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Please send letters to:

MAIL Dept., CREEM Magazine P.O. Box P-1064, Birmingham, Ml 48012

STROKING OUR JOKES

Thanks for your article on Keith. You said something, and with feeling.

Compared to Rolling Stone's pompous and vacuous account, it was like hearing Jack Flash after a blitz of Kraftwerk.

Yours Truly,

Nancy Achilles San Francisco, CA

(Compared to other letters, yours was like reading James Joyce's Ulysses after a chapter of Rock Revolution.—Ed.)

TORONTO HAS NO SINCLAIR LEWIS

After reading Barbara Charone's claim in the June issue that "Toronto has no Main Street," it appears painfully obvious that she must've been as much a prisoner in the Harbor Castle as Keith was.

For, as the enclosed cover photo from my next poetry collection proves, yes Barbara, there is a Main Street in Toronto. In fact, it's so famous that the Toronto Transit Commission even went so far as to name a subway station after it several years ago—a sure sign of underground immortality. Exiled on Main Street,

Jeffrey Morgan Toronto, Ontario

THE SECOND COMING OF CHRISTGAU Unfortunately, considering what a pompous putz old Ravi turned out to be, A1 Kooper's story about my refusing to turn off the ballgame during Pandit Shankar's set at Monterey doesn't happen to be true. 1 didn't even have a radio with me. I mean, it was really peace and love that weekend; even a sourpuss Yankee fan like me was "turned on," as we put it. At worst, I might have applauded Ravi's warmup exercises by mistake. Who could tell what was music and what wasn't? Well, maybe if I studied hard like a good boy for 15 years...

But Al's story has set me to reminiscing. I remember Saturday afternoon, at Monterey, maybe Sunday night. The whole audience was full of actual fans who wanted to hear some good rock and roll, if you can believe that. Instead, this skinny organ player who had just split from some New York group came on. People all over tried to get him to turn it down, or off, but he wouldn't. Finally he walked away. And the strange thing is, he's repeated; that pattern again and again throughout his career. Wotta world.

Robert Christgau

Dean of American Rock Critics (Bob, is this supposed to be a Rock-A-Rama or what?—Ed.)

THE COMING OF A THIRD CHRISTGAU

I have a great idea for record reviewing. First you split up all the people in the world according to the category of music they like. Everyone must choose one category. I don't mean rock, country, classical, etc., I mean country rock, Heavy Metal, Punk rock, etc., because we all like rock. Then each group has its own magazines and reviewers who review groups that only fall in that category. Each group will fight with each other. It would be great. Punk rock will win. The Dictators Search and Destroy unleashed. It's all over. The champs. Gabba Gabba we accept you.

Armen Chaparian, Jr.

Paterson , NJ

(You may have something there, Armen; it's probably only slightly contagious but definitely terminal. —Ed.)

CLAP FOR DICK

I thought your review of Bandstand's 25th Anniversary Show was stupid and showed poor taste in many of the references made to the stars who attended and those who are no longer with us.

If you would stop and think, you would not have any rock 'n' roll magazine to publish if Dick Clark hadn't been around to play, promote and yes, get rich off of some of the ipany people who have been fortunate to be associated with this man.

L.K.D.

Muncy, PA

(Right. Besides, we wouldn't even have The Gong Show if it weren't for the $20,000 Pyramid.— Ed.)

HEY, HO! LET'S GO!

1 don't wanna go down to the basement, but I'm glad to see you go. I'm gonna listen to my heart and swallow my pride—because I wanna be your boyfriend, hey Pinhead, you should have never opened that door, Suzy is a headbanger. Oh, oh, I love her so, Today your love, Tomorrow the world, but right now, I wanna sniff some glue, No, Loudmouth, Carbona not glue; hey Commando, what's your game, You're gonna kill that girl, if you Beat on the brat with a Chain Saw. Now I wanna be a good boy, but I don't wanna walk around with you, on 53rd and 3rd, Let's Dance at the Blitzkrieg Bop—hey—I Remember you—I met you at the Havana affair, yeah you were there, oh her, Judy is a Punk, in the California Sun, I said Gimme, Gimme Shock Treatment, and she gave me a Teenage Lobotomy.

I was "Sittin hereXvith nothing to do" so I wrote you a letter.

Alice Heldt

Rockaway, NY

(We were sitting around pondering your pander and everyone thinks that a group could probably get rich if they recorded songs using your sentences for lyrics and had the right management, of course.—Ed.)

FRUITY-TOOTY

I think your magazine stinks! You never have anything on Elton John: Why? Is he too good for your magazine or is it you're like Anita Bryant?

More Elton,

Miss A. Moore

Washington, D.C.

(Is it you're like Rod McKuen?—Ed.)

HOPE I DIE BEFORE I GET COLD

I kick back with Doob in hand and wonder if rock groups have forgotten about Alaska!!! We don't have any indoor facilities but plenty of outdoor! We haven't had a decent set of Rockers here since KISS in 73 and that's it!! I hope some important and intelligent people are reading this. It's not that cold up here.

Hard Up for Hard Rock,

J.H.

Anchorage, AK

(As we understand it, Gene Simmons never breathed a single candle spark until he played your fair city and had to ignite his tonsils just to keep the rest of the band from freezing. —Ed.)

TEACH 'EM A LESSON YOU'LL NEVER FORGET

For years, I've been trying to get people to listen to rock 'n' roll and not just use it as background noise. You know it's impossible to make people listen.

