June 2008


To listen to three new songs from my forthcoming album titled “Buddy Holly”, follow this link:
“Buddy Holly”
“New York, New York” my 12 minute epic
& “The Music Mattered” one of a group of songs of mine inspired by/for Chet Baker

Track Listing:

1. Buddy Holly
2. Sunday Morning in New York
3. New York, New York
4. Bethlehem
5. Roses have Thorns
6. Through With the Circus
7. Smashed
8. Somewhere West
9. Everything Comes Easy to Me
10. Few Came to See Chet Baker
11. The Music Mattered


by Don Paterson

I love all films that start with rain:
rain, braiding a windowpane
or darkening a hung-out dress
or streaming down her upturned face;
one long thundering downpour
right through the empty script and score
before the act, before the blame,
before the lens pulls through the frame
to where the woman sits alone
beside a silent telephone
or the dress lies ruined on the grass
or the girl walks off the overpass,
and all things flow out from that source
along their fatal watercourse.
However bad or overlong
such a film can do no wrong,
so when his native twang shows through
or when the boom dips into view
or when her speech starts to betray
its adaptation from the play,
I think to when we opened cold
on a rain-dark gutter, running gold
with the neon of a drugstore sign,
and I’d read into its blazing line:
forget the ink, the milk, the blood—
all was washed clean with the flood
we rose up from the falling waters
the fallen rain’s own sons and daughters
and none of this, none of this matters.


I picked up the New York Times the other day to see that my favorite late night NYC haunt, Florent, is closing. His rent was to go up to $30,000 a month. What’s happening to New York? I’ll quote my song “New York, New York”:

“New York has changed
New York hasn’t changed at all
Someone’s going outa business
Someone else’ll open up a new one
Rents were down then up again
Higher than ever last Fall”

Just what the city needs, another high end women’s shoe store.
Man, those NYC developer’s wives must have a gorgeous shoe collection in their closets!

Well, there are other late night restaurants, but it won’t be the same. Sitting at the counter
there, way past midnight, the place packed…
Do me a favor and stop by for a glass of wine and a toast to the collective memory of a New York past.

Phantom Limbs
by Anne Michaels

So much of the city
is our bodies. Places in us
old light still slants through to.
Places that no longer exist but are full of
like phantom limbs.

Even the city carries ruins in it’s heart.
Longs to be touched in places
only it remembers.