Working title: Brilliantly Disguised Insoluble Problems

July 21st, 2015 § 0 comments § permalink

I’ve started putting a new album together. I don’t know how long it will take. I don’t know what will be on it. I don’t know how many other musicians I’ll use, or if it will mostly just be me. I just know it will be my own songs. I want to feel it’s me, right now, a self-portrait. Ah, but isn’t that true of anything we do? So this will be that in the key brilliantly disguised insoluble problems.

I play almost every day, but it’s relatively rare for me to decide to plug in the microphones long enough to do one or two takes, maybe overdub a 2nd part. But when I do, if I like it, it will go on the album. Maybe, on occasion, my son, Noah, will sit in. No fancy equipment. Just what I do and how I do it with what’s at hand. May take a little while, but when I get ten tunes, bing, bang boom! An album!

This is what I have so far:

1. “Wherever You Are is Home.” This is a pretty old tune. I’ve only performed it twice. Once shortly after I wrote it a bit over 27 years ago. I didn’t play it again until this recent recording. There was something special about doing it, so so like magic or time-travel … something. Whatever it is, it was a rare and wonderful experience. You can read what its about in a previous post. Noah plays 2nd guitar on this one. The other guitar, voice, and harp are me.

2. “I’ll Be Glad When You’re Gone.” I overdub the harp and 2nd guitar, because, sometimes, I like to play with myself. Who doesn’t? I like the way the tune moves from a kind of country blues feel to something with a little more swing. By the end of it’s, it has some nice jump. Just me on two guitars and harp, but it’s comes out Rock and Roll to me.

3. “Hot Dogs and Beer.” I was asked if there’s anything I believe in. Surprised the hell out of me. I didn’t used to believe in much. These days, I think I believe in everything. Even shit I never heard of. At least a little bit. Anyway, I was asked the question–not the first time- and this tune happened. Just like that. In one go. Just me on voice, harp, and both guitars having fun with it.

4. “Kezia’s Song.” I’m the father of a daughter, and that’s just about as great a thing as a guy can hope to be. One guitar and one voice for one daughter.

That’s all there is right now, but you can listen to these tunes right here and I’d love know that you’d like to hear more:

I don’t have art for the cover yet. So, please, if someone has an idea or wants to take it on, I’m interested in hearing about it. I can be available for photos or to sit for pencil, pen, or brush work, but it doesn’t have be my mug on the cover. Whatever looks good and feels right to me, you know?

Rounding Home

April 10th, 2015 § 0 comments § permalink

Acrylic and water color on paper / Water Dance Series

Acrylic and water color on paper / Water Dance Series

April 9th marked 27 years Jan and I have been married. Yup, 27 years ago. A bit more than half a year before that, I was on the island of Crete. That time, I’d been away from the states better than a year. Jan, who had been in school in Paris, joined me in Spain and we lived and traveled together for some months. She left for New York and I went to Greece. I wrote this song there. It was played once. That was for Jan on the day I arrived in New York. And because the song was new and written for that one performance, I couldn’t remember most of it after a time.

For years, I thought I’d lost the paper it was written on. I tried to find it. I knew I’d put somewhere for safekeeping, but it was out my head. I looked in all my old songbooks, through every file and folder of papers, in every crack and corner of everything I owned. More than once. Plenty more than once. You know how it is. You know you have something, and you’ve searched everywhere. You tell yourself, it can’t be gone. You must be blind. So you go back time and again. Then you give up and, after a while, you give up on giving up and go try all over again. I did that so much, because I wanted it and it felt bad to lose it.

A few months ago, I was clearing out my studio. I had a leave coming up, and I wanted to get things just the way I liked them to paint. In a drawer stuffed with old shit, I came across the address book I use to carry in my pack. I leafed through it. There were old pieces of paper stuck in there. Notes. Phone numbers without names on them. Some with names of folks I’d meant to stay in touch with and didn’t. Addresses for this or that in some city or another. Just scraps stuck in there, torn and wrinkled. They were slipping out while I handled them, and some fell. One of these was a small, doubled over sheet of paper. I picked it up and, mood I was in, unfolded to see what it was about. And there was the song.

So I recorded it on April 9th, twenty-seven years and around seven months after that last and, up to then, only time I’d played it. This time, my son Noah played with me.

Postcard Poems and Prose, “Cities”

March 9th, 2015 § 0 comments § permalink








Classical Guitar, No. 377, Spring 2015, “The Process Never Stops”

January 21st, 2015 § 0 comments § permalink




Classical Gutiar, No. 377, Spring 2015, “The Process Never Stops.”


 Buy the issue HERE.


Advice to a Friend Offered a Suspiciously Inexpensive Apartment in New York

December 19th, 2014 § 0 comments § permalink

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