Five minutes until I interview Albert Hammond Jr. Turn on his new album. Como Te Llama? is great. Variety, clever lyrics. Squeeze an unlit cigarette between my fingers. I wonder if he smokes? Marlboros probably. No, focus on the new album. Ask about the name. I already know the answer -- an artistic roundabout approach to combating questions about the Strokes, I'm sure. Still, ask anyway. Two minutes until interview. I'm so hungry. I wonder what he's had for lunch, and if he and fiancée Agyness Deyn ate lunch together. Shit, one minute until interview. His dad, Albert Hammond, was just inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame. Albert Junior, do you have similar aspirations? How mundane. I bet he’s been asked that question a thousand times. What hasn’t he been asked? Are the Strokes breaking up? Do not ask that question. What’s your favorite color? Boxers or briefs? Fantastic idea, let’s scare him a bit and ask nothing relevant to him as a musician. Albert, if a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Let’s discuss. What a great way to lose my job. The phone is ringing, deep breath, act professional ...
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