I think in its own small way, it did push people to be more accepting of different kinds of music. It definitely made music more egalitarian in terms of, it took away the shame of the goofy bands that you liked.

What really takes me back is when I'm walking around the Lower East Side, because we went to so many places [there] - the bakery, a mannequin store, all these factories with mice running around. That also is very visceral and takes me back. Pool halls, tattoo parlors, all kinds of stuff like that.

The worst was I had little control in terms of smoothing out my questions and making myself look good the way I could in print. All the ums and uhs and rambling and apologies and hyenalike laughter at something that really isn't funny. You know when an artist will crack a joke, and you're like, "That's so hilarious," like, the fawning laughter that you can at least cut when it's print? It's just all out there, and it's really humiliating.

I started getting fan notes from people saying, "Oh, keep up the mess-ups," and I'm thinking, "I'm not doing it deliberately. This is just who I am." But people thought it was funny. I guess if you're watching and you see that I could do it, maybe it gives hope that anybody can do it.

I can barely listen to my tapes when I'm transcribing, because I can't stand how I sound.

Sometimes we were really surprised. There were major artists that would come by because they wanted to.

We had a wonderful department that scouted out new music. It was beneficial to Rolling Stone, because I would come back and say, "You have to hear this, you have to hear that," and I found a lot of bands to feature, emerging bands. It [ended up being] symbiotic.