COVERAGE
“Turnpike Terror!” or, How I found myself in a Philly basement digging Omar’s awesome sounds

Photog unknown, lovingly stolen from the Interwebs.
There I am, some 2 hours late for the show that starts at 6:30, hurtling down Turnpike South at around 80/90 mph, blasting Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries. I’m feeling…transcendental. Something about that moment was right. The speed, the rattle of a Nissan Exterra that can’t handle anything above 70 mph, the kismet of that song coming up on shuffle… I decide to memorialize the moment with a picture: a shot of the Turnpike as it unfolded in front of me, red lights dotting the darkness in front of me.
I open the camera bag with one hand, take the lenscap off like-wise, finagle the camera above the steering wheel and flick the switch on: “PLEASE CHARGE BATTERY,” says camera. All of a sudden, my car’s dash emits a bright flash. I see the needle marking my speed whack down to zero.
Why was this happening to me?

















