It is a trick of the light to see the times of one's importance as an important time. So I remember 1985, when I started SPIN, as pivotal, as a historic border between an era of relative innocence melting into shapeless dusk and a rising dawn lighting a hard landscape of cynicism and avarice. That is both true and untrue. The country had just re-upped Ronald Reagan as president, once again buying his snake-oil vision of America as a curative for all that ailed us. It was a time of bland plenty and artistic stagnation, and also of crippling need and artistic promise. The Cold War was raging and dying. Into this dropped SPIN, like a little naked, pink baby, not by any grand design but by happenstance.