On sale today, Dean Koontz’s Odd Apocalypse.
As I stood outside in Cow Lane, it occurred to me that Heaven must be a place where the library is open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.
No. Eight days a week.
—Alan Bradley, The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie
I came to know the Beatles through the more kid-friendly stuff. My father, fiercely invested in avoiding kid music in the car at all costs, was shrewd enough to not start me off with “Tomorrow Never Knows” or “Revolution #9.” He went with the mid-period Beatles, the Sgt. Pepper and Magical Mystery Tour Beatles, fun and candy-colored and full of drug references his son wouldn’t understand until his older sisters explained them to him minutes later. Growing older, I went back in time, and listened to the Beatles at the Cavern Club, and the ramshackle early albums, some full of cover songs. There’s a different energy to those, a band that burned quick and furious, here today, possibly gone tomorrow. Those mid-period Beatles knew that the public wanted another album, that their days in vans were over, and they could take the craft and art acquired thus far and, as good artists do, experiment. Compare Goodfellas Scorsese with Mean Streets Scorsese. It’s a fascinating and worthwhile exercise, when you really get into any type of artist, to go back and look at those earliest works.
We’d be down for an office redesign if it looked like this…