My friend’s butt dial was nothing of the sort. Thinking of me, and loving me over the span of decades, he dialed my number and held his smartphone in air, surrounded by thousands of fans, that I might hear the music I love.
Dancing is better with a corn dog in each hand
Corn dogs flew high for three minutes and sixteen seconds. I burned the rule book to the ground. My friends were absorbed by the music.
Mindfulness, meditation, chance and The Village Vanguard
I always knew The Vanguard would be down stairs. Not sure how. Not even sure when it came into my field of vision. I just knew the music would be closer to subway trains.
A great artist doesn't need to leave a single great artwork in his wake
Lou Reed’s face was smashed against the Plexiglas door of a sheet-metal newsstand box at the corner of 61st Street and 9th Avenue. He had passed away seven days earlier.
Three stories being told at once
Further imagine that musician playing at least two of the instruments at one time, seemingly writing three different stories concurrently.
Thirty years away from the Blues
The Blues are born from sadness, and loss, just as assuredly as Jonny’s timbre is born of substantial knowledge, genetics and personal culture.
The perfect, hopeful, subversive headbanger
I love this poster. Found pasted on the exterior window of an administrative office on the campus of The University of Freiburg, it screamed at me in an all too lovely way.
Five 70s albums every Millennial should listen to this weekend
In 1975, FM disc-jockeys lived in the red light district of the mind. It was always four o’clock in the morning with a cigarette smoldering next to the turntable.