛报）跟他的《芝加哥太阳报》同事Roger Ebert——主持全世界唯一的摇滚现场脱口秀节目[Sound Opinions]。他的第一本书《Kaleidoscope Eyes: Psychedelic Rock from the '60s to the '90s》于1996年由Citadel Underground发行美国版，英国版则由Fourth Estate,Ltd.发行。大家都知道他老婆跟他女儿梅乐蒂常常对他很火大，因为他每次都在那里练习打鼓，或是听Wire或The Flaming Lips等乐团时音量都开到很大声，她们就回以Barbar Streisand及[The Big Comfy Couch]里的《Loonette the Clown》歌曲进行报复。

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　　The Closed Circle

　　Conway Bangs needed a drink. He chain-smoked while pacing

nervously in the cool night air outside Escondido Community

Hospital--a fancy name for a tiny clinic run by one doctor in a

wood-frame house only a little bigger than most of the others here

amid the Southern California orange groves. From time to time he

heard his wife cry out, and he knew that she must be hurting.

Complaining about the pains of the flesh was not the way of the

Jehovah's Witnesses, and Norma was nothing if not a faithful

soldier.

　　The doctor had urged Conway to talk some sense into his wife.

There were risks in having a child at age forty-three, but Norma

wouldn't hear any talk of abortion. The Witnesses forbade it under

any circumstances, including a fatal threat to the mother. Conway

didn't have much use for his wife's religion, but for once he was

glad she stood her ground. A few years earlier the prison doctor

had told him he'd never have a child. Them doctors seemed to be

wrong a lot, he thought, because his son was born without

complications at two minutes before eleven on the night of December

13, 1948.

　　The baby arrived weighing eight pounds, eight ounces and

exercising what sounded like an extremely healthy pair of lungs.

The couple named him Leslie Conway in honor of his father, Conway

Leslie. Once he saw that Norma and the boy were resting peacefully,

Conway ran to spread the news to the rest of the family. "Conway

was thrilled to death," said his twenty-one-year-old stepdaughter,

Ann St. Clair, one of three children from Norma's first marriage.

"When he came up to the house where my husband Ray and I lived, he

told us that he had the most beautiful son in the world. Because

Leslie was born with a full head of black hair--enough for three or

four babies!--I didn't think he was very pretty, but that didn't

make any difference. That was Conway's baby boy."

　　From Ann and Ray's place Conway went to see Ben Catching, Jr.,

Norma's eldest son. At twenty-three Ben already had a four-year-old

boy of his own, Ben Catching III. The two men drove trucks for

Escondido Transit Mix. After work they would sit outside Conway and

Norma's small rented house near Highway 395, drinking beer on the

rickety front porch. Early on the morning of December 14 they drank

a toast to young Leslie Bangs.

　　For several generations on both sides Leslie's forebears were

migratory Southwestern farm workers. The families' roots in the

United States stretched back far enough for the current members to

have forgotten the Old World traditions and even their particular

European heritages. They shared some Scottish and English blood, no

doubt, and possibly some Irish and German as well. Basically they

were the sort of people portrayed in William Faulkner's "Barn

Burning" and Nelson Algren's A Walk on the Wild Side. At the time

they would have been called Arkies, Okies, drifters, or crackers.

In his less charitable moments a grown-up Leslie would call them

"white trash."

　　Leslie's paternal grandparents Gady and Leota Bangs crossed the

border from Arkansas to Texas around the turn of the century. They

settled in the country between the small towns of Cooper and Enlow

about ninety miles northeast of Dallas. Gady farmed, brewed bootleg

whiskey, and drank, though not necessarily in that order. A broad,

squat man with a penchant for oversize cowboy hats, he was as

unpleasant and churlish as the plump, round-faced Leota was sweet

and loving. The couple raised five daughters and two sons,

including Conway Leslie, born on August 25, 1915. His middle name

paid tribute to the sheriff of Delta County, but the family friend

never did his namesake any favors. In fact, he was one of the men

who sent Conway to prison.

　　Conway's first arrest came a few months before his eighteenth

birthday, six years after he dropped out of school in the seventh

grade. Charged with four counts of burglary, he pleaded guilty to

one in return for the others being dropped. Because of Conway's age

the judge suspended the five-year sentence, but the conviction

stigmatized him nonetheless. One day in late 1934 a neighbor

accused him of stealing some tools. Conway asserted his innocence,

but the man wouldn't listen. The boy flew into a rage and viciously

beat his accuser with a wooden bucket. "If Conway saw someone being

mistreated, man, he would jump right in there," said his sister

Imogene. "He could get angry, but usually when he got angry, he had

a right to be angry. He wasn't much of a talker, but when he did

talk, it meant something. And if someone beat him, well, he'd just

beat them right back."

