CREEM HANGS THE OTHER ROCK MAGS OUT TO DRY!

Rock magazines—don’t ya just love ’em? I mean, where else can you read about punishable food at the US Fest, or Brian Wilson’s latest rude institutionalization? Yes indeedy, I l-u-v rock mags.

Sure I do. Right up there with burl walnut and tank farms. When you get right down to it, what good are they? Can they help you decide if your complexion is extinct yet? Lead you into a high-paying career as a tree surgeon’s hygienist?

No way! Besides the usual bald-faced lies, false accusations and politicky-licky that goes on with the record companies (In Bed City, conspiracy fans), they’re just plain full of it, technically speaking, that is. J «"

Single redeeming factor is FUN! Maybe not as much fun as a perfect day for bowand-arrow fishing or rock ’n’ roll itself (gag), but still pretty much a laff civil disobedience. Pretty pictures! Zany rock ’n’ roll gossip! Wacky features! And—silliest of all—record reviews they expect you, the unwitting dupe, to take seriously! As famed reviewerreviewer Felix The Cat once said, ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!

A BRIEF HISTORY OF ROCK MAGS

I’ll say brief.