There’s a column in the Guardian newspaper called “Is This It?” [sic] where they ask celebs questions that are taken from song lyrics. My friend Imran sent over the latest one done by D. Ryan Adams. As you can imagine, the repsonses are somewhat hilarious. Examples:
Who wrote the book of love?
I don’t know but, whoever it is, when I find them I’m going to beat that person senseless. Why? Because when they wrote that book, they obviously forgot to put the warning on the front. And now I’ve spent my life having that job. “Warning: real love may come with extraordinary amounts of sadness, depression and self-loathing.” Love can make you a reluctant existentialist.
What’s the frequency, Kenneth?
I mean, seriously, who is Kenneth? The answer should be, “Hey Michael [Stipe] what would happen if you sat down and actually thought this shit out for 10 minutes?” I mean, no offence but there’s a slight difference between Monster and Fables Of The Reconstruction and we all know what that is; it’s a level of giving a fuck. $80m will do that to anyone who has a credit card and access to a Barney’s. I have seen the band since and I say all this as a fan, by the way.
When will I be famous?
My God: if you’re lucky, never! Fame is an unnatural construct and those who go in search of it are the least likely to find it. I mean, really, does anyone want to sit through a show by the Killers? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, unfortunately with the exception of the Killers.