Bitterness, in rock 'n' roll, does carry some currency, particularly when you're young and hung over (and frequently stupid) with a bunch of angst axes to grind. (Just ask Elvis Costello or Courtney Love -- or Korn's Jonathan Davis, for that matter.) As time moves on, however, one learns to refine one's bitterness, and even though some musicians never quite resolve things -- there's no character more seething than the failed '60s garage rocker who woke up one morning to find he was stuck with a fat wife and bratty kids, a double mortgage in a crummy neighborhood and a dead-end job at an auto supply shop -- those less smitten by their own egos learn to adapt. Lately we've seen a whole new breed of bitter-come-lately emerge, the pop artist blessed with impeccable musical taste (he owns all the Beatles and Beach Boys bootlegs) and oodles of talent saluted in all the right places (everyone knows a great review and a buck twenty-five will buy you a cup of coffee) but who can't get arrested in a world not so much nonplussed as unimpressed by taste and talent (switch on your local modern-rock radio... More >>>