Sasha Frere-Jones—the longtime New Yorker pop music critic who bolted for a gig at Genius before leaving the nascent website and heading west for the Los Angeles Times—has resigned from the paper after crossing various ethical bounds, as well as expensing $5,000 at a strip club, The Wrap reported tonight.
In January, Sasha Frere-Jones, the longtime music critic at the New Yorker, left the fabled magazine for a job at Genius (neé Rap Genius), the annotation website that sticks bad jokes next to your favorite rap lyrics. The honeymoon, though, appears to have been short: Frere-Jones recently moved from full-time to…
Sasha Frere-Jones, who is not a black French woman, has accepted a job with annotation start-up and ephemeral website Genius (formerly known as Rap Genius), leaving his comfortable perch as pop music critic at analog paper magazine the New Yorker. Presumably, Genius offered Frere-Jones the promise of an intellectually…
According to reports, long-time New Yorker music critic Sasha Frere-Jones is leaving the magazine to join Genius, an annotation website with generous VC funding and a vast database of rap lyrics.
In your woebegone Wednesday media column: network news is on the ups, The Source magazine remembered, Harper's Bazaar cuts back, the trickle away from The Daily continues, and ad revenue at the NYT is bad (again, still).
In your paradigm-shifting Tuesday media column: Sasha Frere-Jones decamps, Keith Olbermann declaims, Brides magazine double-entendres, and the NYT deconstructs.
Twitter, the ideal medium for feigning emotion! Bonnie Fuller pretended to be shocked, Erick Schonfeld and Kara Swisher pretended to fight, and Sasha Frere-Jones pretended to function. Today's real fake tweets:
The New Yorker is not going biweekly. "Report it out, or shut the fuck up."
What's Twitter good for? Knowing that your life of quiet desperation is shared by the rich, powerful, or merely well-read, for starters. Steve Case, Sasha Frere-Jones, and Rob Corddry deserve twitty pity:
Oh, Twitter! Even senators say the darnedest things on the dynamic compendium of Internet users' stupidest thoughts. "How does one manage a beaver?" asked John McCain mid-pork tirade. More tweets that left us speechless:
Today's tweets: Ashton Kutcher tried to be more tolerant, the New Yorker's Sasha Frere-Jones tried to be more zen, and a guy who dropped out of journalism school tried to be more drunk.
Look, everyone's a little excited about the inauguration. Here's a snapshot of a media elite which just won't shut up, in 140 characters or less:
Would you like to hear New Yorker music critic Sasha Frere-Jones sing the hits of Kelly Clarkson? Sure, we all would! Thankfully, The New Yorker has us covered. Sasha wrote an entertaining piece on auto-tune (the software that corrects pitch problems and can also be used to make wacky robot vocals), and then went to…
While Sasha Frere-Jones sings worse than a season-premiere American Idol reject, the New Yorker music reviewer's voice sounds almost passable after plugging it into Auto-Tune, the standard industry post-production tool. According to Frere-Jones's interview with producer Tom Beaujour, pretty much every recording artist…
Sasha Frere-Jones
Friedman's oblivious egomania, Dowd's insouciance to basic norms of logical argument, Kristof's admirable ambulance chasing: all such other Times op-ed superpowers pale in comparison to David Brooks's truly awe-inspiring, magisterial laziness. Like a frat boy funneling a brew, he sits waiting for ideas to trickle down…
The mostly-Canadian collective Arcade Fire, reacting to a New Yorker article by Sasha Frere-Jones in which he claimed that "If there is a trace of soul, blues, reggae, or funk in Arcade Fire, it must be philosophical," has actually assembled an mp3 of bits that they have taken from the music of the blacks! It's sort…
New Yorker music critic Sasha Frere-Jones is concerned that all the indie kids don't try to sound like black people anymore. He went to an Arcade Fire show and was totally bored! Do they even have a rhythm section? It's all shouting and French horns, isn't it? "But, in the past few years," says Sasha, "I've spent too…
Floridian disc jockey Diplo played on Friday night at Hiro for the annual New Yorker Dance Party. If you wanted to see Adam Gopnik shake his strangely wide ass, you'd have been disappointed. But who are the New Yorker readers who appreciate both the sternness of Hendrik Hertzberg and dancing to a song whose refrain…
Alert! Sasha Frere-Jones, the New Yorker's resident Justin Timberlake and Mariah Carey enthusiast, is also an amateur photographer, which you may know if you ever visit his website, where you will see photographs of such things as purple tulips, turkey sandwiches with a side of orange, and graffiti. But Sasha would…
