By Ray Stern
By Ray Stern
By New Times
By Amy Silverman
By Stephen Lemons
By Stephen Lemons
By Monica Alonzo
By Chris Parker
No Gold Stars
Did it strike anyone else as funny that Barry Graham, Moe and Curly had to impersonate reporters to get into Joe Arpaio's fund raiser ("Joe, Jane & John," Barry Graham, October 30)? Come to think of it, that's what they do for a living. Such prose! "Arpaio is a liar," "son of a bitch," "smug assholes." Ah, the stuff of Walter Winchell. Someday, when Graham applies for a real job at a paper that doesn't have to be given away, he can use this as a prime example of the level of his work.
New Times writers are jealous of Arpaio because, using their verbiage, he can out-bullshit and propagandize them! Anyone with half a brain doesn't need New Times to condescendingly tell him that everything that comes out of the Sheriff's Office "ain't kosher." But New Times' one-note samba loses all its remaining minuscule credibility when it keeps harping on one theme, that being "everyone but us is evil and stupid." The paper was a lot more fun to read in the good old days when it went after all the other stories in the Naked City.
I must say, Barry Graham's column about crashing Sheriff Joe's fund raiser was one of the rudest things I can remember reading in New Times. I loved it!
What rock did Barry Graham crawl out from under? It is apparent he's one of those bad-loser Democrats who likes to toss mud, as in this column's road apples ("Waiter, There's a Lie in My Soup," November 6). Did Graham ever see a former employee give accolades to his former boss? The woman Graham called a slut, does he know her on some sort of a professional basis?
Why was Graham that close to Joe Arpaio to observe his hair? Does he have some sort of hair fetish, or was he going to kiss him? I have known the sheriff for several years, and he is always neat and clean and well-dressed. We elected a law officer, not a fashion plate.
As for his nose, numerous people of Italian heritage have large noses. I give you Jimmy Durante and Tony Bennett, to name a couple. Sheriff Joe is in good company. A word from one of the 85 percent who voted for Joe: Get a life, Barry Graham!
John E. Ryon
Love Him to Death
I was deeply saddened by Glen Buxton's untimely death (Soundcheck, October 30). Growing up across the street from the Dunaways, I had the opportunity to watch Alice Cooper (the band) evolve from a bunch of high school chums lip-synching a Yardbirds song under the banner "The Earwigs" in the cafeteria at Cortez High School to a topnotch rock 'n' roll monster that defied all standards.
To me, Glen Buxton was a god. Man, he was a genuine, certified star. Being a guitarist myself, I hung on his every note. I learned more from him than he ever knew. To him, I was just the little red-headed freak who hung around with his sister, Janice.
Through the years, I would hear from friends about his many trials and tribulations, and the news always tugged at my heart. I truly believed, and still do, that Glen Buxton was destined for rock 'n' roll greatness. Rest in peace, Glen. I would like to commend Gilbert Garcia on his sensitive, well-written tribute to Glen Buxton. My heartfelt condolences go out to Janice Davison and any other members of Glen's family.
I have very fond memories of Glen Buxton and the Spiders. They lost me when Alice Cooper came to be, but the early A.C. stuff was pretty good. I remember seeing a band called the Earwigs at Christown Mall about 1965. Guess who that was? I remember a band called the Holy Grail out of Tempe; it had a drummer named Neil Smith who went on to join, guess who?
Glen Buxton and the other guys in the Spiders had a tremendous influence on all kinds of people in those days. The Alice Cooper phenom was unique and somewhat groundbreaking, but the stuff the Spiders were doing at the time was unique, even if it was cover material. "I'm Not Talking" (Yardbirds) was my favorite. Glen's lead and Vince Furnier's voice were perfect. Man, they were a nasty-looking bunch, even before they went to L.A., played the Cheetah for a while and came back to the VIP Club with a big spinning wheel and black-light paint on their faces.
The Brad Pack
Come on--is Robrt L. Pela the best New Times can do for theater reviews? Pela's review of The Rocky Horror Show ("Beat Transvestite," October 30) was itself a horror of effete, faux-sophisticated whining. Pela wasted a good deal of ink writing about how this live production wasn't supposed to be the movie, then he rambled on and on about the movie.
Pela's bitchy snipe about the actors "being busy trying to imitate the movie" is so far off base that it makes one wonder if he prewrote his review. Alex Gonzales did a wonderful job with a very difficult challenge, making Frank N. Furter his own version and being faithful to the character, while at the same time not impersonating Tim Curry from the movie. Gonzales succeeded and didn't imitate anybody, and he brought down the house with his "Sweet Transvestite."