79 books like Our Noise

A recovering newspaper journalist, I’ve lived and worked in Raleigh, North Carolina, since 1991, after growing up in Texas and Colorado. Professionally, I spent 28 years at Raleigh’s daily paper the News & Observer, primarily as a music critic, before taking my leave of the newspaper industry in 2019. Since then, I have gotten by as a freelancer writing for magazines, arts councils, alumni publications, and such. I also host a podcast – Carolina Calling, about North Carolina’s music history – while writing the occasional book. I’m also a member of the University of Colorado’s Trivia Bowl Hall Of Fame.

A recovering newspaper journalist, I’ve lived and worked in Raleigh, North Carolina, since 1991, after growing up in Texas and Colorado. Professionally, I spent 28 years at Raleigh’s daily paper the News & Observer, primarily as a music critic, before taking my leave of the newspaper industry in 2019. Since then, I have gotten by as a freelancer writing for magazines, arts councils, alumni publications, and such. I also host a podcast – Carolina Calling, about North Carolina’s music history – while writing the occasional book. I’m also a member of the University of Colorado’s Trivia Bowl Hall Of Fame.

A recovering newspaper journalist, I’ve lived and worked in Raleigh, North Carolina, since 1991, after growing up in Texas and Colorado. Professionally, I spent 28 years at Raleigh’s daily paper the News & Observer, primarily as a music critic, before taking my leave of the newspaper industry in 2019. Since then, I have gotten by as a freelancer writing for magazines, arts councils, alumni publications, and such. I also host a podcast – Carolina Calling, about North Carolina’s music history – while writing the occasional book. I’m also a member of the University of Colorado’s Trivia Bowl Hall Of Fame.

A recovering newspaper journalist, I’ve lived and worked in Raleigh, North Carolina, since 1991, after growing up in Texas and Colorado. Professionally, I spent 28 years at Raleigh’s daily paper the News & Observer, primarily as a music critic, before taking my leave of the newspaper industry in 2019. Since then, I have gotten by as a freelancer writing for magazines, arts councils, alumni publications, and such. I also host a podcast – Carolina Calling, about North Carolina’s music history – while writing the occasional book. I’m also a member of the University of Colorado’s Trivia Bowl Hall Of Fame.

My interests as a historian involve examining how Americans organize to change policy or politics through affiliations beyond political parties and, by extension, thinking about how culture is made and supported through institutions and businesses. These messy networks and relationships ultimately define how we relate to one another in the U.S. Indie music scenes are one way to trace all of these relationships, from federal policy governing radio stations and what goes out over the airwaves to the contours of local music scenes, to the business of record labels, to ordinary DJs and music fans trying to access information and new sounds that they love.

As a latchkey kid with cable access, I was practically raised by MTV. In the 80s/90s, Music Television defined popular culture, and it’s through music videos that I received my education on how songs can enhance the motion picture experience (and vice versa). My favorite books are ones that read like movies, and since movie soundtracks are, essentially, mixtapes for stories, I work to incorporate the perfect songs into my writing to set the mood for my readers. I take note with other writers do that, too, which is how I developed this list.

I’ve devoted my academic career and personal life to the limits and possibilities of white liberal approaches to civil rights reform. Trained in U.S. history and published in American Jewish history, I look closely at how ethnic groups and religious minorities interact with their racial and gender status to create a sometimes-surprising perspective on both history and our current day. At times powerful and at other times powerless, Jews (and other white ethnics) navigate a complex course in civil rights advocacy.

I was raised on a dairy farm in Tennessee, and I grew up steeped in my grandparents’ stories about the “hard times before the War” and the challenges of making a living on the land as the southern farm economy was transformed by industrialization and modernization. I learned to appreciate the deep insights found in the stories of so-called ordinary people. As a historian, I became committed to using oral history to explore the way people understood their lives, in my own research and writing and in my teaching. I assigned all five of these books to my own students at Converse University who always found them to be powerful reading.

I never thought I’d become a historian of the US military. Like most Americans raised in the era of the All-Volunteer Force, I grew up with no close personal connections to the US military. Yet its symbols, metaphors, and power flooded my life, from movies to games to politics. Every encounter with a memoir, an operational history, a biography, or a government study offered a new understanding of how the US military came to play such a vital role in US society, and how US society in turn shaped practices and people in the military. These five histories did more than any others to shape my understanding of the military’s relationship to American society in the twentieth century.

As I write in Fight Songs, my name has nothing to do with it: It refers to a geography an ocean away, and predates any notion of the American South (or of America, for that matter). I have spent most of my life in the South, though, loving football, basketball, and other sports that didn’t always love me back. I became curious about why they’ve come to play such an outsized role in our culture. Why did my home state come to a standstill for a basketball tournament? Why does my wife’s home state shut down for a football game? Writing Fight Songs was one way of exploring those questions. Reading these books was another.