Zero Sum.

Off the debut album. Too much of the world’s pain comes from a zero sum mentality, but this song is much simpler than that.

High Desert Wind.

The February Single. It’s a train robbing song.

Desperate Middle Class Blues.

"Desperate Middle Class Blues", was written in 2020 and that should pretty much explain everything about it. The days blend in to one another as we become rooted in our isolated routine, the smallest details being blown into distorted proportions. We rely on humanity's greatest super power, adaptability. We are sad and we laugh, just like we always have, but maybe with something a bit more desperate.

It was recorded live to that sweet old TEAC reel-to-reel tape machine stolen from the Handsome Lady Records Clubhouse in Greenpoint, NY, those many years ago. If you listen closely, you can hear Lola, our sweet pup, singing along (she was fairly out of key).

Open The Door, Homer

There was a time when The Village was the epicenter of songs. I was born well after that time and I got to NYC almost too late to take part in any remaining trace of that legendary spring. Almost. There was a bar, a caf(f)e, a room called Caffe Vivaldi, run by a true gentleman of arts, Ishrat. It was a second home for many years. This is a live cover of Bob Dylan and The Band’s cover of an old minstrel song that we performed at Caffe Vivaldi late one night in The Village. The picture is of me standing in front of Big Pink. That’s Steven’s dog, Maddie. Good girl.

You Don’t Love Me (The Way I Love You)

It starts with the whir of a 2 inch reel-to-reel tape machine, the sticks counting in, the toms, and the band hits.

It took a little while to write the song. I had the chorus in my head but it took more time to find the story. The first draft of the song had a guy waking up next to his partner in early morning, looking at her while she sleeps, and contemplating the unequal depth of their love for each other. He loved her far more than she loved him and he was just going to have to live with it and hope she never got wise to her own feelings. It was boring.

I was waiting for my girlfriend’s car to be repaired at an auto-body shop in Brighton Beach, just walking the cracks in the concrete sidewalks thinking about cars and feeling desperate when the image of this guy switching off his headlights, tempting and toying with death because the object of his affection didn’t love him back (the way he loved her) popped into my head. It seemed more interesting.