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The Talking T-Bone

It’s another sickeningly beautiful day in Los Angeles: the sun is shining, the smog level is down and there hasn’t been an earthquake in at least a week. Even rarer, T-Bone Burnett, popular music’s best-kept secret, is folding all six-foot-God-knows-what of himself into a coffeeshop banquette to talk to CREEM.

July 1, 1988
Sharon Liveten

The Talking T-Bone

by

Sharon Liveten

It’s another sickeningly beautiful day in Los Angeles: the sun is shining, the smog level is down and there hasn’t been an earthquake in at least a week. Even rarer, T-Bone Burnett, popular music’s bestkept secret, is folding all six-foot-Godknows-what of himself into a coffeeshop banquette to talk to CREEM.

Like any normal person, he’s somewhat suspicious. “Why would CREEM be interested in me, anyway?” he asks, his gentle Texas accent and natty suit immediately giving him away as a non-resident.

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