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Goodbye Liz


 

Elizabeth Taylor died today. As she passed out of this world so to did a powerful illusion, a bittersweet, glamorous mystery. This beautiful brunette wonder embodied desire. She was an anachronism of sexual grace  that barely exists anymore,  not in this epoch of pornification and manufactured allure. We’ll miss you, like we miss Marilyn, and Audrey, and Lana.

I remember as a boy being overwhelmed by LT’s beauty in Cleopatra, and wondering what it must be like to touch , or smell or be close to such a creature.  She could provoke desire that was as clean as a razor’s edge, that made you give in to the demands of the siren’s song or lash yourself to the proverbial mast in futile resistance. Even though she was a siren( a lost art in these times), she was no princess of pruriance, no skeezer of the floodlights. She was a queen; ditz, glitz and glamour be damned…a queen. RIP Liz.

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the begginning of 2010


this new year has found me hopeful. more hopeful than i can actually recall being in  some time. hopeful that i can transcend my great, burning need to measure myself either in the light of someone else’s reflected glory, or in the embers of my own ego,  stoked by the acceptance or approval of others. even though there is a lot of musical activity and striving happening; working with Martin Birke in Genre Peak, the privilege of singing Jack Perla’s wonderful songs with the Poet’s Cabaret project, the chance to jam and check out connectivity with the broun fellinis for a hopeful project with vernon reid….i just want to be happy to play, to sing, to work, come what may.

A very prominent electronic music label will be listening to the demo of GP martin and i will be putting together at the end of february. it will be one more process of review in 18 years and 4 record labels worth of music business experience. i, of course hope they like it. like it enough to release and support it…but what, in a deeply elemental sense, changes if they do not? will my wife or daughter love me less? will the stars shift in their orbit, or the woodpecker who is keen to destroy my chimney cease his petulant destructions? the answer is of course, no. all artists work to some degree to be known,  to avoid the deafening silence of one-hand-clapping. the secret is to decrease the dread little by little, year by year, until we are left with the elemental understanding that we have given birth to what we have heard in our soul, note for note, breath for breath.

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