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In 1964, the scorching five-chord chorus of “You Really Got Me” changed rock music forever.
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Residents say that if you jam a leaf blower in the earth virtually anywhere in Allston, furry bottom feeders will be blown out of every crack and hole in sight and rain down like unsavory screeching meatballs. North Enders joke that something similar would happen if you detonate a Parmesan wheel in an alleyway off Hanover Street.
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Everyone figured that Noel Gallagher would go solo — it’s been hinted at for years — but the break-up of Oasis has made it a grim inevitability.
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Someday, a great rock film will be made. The opening shot is of a wasted rock star, bejeweled and clad in the finest leather, with white panthers circling the living room of his Parthenon-esque manse as he hits PLAY on a comically large reel-to-reel.
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Morrissey — begrudging patron saint of all that is emotionally desolate and otherwise comfortably bummed — is but a mere mortal, as his recent collapse on stage proves.
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Residents say that if you jam a leaf blower in the earth virtually anywhere in Allston, furry bottom feeders will be blown out of every crack and hole in sight and rain down like unsavory screeching meatballs. North Enders joke that something similar would happen if you detonate a Parmesan wheel in an alleyway off Hanover Street.
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In 1964, the scorching five-chord chorus of “You Really Got Me” changed rock music forever.
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It’s been three months since Peter Canellos replaced Renée Loth as editor of the Boston Globe ’s editorial page.
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When I was growing up in Roslindale a few decades back — among tribes of ignorant, second-generation immigrant kids whose favorite words began with “f” and “n” and who liked to torture small animals and beat up small children before they moved on to their future vocations as petty criminals, dead dope users, or real-estate agents.
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It’s hard to imagine a tangle of identities more marginalized than that of the black gay man in Rhode Island.
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