Why heroworship is unfulfilling + some wicked great writing

One of the best albums of the past few years is easily Arcade Fire's Funeral. The Montreal outfit's emotionally probing lyrics, multi-layered arrangements and five-alarm live show has jolted the rock scene with a vigor and urgency. And listen to them give interviews and they seem like class lads and lasses.

But then there's this instance of mis-speaking (er, writing) from the Arcade Fire Web site, as posted by lead singer Win ...

Hello everyone…
Our record is done and mastered!
It’s called Neon Bible
We have probably worked harder in the last 3 months then ( THIS SHOULD BE "THAN") in the rest of our lives combined, but we are all really proud of the results.

I can’t wait for you to hear it…
Intervention will be available for download sometime soon, with the profits going to Partners in Health’s inspiring mission to bring free health care to the people of Haiti.
pih.org

merry Christmas

luv

Win

Dammit. I am still going to devour the Neon Bible and love it, but ...

Now for something completely different ...

I think talent might be the most attractive thing in another human being. I don't just mean attractive in the "Can I buy you drink/Been here long?" kinda way, but as in I prefer being the company of talented/intelligent people. And as a former newspaper reporter, dedicated reader of poynter.org and writing teacher of students, I swoon for great writers. Recent discoveries of Molly Knight's blog and Whitney Pastorek's "Chart Flashback" column on EW.com make me realize that perhaps there is somone out there with good music taste and super snarky (who might even like sports in the case of Molly). Btw, I think I already found this person in Kirsten Dunst, but more on that in a future entry.

In the meantime, a sample of the amazing writing talents of Whitney Pastorek ...

4. ''Oh No,'' Commodores
I've listened to this song four times in a row now, and I never want it to end. This song is absolutely gorgeous. Those strings! That piano line! Lionel's voice, for once not dripping with cheese or all up in my face about how I have to dance right now! I wish I hadn't been 6 years old when it came out so that my superhot-and-sorta-dangerous boyfriend and I could have slow-danced to it in a 7-11 parking lot as it played over the radio in his truck. I wish it could have been the last song at my junior prom. I wish I were in danger of ever getting married, because then I could dance to it in a big floofy white dress. Alas, none of these things will ever come true. And thus, I must just sit here in my office, staring at the picture of George Clooney tacked to my wall, and cry some silent tears. Oh... no. That refrain, in all its harmonious glory, makes me melt. A

To read this whole column click here.