Prince, My Dentist, and Malcolm X

Now how bizarre is that?

I’m sitting in my former dentist’s chair, circa 1993. The hygienist is doing what she normally does: cleaning my teeth and asking multitudes of questions while many foreign instruments are coursing through my mouth. All I really want to do is rinse so that I won’t involuntarily swallow the “stuff” she’s extracting from in between my poor teeth (I swear that I…



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Terry Barr

I write about music, culture, food, and my Alabama past in The Riff, InTune, FanFare, A Cornered Gurl, Rock n”Heavy, Counter Arts, and Plethora of Pop.