Guran, Paula (ed) - Rock On / Гуран, Пола (ред) - Рокенроллим [2012, EPUB, ENG]

Flying Saucer Rock and Roll novelette by Howard Waldrop Bob Dylan, Troy Jonson, and the Speed Queen short story by F. Paul Wilson Stone short story by Edward Bryant Mercenary short story by Lawrence C. Connolly The Erl-King / Лесной царь novelette by Elizabeth Hand We Love Lydia Love / Мы любим Лидию Лав novelette by Bradley Denton Last Rising Sun short story by Graham Joyce Freezone / Свободная зона novelette by John Shirley Hobnoblin Blues short story by Elizabeth Bear Then Play On short story by Greg Kihn The Feast of Saint Janis / Праздник Святой Дженис novelette by Michael Swanwick That Was Radio Clash novelette by Charles de Lint Rock On / Рокенроллим short story by Pat Cadigan Arise / Восстань short story by Poppy Z. Brite Wunderkindergarten short story by Marc Laidlaw Paedomorphosis short story by Caitlín R. Kiernan Odeed / Сделали! short story by David J. Schow Voodoo Child / Дитя Вуду short story by Graham Masterton We See Things Differently / Мы смотрим на вещи по-иному novelette by Bruce Sterling At Budokan / В «Будокане» novelette by Alastair Reynolds Mourningstar novelette by Del James Jeff Beck short story by Lewis Shiner "... How My Heart Breaks When I Sing This Song ..." short story by Lucius Shepard The Big Flash / И вспыхнет огонь ... novelette by Norman Spinrad

Felix was thirty-four. He worked four ten-hour days a week at Allied Sheet Metal, running an Amada CNC turret punch press. At night he made cassettes with his twin TEAC dbx machines. He’d recorded over a thousand of them so far, over 160 miles of tape, and he’d carefully hand lettered the labels for each one. He’d taped everything Jeff Beck had ever done, from the Yardbirds’ For Your Love through all the Jeff Beck Groups and the solo albums; he had the English singles of “Hi Ho Silver Lining” and “Tally Man”; he had all the session work, from Donovan to Stevie Wonder to Tina Turner. In the shop he wore a Walkman and listened to his tapes. Nothing seemed to cut the sound of tortured metal like the diamond-edged perfection of Beck’s guitar. It kept him light on his feet, dancing in place at the machine, and sometimes the sheer beauty of it made tears come up in his eyes. . . .