A couple weeks ago, The New Yorker published a lovely little essay about the eccentric rocker, Ariel Pink. The whole conversation takes place in an SUV bound from Pink's Williamsburg hotel to a show in Staten Island. Pink rehashes some recent social media controversies and some other thoughts on his own fame. The whole encounter could best be described as strange, which coincidentally, is the perfect adjective for Pink's new album, pom pom.
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