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I’ve long contended that George Martin was the real Fifth Beatle, an honorific bestowed by fans and critics alike. His impact on their music was considerable and it’s about the music, isn’t it? Well, yes and no. It’s also about the mystique, the image, the business, the machinery that transformed the zeitgeist. And that’s where Brian Epstein […]

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(In Memory of Michael Jackson, who passed away 5 years ago today, we’re reposting this blog written by Vivek J. Tiwary after he heard the news.)

I was shocked when I heard that Michael Jackson had died– partially because he was so young and, to me, his death so unexpected… and partially because I felt much sadder than I thought I would. I didn’t think I cared so much about Michael Jackson anymore.

But in the days that followed, I realized that to pretend I didn’t care about Michael Jackson was like trying to pretend I didn’t care about youth. And I don’t mean my youth– I mean the concept of youth itself.

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April 11, 2014, NEW YORK, NY—By Vivek J. Tiwary

Yesterday afternoon, hours before he would induct Beatles’ manager Brian Epstein into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, my friend Peter Asher warned me that his induction speech would be short by necessity. I suspect Peter thought I’d be disappointed that Brian might not get his full due. And yet last night, Peter gave the most lovely, heartfelt, personal, poignant, and informative speech about Brian Epstein that the mainstream public has heard in years, perhaps since Paul McCartney told the BBC “If anyone was ‘The Fifth Beatle’ it was Brian” (and that was in 1999).

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Fifty years after the Beatles’ triumphant first visit to the United States, their legacy and impact is still being enjoyed, their great message of love still cycling around the globe and down through the generations. Even my daughter, who was just born in 2011, has a favorite Beatles’ song (“Come Together”).

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Dark Horse Comics Blog | December 9, 2013 I held my mother’s hand as cancer severed the last threads of her life. In that moment, her heart stopped beating—and mine broke. And beyond the clicking of IVs administering useless painkillers, and the humming of monitors with nothing left to monitor, I could hear music. In […]

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