poet, interviewer, musician, traveler
abracadabra
no matter how many times I hear
the magic trick that was Art Tatum
I can never figure out how he did it
how his mind leapt as if he’d never
heard of the law of gravity
how his fingers found all those keys
with no eyes to guide them
how he took songs everybody knew
and blasted them into a million
glittering jewels of sound
he had an arm up each sleeve
with miraculous hands at the ends
here I sit, mouth open in wonder
grateful just to listen
/ / /
14 April 2025
Charlottesville VA
Black Saint Billy Harper is wailing 40-something years ago in some other city but tonight he’s filling the air in our bedroom in Charlottesville because earlier today at Melody supreme his record was on the wall and I remembered that time I interviewed him and his voice was so rich and resonant that it put mine to shame and that was already so long ago that I recall only impressions (not the Coltrane tune) and wow! this band is killing.
five decades
collapsed in an instant
black metaltail hummingbird
/ / /
12 April 2025
Charlottesville VA
Fred Astaire’s Sister
The crossword puzzle book –
which, let’s be honest,
is already a pretty old place to start –
has a clue asking for the name
of Fred Astaire’s sister.
As I pencil in ADELE,
I get that cozy feeling
that comes from a warm fire
on a snowy day
with an old movie playing.
There’s something oddly comforting
about knowing Fred’s sister’s name,
as there is about knowing Fred himself.
I was born in the era of record players
housed in credenzas, grew up
in the era of cassette tapes and then CDs,
and watched my kids come of age
at a time when every song ever recorded
is available at the touch of a pretend button.
But now it’s Sunday afternoon,
I’m listening to Horowitz on vinyl,
penciling in the name
of Fred Astaire’s sister,
and happy to be spanning the ages
with my wonder still intact.
/ / /
25 March 2025
Charlottesville VA
Turns Out I’m Not Famous
I’m waiting to talk to another musician,
here at the lowest level of radio.
How many times have I done this?
Two thousand? Three thousand?
I used to think I’d be on the other end,
part of some arena-filling band
that all the DJs wanted to talk to.
It hasn’t worked out that way,
and other than the blues guys
who were rediscovered
by eager white record collectors,
not that many musicians start
a successful career in their 50s.
I’m more of the eager white type
than the neglected blues legend type,
so I guess I’ll keep my day job,
waiting here for another interview
with another rock musician.
/ / /
12 March 2025
Charlottesville VA
the eighties
we listened to Pink Floyd & Rush
Genesis & Yes & King Crimson
Marillion & a-ha & Depeche Mode
we watched Monty Python
& Robin Williams & Red Dwarf
& Big Trouble In Little China
we ordered pizza
bought snacks at Wegmans
stopped at Perkins in the wee hours
we read Watchmen & The Dark Knight Returns
The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy
The Chronicles Of Amber & Tolkien
we played in the marching band
we played in the wind ensemble
we (some of us) played in a rock band
we planned to go to college
we planned to never get married
we couldn’t imagine having kids
we’re not all around anymore
most of us are parents now
most of the rest of it is the same
/ / /
28 February 2025
Charlottesville VA
ambient guitar music for feline escape artists
this morning the cat got out
this afternoon I found him
a guitar winds its way
through the bedroom
the cat sleeps through it
/ / /
27 February 2025
Charlottesville VA
Circle Pit
We’re packed into L’Anti Bar
while Crachat slams into their last song.
They’re wild, ferocious, loud, glorious.
A room full of hometown fans
jump and smash and sing along.
Then it’s over. During the break
two locals talk to me in English.
They want to know why I’m here
in Québec for a punk show.
They recommend bands and a cool bar
for the after-party, not knowing
I’ll be in bed as soon as the next band is done.
Stephanie and I get closer to the stage.
It’s time for Taxi Girls, the reason we added
hours of extra driving to an already long trip.
They rip into the first song,
leave claw marks on the crowd.
Stephanie weaves even closer,
phone camera as talisman.
I hold our coats, sleeves stuffed with
festival t-shirts, keffiyehs, our hats.
The band starts “The Lion’s Share.”
We belt out the words. I play air guitar
under the coats. Nerd to the core.
