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National Features >
Broward-Palm Beach New Times
For Florida's sole remaining sex surrogate, love is a many splintered thing.
By Michael J. Mooney
City Pages
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By Jeff Severns Guntzel
The Pitch
How a throwaway idea at the Barkley ad agency became the "Sonic Guys."
By Justin Kendall
Houston Press
A diner's guide to Texas's oldest Mexican restaurants.
By Robb Walsh
The Cult
Published on November 28, 2007
The Cult are guilty of many offenses, including crimes against fashion (singer Ian Astbury's puffy shirts and white leggings) and crimes against language (though it's not their fault earnest lyrics like "Fire woman, you're to blame" sound silly when it's not Astbury singing them). They cannot, however, be accused of playing it safe. Starting in the '80s as the punkish, Native American-obsessed Southern Death Cult, the band tried on different styles while taking off parts of its name, becoming the Death Cult, then just the Cult, veering into New Wave, moving to arena-rock headliners, diving fearlessly into grunge, and returning to rock with their new album Born into This—while always sounding unmistakably like the Cult. The band (featuring founding members Astbury and guitarist Billy Duffy) has been rewarded for its chutzpah with hits like "She Sells Sanctuary," "Love Removal Machine," and, of course, "Fire Woman." Come on, little sister. With the Cliks and Mindsight. All ages.
Fri., Nov. 30, 6 p.m., 2007