Contemporary music is so lame, so derivative, so last year (or, really, fifty years ago), that Rolling Stone is reduced to utterly shameless attention trolling. They might as well stop being a music magazine, and start up the reality TV show. But this week's cover marks the moment where it becomes utterly uncool to still read Rolling Stone:
Do I really have to point out the immorality of putting this murderer on the cover of your magazine in a dreamy pretty boy pose?
What on earth were they thinking?
Oh, I remember, they were thinking... maybe someone will talk about Rolling Stone again.