The Rock Snob's Dictionary. Fish-in-a-barrel hipster takedown that serves the dual purpose of educating VF's apparent demographic of mouthbreathing ignoramuses as to who Solomon Burke is. I'd make more fun of this, but it's actually pretty enjoyable. I'll cop to having a few chuckles at this one.

Rocktastic! Skiptistic!

The Music Portfolio. Fun for illiterates, although I would like to compliment whoever's doing Enrique Iglesias' wig these days. Nice nipples, Cassandra! (And a quick word about the Stax reunion shot: it's great to see all these faces assembled together, but am I wrong in thinking that this would have made a great fucking story? It's Stax records, man! This is a real missed opportunity; even a half-decent article on the subject would have elevated this issue into the "keep on the pile for a couple of months" category.) I'd tell you to skip this, but we both know you're going to savor it. After all, no one really buys Vanity Fair for the articles.

The rest is your standard back-of-the-book filler: an unfunny Sinatra parody, a piece on the New York scene in the 70s that drains any excitement that topic has to offer, and a single-page interview with James Brown that could have been written at any point in the last twenty years. And there you have it. I spent four bucks so you don't have to. And if you still want to read it? I suggest the library or the barbershop. Or I could send you my copy. Because I am well and truly done with it.

This article appears in slightly modified format at The Minor Fall, The Major Lift.