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Neph Basedow at the Houston Press apparently does: I claimed two spots on her recent account of the “Top Five Musician/Journalist Feuds”—a fun read, for sure.

This blogger lost out on the No. 1 slot to Lynn Hirschberg, Victoria Clarke, and various others, thanks to their numerous battles with Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love. But hey, it was an honor just to be nominated—that is, if you read “feud" as "a critic prompting a reaction from an artist for actually daring to be, you know, critical,” as I prefer to look at these things.

Adding to the flattery: My silly exchange with Ryan Adams (which actually was one-sided, and all on his side) actually ranks above Lester Bangs’ infamous back-and-forth with Lou Reed! Heady stuff, I tell ya.

On the other hand, maybe it’s justified: Based on the number and the frequency of the inquiries I receive about the Adams brouhaha, as well as its seemingly endless proliferation on the Net, it might actually be the most popular track that musician ever produced.

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Love-her or hate-her punk godmother Patti Smith, who will make a sold-out appearance this evening at Columbia College as part of its "Conversations in the Arts" series, recently won the National Book award for Just Kids, a memoir about her friendship with photographer Robert Mapplethorpe--though this critic, for one, didnt think the book was all that. Here is my review, written early this year, shortly after its publication.

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"Spontaneity is the spice of life,” Atlanta-born Thomas DeCarlo Callaway, better known as Cee Lo Green, intones at the beginning of his third solo album. “And I’ve indulged quite a bit.”

No kidding. For many, Cee Lo primarily is considered the imposing, slightly threatening, big, bald, whacko with the gorgeous gospel/R&B voice so well employed by his collaborator in Gnarls Barkley, DJ Danger Mouse. That is to say, he’s the dude who sang the runaway smash hit of 2006, “Crazy,” a strong contender for the single of the decade.

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Devoted admirer that I am of most things Eno, I must admit that the godfather of ambient music, long-dormant pop innovator, hero of the synthesizer, producer par excellence (U2, Talking Heads, Devo, Coldplay, etc.), and all-around Mensa-rocking Super Genius largely has been off his game for the last two decades, since his brilliant 1990 collaboration with John Cale, “Wrong Way Up.”

Eno’s 2008 rematch with David Byrne, “Everything That Happens Will Happen Today,” was satisfying, true, but that was more Byrne than Eno (something that could not be said of 1981’s “My Life in the Bush of Ghosts”).

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So distracting have been the high-profile antics and public eruptions from superstar producer-turned-rapper Kanye West—bum-rushing Taylor Swift, the endless string of self-obsessed Tweets, providing the low point for W.’s presidency (Worse than 9/11! Two wars! And a ruined economy!)—that accepting that the Chicago native’s fifth studio release is a masterpiece unfortunately requires the disclaimer, “Sure, he’s an a**hole. But….”

This hardly is a new phenomenon in popular music. John Lennon, Lou Reed, Van Morrison, Trent Reznor… well, they all could be a**holes, too, but no one could deny the long list of brilliant albums that each has to his credit. We have to separate the art from the artist: Sometimes, despicable human beings make astounding art, and sometimes, the nicest people in the world put out sheer, unadulterated crap. In this golden age of solipsism, it’s harder than ever to discount the personality and merely judge the performance, but the former really is irrelevant… or at least it should be, especially when an album is as breathtakingly creative, ambitious, and successful on every level as “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy.”

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At the end of a day of Biblical rains and Old Testament portentousness, Nick Cave endeavored to lift the spirits of the crowd of faithful fans who filled the Riviera Theatre last night—though he did it in a typically perverse Grinderman way.

“This is to cheer you up on this gloomy, stormy Monday in Chicago,” the 53-year-old singer and songwriter said five songs into a pummeling 90-minute set. And with that he tore into “Evil” from Grinderman’s recently released second album.

“You are the moon! Who needs the moon?/You are the stars! Who needs the stars?” Cave howled. “Oh, cling to me little baby in this broken dream/And let me protect you from this evil!”

If protection was what one was seeking on this turbulent night, that was, however, an empty promise.

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Mayor Daley has been talking for some time about privatizing the Taste of Chicago and other major city music festivals in Grant and Millennium parks. Now, with little fanfare, the administration has issued a request for proposals to pawn off its biggest musical celebrations, with responding bids due by 4 p.m. on Dec. 23—a time when reporters and the public are likely to be paying little attention.

According to city documents, Chicago spent $2.75 million policing and cleaning up the free festivals last year, with $2.3 million for Taste of Chicago alone. In late October, Special Events Director Megan McDonald told a City Council hearing grappling with the budget crisis that major cuts would be necessary if the city continued to run the festivals in-house.

"We can only do what we have the funding to do and what we’re able to raise money to accomplish,” McDonald said.

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