I guess the point that I'm making is that it's not so much what Kugelberg says , even when I think I understand and agree with it, that intrigues me, it's the way that he says it. Anyone who can get me to keep reading when I have no idea what he's talking about can write. Kugelberg can write. Kugelberg has a love affair with language, and I'm happy to watch the romance. The best way to describe what I'm talking about is to check out some samples. Here is a list (he seems to like lists) of Kugelbergiana:
--Metaphors worthy of the Metaphysical poets: the musical glory years of '65/'66, he tells us "were about to rise like a Phoenix and flush the great white toilet of pop culture."
--Inventive coinages: "Scandihoovians."
--Oh my god puns: cultural expressions may be "hi-, lo-, or uni-brow."
--Internal rhyming: "The unk in the glam-junk, which ultimately is pre-punk, . . ." and "The Masses are asses that need better glasses. . . ."
--Plays on cliché: some hepcats are "letting plenty o'kittens out of the bag."
--Rhetorical echoes: attitudes of some to drugs are a "picaresque of addict picturesgue."
--Sly ironic allusions: The Molly Bloom yeses of the collector's orgasmic reaction to a bargain at a record fair.
--Not so sly allusions: a prize record discovered is a "scratchy and worn Moby Dick harpooned by an Ahab with coffee-jitters."
--What oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed: "The sacred ability to capture the anyday grit of everyday life and make it beautiful."
--What ne'er was thought, and ne'er expressed at all: "...insights of pure thunka-drum flatulent-fuzztone gnosis."
These are just a few examples, but if you like this kind of thing you'll like Brad Pitt's Dog. If you like this kind of thing and you are into punk and collecting old records and fanzines of yore, you'll love it.
Oh! Brad's dog you ask? In the essay on Dash Snow, Kugelberg talks about a photo of "a dog taking a crap" which only gains value and importance for some people when they learn that it's Brad Pitt's dog. He sees this as the aesthetic fallacy of substituting the artist for the art. I'm not sure I follow the logic, but who am I to argue?