　　On January 15, 1935, a jury found Conway guilty of assault with

intent to murder. District Court Judge Charles "Chuck" Berry

sentenced him to five years for the beating and reinstated the

original five-year sentence for burglary. Three weeks later Conway

began serving his decadelong term at Huntsville. Among the habits

noted on his prison record: intemperance, use of tobacco, and a

disdain for organized religion. On the rare occasions later in life

when he talked about his incarceration, Conway spoke of being

whipped, beaten with chains, and strapped to a plow like a horse.

One day he begged off the work detail, complaining of a headache

and a painful swelling in the groin. The guards sent him out into

the fields, and the next morning he collapsed. The mumps had

brought on a case of encephalitis. The prison doctor told him he'd

have died if he went without treatment much longer. As it was, he'd

probably been rendered sterile.

　　Conway completed his sentence on September 11, 1945, and he moved

back in with his parents. He found work driving dump trucks on

construction sites in Dallas, which bustled during the postwar

building boom. His younger sisters admired his rugged good looks

and compared his hardened features to an outdoorsy, Western version

of Humphrey Bogart. Like his father, Conway sometimes drank to

excess, but he was a docile drunk, where alcohol only made Gady

meaner. The old man's favorite rant was about the new religion that

consumed so much of his wife's time. Gady would stand in the

doorway and curse Leota as she left for Bible study. "I hope you

drive up a goddamn tree and kill yourself!" he'd shout. "Goddamn

you and all your Gee-hovah's Witnesses!"

　　Leota was unflappable. "Gady, honey, you just relax, and I'll see

ya back here in a little bit," she'd coo while driving off with her

friend, Norma Catching.

　　Conway would watch these scenes and shake his head. Norma was

nine years his senior. She had already buried one husband and

raised three children who were living on their own, but he was

struck by her youthful beauty. Her quiet dignity in the face of his

father's vitriol impressed him, and he was glad that she didn't

seem to think less of him because he'd been to prison. He felt like

a teenager whenever he talked to her, and he hated to see her

go.

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媒体评论

　　Finally, the great American writer gets the book he deserves.

Jim DeRogatis's Let It Blurt is a personal journey through the wit

and the world and the ferocious spirit of Lester Bangs...it reads

like rock and roll.

　　--Cameron Crowe

　　"Let It Blurt tells one of the essential rock and roll stories

with great affection and panache. Lester Bangs--paradigm, mystery,

great writer, tragicomic presence--has been given the biography he

deserves...A splendid book."

　　--Jonathan Lethem, author of Motherless Brooklyn

　　"Lester Bangs lived fast, died young, and left a beautiful body

of work. Jim DeRogatis, himself a gifted writer on rock and roll,

knows both of Bangs's worlds--the music and the journalism--and has

written an elegy for one of the few critics whose work is worth

reading for itself, apart from its subjects."

　　--Roger Ebert

　　"To those who knew him, Lester Bangs was a force of nature,

'larger than life' and all such biz. For a mere book to capture the

full sweep of his mind/body at speed and at rest may be too tall an

order, but Let It Blurt is a welcome stab indeed at the whole

Lester thing."

　　--Richard Meltzer -- Review

　　As Jim DeRogatis's readable and well-researched new biography of

Bangs makes clear, he lived as exuberantly as he wrote. -- The New

York Times Book Review, Dwight Garner

书籍介绍

Let It Blurt is the raucous and righteous biography of Lester Bangs (1949-82)--the gonzo journalist, gutter poet, and romantic visionary of rock criticism. No writer on rock 'n' roll ever lived harder or wrote better--more passionately, more compellingly, more penetratingly. He lived the rock 'n' roll lifestyle, guzzling booze and Romilar like water, matching its energy in prose that erupted from the pages of Rolling Stone, Creem, and The Village Voice. Bangs agitated in the seventies for sounds that were harsher, louder, more electric, and more alive, in the course of which he charted and defined the aesthetics of heavy metal and punk. He was treated as a peer by such brash visionaries as Lou Reed, Patti Smith, Richard Hell, Captain Beefheart, The Clash, Debbie Harry, and other luminaries.

Let It Blurt is a scrupulously researched account of Lester Bangs's fascinating (if often tawdry and unappetizing) life story, as well as a window on rock criticism and rock culture in their most turbulent and creative years. It includes a never-before-published piece by Bangs, the hilarious "How to Be a Rock Critic," in which he reveals the secrets of his dubious, freeloading trade.