Word: punk
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...white music, added some rhythm he had learned growing up in the Pentecostal church, swiveled his hips, put his heart into it, and started the rock rolling. The story starts before rock'n roll became an American institution, before it splintered into hard rock, bubble gum rock, acid rock, punk rock, jazz-rock, folk-rock, and that most castrated form of rock, if it can be called rock at all--disco. By the time I got on the bus this summer there was really little left of the original rock'n roll. When Elvis first sang he was a rebel...
Laura Mars (Faye Dunaway), a punk-chic photographer preoccupied with photographing violent, bloody, and morbid scenes, becomes alarmed when a psychopathic killer begins knocking off her friends by stabbing them in the eye with an ice pick (a rather uninspired and not very subtly executed modus operandi which grates more than it terrifies). Mars has visions of the murders as they are happening and tries frantically to find the killer, using her psychic powers...
...subspecies of celebrity is made up of those instant young show-biz successes who so often make the covers of the magazines at the check-out counters. The editors, aiming at young spenders, obviously know their market. But if punk-rock music doesn't interest you, a punk-rock star's life won't either-being totally occupied with self and titillating, if at all, only for the offhand candor about living arrangements and drug experiences. A historian, an architect, a playwright, a woman Cabinet member, a Nobel scientist-all of these have lived longer, reflected more...
...song is offset by two awful turkeys, "Adam Raised a Cain" and "Streets of Fire." Almost identical, they throb like a migraine with leaden, new-wave-inspired beats while Springsteen growls incoherently and lays down overamplified guitar riffs. These songs seem to be his answer to the anger of punk rock, but they sound more like annoying filler material...
...course, it is probably unfair to apply very high standards to a book that, after all, pretends to be nothing more than entertainment. Breslin is a marvelously gifted writer, no matter what his topic; a tough, grown-up Irish-American punk, he has a street-corner sense of humor and a sharp ear for dialogue, and his characterizations of middle-class New Yorkers seem to have stepped straight out of the subway. Even in dubious collaboration with Schaap--a sportswriter whose previous literary accomplishments, if that is the work for them, include a bunch of as-told-to locker-room...