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Meat is Murder

af Joe Pernice

Serier: 33 1/3 (5)

MedlemmerAnmeldelserPopularitetGennemsnitlig vurderingOmtaler
1701159,329 (3.59)1
A Catholic high school near Boston in 1985. A time of suicides, gymnasium humiliations, smoking for beginners, asthma attacks, and incendiary teenage infatuations. Infatuations with a girl (Allison), with a band (The Smiths) and with an album, Meat is Murder, that was so raw, so vivid and so melodic that you could cling to it like a lifeboat in a storm. In this brilliant novella Joe Pernice tells the story of an asthmatic kid's discovery of Meat is Murder. Here is a short exceropt: One morning as I was jogging my way past the bronze plaque commemorating the deaths of one student and one motorcyclist, my necktie flapping like a windsock, Ray floored the brake pedal of his Dodge as he closed in on me. Fifty mile an hour traffic came to a screeching, nearly murderous halt behind him. He leaned over and rolled down the passenger side window in one fluid motion. He dispensed with formalities while I marveled at the audacity of his driving and, tossing something at me, winked and said, "Here. I'm going to kill myself." He pegged the gas, leaving a surprisingly good patch of rubber for such a shitty car. In the gutter, sugared with sand put down during the winter's last snow, I saw written in red felt ink on masking tape stuck to a smoky-clear cassette: "Smiths: Meat."… (mere)
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» See also 1 mention

A very different take on the idea of the 33 1/3 series. Instead of writing directly about "Meat Is Murder," Joe Pernice put together a wonderful piece of post-punk, adolescent romance. This is not the story of an album, it's the story of the people who obsessed over an album. And with a band like The Smiths, I can't help but feel like that's a better story to read than the power grabs of Morrissey and Marr. ( )
  thomnottom | Apr 21, 2016 |
ingen anmeldelser | tilføj en anmeldelse

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33 1/3 (5)

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A Catholic high school near Boston in 1985. A time of suicides, gymnasium humiliations, smoking for beginners, asthma attacks, and incendiary teenage infatuations. Infatuations with a girl (Allison), with a band (The Smiths) and with an album, Meat is Murder, that was so raw, so vivid and so melodic that you could cling to it like a lifeboat in a storm. In this brilliant novella Joe Pernice tells the story of an asthmatic kid's discovery of Meat is Murder. Here is a short exceropt: One morning as I was jogging my way past the bronze plaque commemorating the deaths of one student and one motorcyclist, my necktie flapping like a windsock, Ray floored the brake pedal of his Dodge as he closed in on me. Fifty mile an hour traffic came to a screeching, nearly murderous halt behind him. He leaned over and rolled down the passenger side window in one fluid motion. He dispensed with formalities while I marveled at the audacity of his driving and, tossing something at me, winked and said, "Here. I'm going to kill myself." He pegged the gas, leaving a surprisingly good patch of rubber for such a shitty car. In the gutter, sugared with sand put down during the winter's last snow, I saw written in red felt ink on masking tape stuck to a smoky-clear cassette: "Smiths: Meat."

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