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Vicky & Blue Boy
The first paycheck I received for something I’d written came from SF Weekly, a couple summers ago. Since then, I’ve benefitted enormously from the expert copyediting of Vicky Walker, who occasionally rewards me with an uproarious email, too.
You don’t know humility until you’ve spent an all-nighter slaving over 800 words, only to receive a dashed off thank you exuding more wit and erudition than you’ve read, let alone written, in the previous week. What I’m trying to say is: Vicky’s awesome.
(Also! She has the best taste in comedy. It was Vicky who introduced me to the brilliance of Chris Morris [SLYT]. And it’s Vicky who receives my Peter Cook YouTube links with the most enthusiasm.)
Last week, we worked on a profile of James Blake called “Blue Boy”. This is how it came out:
The time in James Blake’s life we might call his long winter — from which he emerged this year with a phosphorescent debut album — began as far back as the early ’90s with his first piano lesson. There, at the age of 5, he began to dissect sound with a surgeon’s chilly precision. The habit dies hard, apparently. Within the sparse synthscapes of his eponymous debut, released in February, we hear the telltale pop and hiss of things pulled apart.
Read the entire story here.
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