When the whole cheeky-misspelling nonsense started in the Sixties, it was cute, inspiring names like the Monkees, the Byrds, the Cyrkle and the Human Beinz.
And after all, the psychedelic era brought with it certain liberties. It wasn’t until the Eighties that the whole misspelling idea began spiraling out of control, when hair-metal bands started twisting up their names with extra letters, missing letters, backward letters, random lowercasing and overzealous umlauting. Years later, nü-metal acts (who couldn’t even spell their own genre properly) mucked things up beyond all recognition.
The confusion kept editors proofreading at their cubicles well into the night, and sent graphic designers prone to ducking deadlines out to even longer lunches. The bad news is, given today’s txt-msg and e-mail trends, we may B n 4 sum dp sht.
“Kurt launched into that track and totally went off. In the middle of the song, he smashed his guitar to bits”: The making of the album that virtually invented a new genre, sold 30 million copies, and changed rock forever
“I’m a death-to-genres guy. I’m not like, ‘Let’s do country now, let’s do rock.’ It’s like, ‘Let’s do music’”: Is it country, bluegrass, folk, rock? The Rose City Band don’t play within a genre, but they do play with them
