Christopher Frizzelle interviews Khaela Maricich, aka, the Blow:
When I saw you in New York City a few years ago, you told me you really wanted to write pop songs for Lindsay Lohan. I remember thinking you were serious.
I was. It really appealed to me to write songs for someone else, and to let them go out and sing them and have my words be expressed through someone else's voice and body.
Because she was making choices that I could really relate to: She was publicly dating a girl, and the way that the press reported about their relationship really gave the impression that they were in love. When I looked at pictures of them out in public together, wearing Mickey Mouse hats and no makeup at Disneyland, I felt like I could totally relate to that situation. She looked so absolutely happy and at ease. I knew that she has a singing career and that she doesn't write her songs for herself, so I figured it would be exciting to try writing something for her. It seemed like an interesting challenge.
But it was Lemmy's need for speed that gave birth to Motörhead in 1975. "I remember the time before rock 'n' roll. All we had was Rosemary Clooney records. Then suddenly Little Richard came along. It changed everything." Motörhead also changed everything. They pretty much invented heavy metal, rivaling Black Sabbath. "If they'd said to me, 'Who would you say was the original metal band?' it was a toss between Lemmy and Black Sabbath—but I would say Motörhead," says Ozzy in one scene. Motörhead's sound—"speed freaks playing speed music"—also gave birth to the more specific genre of thrash metal. Without them, we'd have no Metallica, no Anthrax, and no Slayer.
SERGE GAINSBOURG: An archetypal Ugly Casanova, Gainsbourg was like Lou Reed, Iggy Pop, Marc Bolan, and Barry White all rolled into one troll-like French Jew. But he could write the hell out of a song. Against great odds, his lugubrious monotone vocal delivery moistened panties worldwide, as he gallivanted through genres—yé-yé, lounge, orchestral rock, folk, reggae, funk, electronic, pop—like a Gallic David Axelrod. Superbly abetted by producer/arranger Jean-Claude Vannier, this sleazy-listening auteur forged enough memorable songs to keep his daughter Charlotte well stocked for life.