APOCALYPSE HO HO HO - EMusician

APOCALYPSE HO HO HO

“What do they say about me, Willard?” “They say you’re an assassin, sir.”“Am I an assassin?”“I don’t know, sir.”
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We were up the Nung River at MusicPlayer Live! Two days now. Without a paddle. Anderton, American journalist, jumped around the landing docks when we finally pulled in, spittle flecking his glasses. “Is EQ a good mag? Is EQ an evil mag? Is the editor’s letter impenetrable and insane or merely insanely impenetrable? Am I going to be the one to explain all this? Are they going to believe me: NO! Wrong! It’s got to be YOU.” His hands danced in the air in front of him as he fidgeted against the accumulated anxiety of all the restless natives in his forum.

Ho ho ho. OK. So here we go [in English]: Readership is up, newsstand sales are up, subscriptions are up. We just finished, with the buy-in of 1,000 of you readers, the 2006 Editorial Calendar (go to eqmag.com and if you ask nicely maybe we’ll post it for the masses), and this year that we just stunningly finished will only be outshone by next year. We’re talking a MONITOR issue like our past MIC issue. We’re talking geniuses dishing here like they don’t dish anywhere else on what clearly constitutes the finer points of our quickly changing art. We’re talking reviews that, now listen carefully, DON’T LIE, and are done by our rogue’s gallery of producer’s big and small.

And because this is The Holiday Issue and we’re in such a holiday mood for giving, we’re also talking THIS issue what with its 10-page JOE CHICCARELLI interview of KEN SCOTT, coffee talk chat style, about DAVID BOWIE, THE BEATLES and all and sundry. We’re talking mini-interviews with TOM ROTHROCK on JAMES BLUNT, we’re talking PAT DILLETT’s letting his love down easy in an open letter to her here in black and white, and we’re talking GUY SIGSWORTH on BEBEL GILBERTO.

And it gets even better than that. As in E-ticket better. Wild knuckle fights featuring gear vs. gear, app stuff to help you push it to where it’s never been pushed before, and, now get this, an editor’s letter that has absolutely nothing to do with blood-sucking monkeys, my band Oxbow, or words like ass. Or tuba.

Do tell.

We just did.