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Recent Articles By Roy Kasten

National Features

  • Village Voice
    A Slice of Mafia With Your Sparkling Water?

    New York's biggest distributor of bottled beverages likes the wise guys.

    By Tom Robbins
  • Seattle Weekly
    Black Rushin'

    For minorities in the U.S., admitting you like Rush is the ultimate taboo.

    By Nicolae White
  • Miami New Times
    "I'm Suddenly Bruce Lee"

    A Miami City Commissioner dishes about the beating that ended his political career.

    By Chuck Strouse
  • Houston Press
    Move Over, Miley

    Texan Demi Lovato is the Disney Channel's new tween sensation.

    By Robert Wilonsky

On last year's Remember the Sun, Pieta Brown starts with the wrong question. "Peace on earth, where'd you go?" she asks, as if it ever existed anywhere but in peacenik delusions. But it's the wrong question, because Brown couldn't be further from the insipid-café school if she set up shop in a juke-joint on a Mississippi flood plain. With guitarist and paramour Bo Ramsey pouring down blues lightning, Brown lends her buzzed-and-slurred voice to honest-enough-to-get-angry rock and country vignettes of "divorce and pills," "masters of war still sleep[ing] at home in their beds" and the "hopes of people under the gun." Like her father, Iowa folk icon Greg Brown, she's a fierce and perceptive songwriter, with a voice and musical vision to match.

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