Well my good friend Becky started listening and tried to get others to listen. H er friend Connie started listening and you know who she likes best? Lou Reed, ain't that incrediblej Well she goes to the store to buy herself a Lou Reed album (Becky's advice) and you just know she would buy Metal Machine Music. She takes it home, does some mescaline and puts it on and cries. She calls up Becky (who is my landlord) and cries over the phone about seven hard-earned dollars for four sides of you know what. So being a gentleman I offer to take it off her hands and even give seven of my own hard-earned dollars to her for it. I felt responsible. After all 1 started them out. It is a good album and all, but what can I do about my dreams, Call Sister Midnight or something?

Love,

Dale

Benwha, MO

(Lou Reed thanks his lucky stars every day for people like you, and confidentially, so do we. —Ed.)

NAME DROPPIN* PLOPPIN*

As God is my witness, I swear I know the true father of Ultra-Violet. No, she did not come from France and change her name from Dufresne. She came from Syracuse in upstate New York and her real name shall remain anonymous. However I will say it suggests that she might be one of our more or less gentile friends. Her father is, of all things, a judge.

Not exactly a sequel to Hollywood Babylon, but certainly one of the more poignant metaphors for the sixties.

Sigh,

Dale Addemes Hoyt

(a personal friend of John Cale's

ex-roommate)

Marcellus, NY

(Not exactly a sequel to Film Fox, but certainly one of the more poignant mongoloids for the Seventies. —Ed.)

WHO'S INTERVIEWING WHO?

I really thought that article by Ian Anderson was really good. How long has he been writing for CREEM? I can tell that Anderson's not American from the funny way he puts sentences together. Does he need a work permit to write for you?

Astutely yours,

Darcy Diamond

Hollywood, CA

P.S. I know I should know who that star that Anderson was writing about; Air-Wreck Genheimer...Genheimer must be pretty big or CREEM wouldn't have assigned Anderson to write about him, right?

(Air-Wreck isn't that big... he's barely 6'1 "! Hey, Dar, why aren't your letters funny anymore? -Ed.)

COMPUTER READOUT WITH A BEAT

In accordance with Intergalactic Code 6969, your wayward publication was originally scheduled to be abruptly teleported into The Zone of ZERO FUNKATIVITY.. .for failing to acknowledge the rambunctious existence of the awfulous PARLIAFUNKADELICMENT THANG (Parliament/Funkadelic) and its funkablastic tenacles; Bootsy's Rubber Band and Homy Horns...

Fortunately, your article (April 77) on these cosmic perpetrators of blipdangistic funkafication, has postponed any immediate disciplinary actions against CREEM's present existence. However—let it be known, that you shall continue to provide your honkiteerian readership of unfunken heathens (and where applicable, heathenettes) with regular reports x>f their atomically-significant P.F.T... .to assure them of giving up their minds, bodies and green-crinkly unto the ironic scruples of total P-Funkmanship!

Failure to comply may result in Funk Suspension warrents served to your editorship and blahflammative staff; possible deportation to the staff of Readers' Digest and/or permanent exile into the F ZONE, under the doctrines of the Pinocchio Theory Act ("Fake the funk and your nose will grow!"). Hark & markforward! My funkcraft doombuttation ferry is poised above Babylonia to wrech havoc at zipzonian velocities if you dare to commit acts of acute jivation!

GIVE UP THE FUNK OR PERISH!

Sir lleb of Funkadelia

Unrotating Holy Rodan of Maggotropolis

Chicago, IL

P.S. Sir lleb is the alter-ego of Pedro Belltagious; album artist and literary propagandist for FUNKADELIC.

(We think you're right, but your dew-rag sounds a little too tight. —Ed.)

JOIN THE GERITOL GENERATION

Say, listen, I have some startling facts for you:

' Kiss has no talent.

Bowie has no talent.

Aerosmith is pretty good, for a fifth-rate Stones ripoff.

Peter Frampton has very little talent.

The Ramones, Dictators, Tubes, etc. have all the musical expertise of the Bay City Rollers.

Lou Reed has no talent and Eno is an asshole. Ditto Iggy Pop (Stooge was more appropriate).

Patti Smith is just a no damn good whatever.

All the abovementioned artists (and others of their ilk) are flummery of the first degree, foisted upon a stupid and undiscerning public to ascertain just how wretched an act can be and still get rich and famous. In better times this tripe wouldn't even have been recorded, much less drooled over in the press. 'Tis a massive dqse of horseshit.

Thought I'd tell you, so you Could stop writing about them.

Michael DeLong

Colorado Springs, Co

P.S. Why not try articles about groups who can actually play their instruments, and who know the difference between a melody and pancake make-up? What the fuck ever happened to music anyway? ,

(Yeah, there hasn't been any good finger lickin' foot stompin' riff pluckin' stuff come down the pike since Frankie left the Four Seasons, the Euerly Brothers busted up, and the Guess Who joined Weight Watchers.—Ed.)

BLIND IN JUSTICE

I gave up a dollar for the shit you call CREEM. Who and what gives you the right to make fun of Elton John and his admission of bisexuality? I bet if Stevie Wonder said he was bi, he'd win an award.

CREEM Hater,

Industry, CA

(Unfortunately, you, like Stevie, can't see the distinction .—Ed.)