After the show we chat with the band,
buy records, get them signed,
walk to our rented apartment
through the frigid night,
slowing down to photograph
queer anarchist graffiti
because we’re queer anarchists.
La musique punk est
le langage universel
de la révolution.
21 February 2025
Québec
Let Me Come In And Talk To You About Dire Straits
Dan Bern said he was the Messiah.
Dire Straits said if two men say
they’re Jesus, one of them must be wrong.
As far as I know, I’m not who you’re waiting for.
But come in anyway and have a cup of tea.
Life is both long and short,
and just when you’re tired as fuck of the whole thing,
you get a glimpse of the alternative
and cling to the now like a barnacle
on the hull of a ship.
I used to sail when I was a kid.
Now watching a movie set on a boat
makes me seasick. We change, at least a little.
If I ever get to London,
I’ll climb on a box at Speakers’ Corner
and proclaim myself the Lord
just to see what happens next.
Eventually somebody might be right.
Ah, there’s the kettle.
/ / /
13 February 2025
Charlottesville VA
A Hole Where A Heart Had Been
It can’t be stitched, patched or mended.
Time will not heal it.
You can see the sky through it.
And if you put your ear to it,
you can hear an ocean of tears.
/ / /
8 February 2025
Charlottesville VA
The title is a line from We Travel Econo,
a documentary about the band
The Minutemen.
Ambience
Music For Airports
fills the room like
incense smoke
as we take our pills,
perform our ablutions,
try to coax the cat into bed,
commiserate about the world,
then let sleep take us.
/ / /
7 February 2025
Charlottesville VA
Listening To Live Rust On Sunday Morning
Voice like an angel
slowly drowning
in the shallow end.
Bright 12-string
shimmering
above the sing-along.
Canadians
are the best at being
Americans.
/ / /
2 February 2025
Charlottesville VA
Late Coltrane(s)
John and Alice
built a living space:
walls of strings,
saxophone ceiling,
windows to the soul,
a door to infinity.
/ / /
23 January 2025
Charlottesville VA
Heaven In The Record Store
Nineteen, browsing the bins
at the lone record store in Potsdam, NY.
I walked out with three CDs:
The Berkley Concert by Lenny Bruce,
The Juliet Letters by Elvis Costello,
and Culture At Work by Culture.
Lenny because I’d found an album
in the stacks at my college radio station.
Elvis because I’d just heard
“Everday I Write The Book.”
Culture for reasons I can’t remember.
What context did I have for this music?
I grew up in a place with no record store,
the nearest one at the mall 30 minutes away.
Now here I was in a college town,
meeting new people who knew
way more music than I did,
with a well-stocked record store
and a tiny bit of money I’d saved up.
Heaven is a place where they have all the bands.
/ / /
22 January 2025
Charlottesville VA
Fast Fashion & The Guillotine
David Gahan was 21 when he sang
“the grabbing hands grab all they can.”
He turns 63 in May and that sentence
is even more true.
I’m reminded of the song because
I watched the video tonight,
projected onto my wall and pouring
out of my stereo speakers.
I watched it while eating
peanut-butter-filled pretzels
and drinking a Hank’s root beer.
It’s the very availability
of what passes for contentment
in our modern world
that prevents us from solving
the problem David sang about.
/ / /
17 January 2025
Charlottesville VA
Reflections
1.
When I was a child I saw a ghost
down at the end of the hall.
Just a face, floating beside a bookshelf
in front of the workshop door.
It faded as I approached.
I never mentioned it to anyone.
2.
My grandpa took me to my first concert:
two musicians from New Orleans.
That makes Grandpa sound pretty hip,
but really he liked the clarinet player
because the guy had been on Lawrence Welk,
the squarest show on TV.
Still, my grandpa seemed pretty hip to me.
For years I carried a picture
of Grandpa’s saxophones in my wallet.
Like so many other things,
I lost it.
3.
You hold up a mirror to me.
I hold up a mirror to you.
With that one act we create
Infinite universes in the glass.
Uncountable possibilities
for love and connection,
using nothing but photons
and angles of incidence.
/ / /
12 January 2025
Charlottesville VA