There were a lot of the usual ups and downs that remind us we're all human, together in a fragile, fleeting dance called "life" -- and yet through it all, a continuous thread of gratitude is woven into the fabric of my journey.
It was winter, 1971, my last semester as a philosophy major at Bucknell University. Studying Plato, Kant, Sartre and company had been invaluable for its own sake; that it had taught me to think critically and act decisively was a bonus.
"Back in my teens, New York WAS the music business. ... I'd go up to Harlem to buy my records. It was a straight line on the D train from King's Highway to 125th street, and they had great record stores up there. ... I mean, I just couldn't think of a better place to be."
Every morning I receive a rundown of news that will never make the mainstream media. Here's a headline worth noting from this week: "Video Leak: U.S. Attack Helicopter Kills Farmers While Pilot Sings."
His songs are both classic and current, rooted in Americana and folk, the closest modern comparisons that come to mind are Jeff Tweedy and Rufus Wainwright, with echoes of Harry Nilsson, Bob Dylan and George Harrison.