On June 25th, I attended the Disclosure Foundation Forum 2026 in Washington, D.C., held in the historic Kennedy Caucus Room in the Russell Senate Office Building. The purpose was to invite bipartisan Congressional members (Senators Mike Rounds and Kirsten Gillibrand, Representatives André Carson, Eric Burlison, Suhas Subramanyam, Anna Paulina Luna, etc.) and experts (Avi Loeb, Christopher Mellon, Hal Puthoff, Timothy Gallaudet, Pippa Malmgren, etc.) to discuss our current understanding—culturally, economically, technically, spiritually—of the phenomenon. Largely not covered by conventional news outlets, it was newsworthy. If you’re interested in watching any of the panels, I would suggest you do so on their website. This “high strangeness” (as French scientist/inventor/author/astromoner/ufologist Jacques Vallée coined) has long intrigued me since I started reading as a child. Humankind’s place in the universe has always been front and center for me.

Today, I am far more optimistic that full disclosure is imminent—either via our government or by some ad hoc group using social media to grand effect. Make no mistake, there are many so-called “experts” who claim to understand the phenomenon. In my opinion, no one person holds dominion over the truth. Perhaps, with the rapid ascent of technology and AI’s exponential growth, disclosure is nothing more than our new mythology.

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At times, as witnessed by my photo above, I’ve been known to take a light-hearted approach to discussing and/or sharing information that I’ve gleaned over the years. But I’m deadly serious behind my facade. Sure, I developed a humorous YouTube web series, The Mr. Gray Show, which included David Lynch and actor Richard Kind in the first two episodes. But I’ve also written short stories, a feature film, and a television series that focused on the abstract and more intense elements of disclosure. And I’m a member of two ad hoc groups—Unveiling The Enigma and Right To Know—pushing for disclosure for humankind. Think of us as shepherds to help the transition of disclosure to circumvent any ontological shock that may or may not occur. (That debate continues.)

I’ve often wondered if I had an “abduction”/“paranormal” experience as a child while visiting my grandparents in the country. (Or is this wishful thinking intended to connect me to the phenomenon?) I visited them often, but it was a world that seemed terrifying yet tremendously intriguing. I couldn’t wait to leave my home in a working-class Italian-American neighborhood in Akron, Ohio, and head to the country, but once there, I couldn’t wait to go back home to the suburbs. This push-pull tugged on my young psyche, yet something kept calling me to an area of the Midwest where you could see every star in the night sky, far from the light pollution of an industrial city. From a very young age, I was drawn to science fiction books and films, escaping reality in the thoughts and words of some of the greatest writers in the genre. And I watched every science fiction movie made in the ‘50s and ‘60s I could find on the 4 channels of programming available to us as a youngster; films like The Day the Earth Stood Still, Invaders From Mars, The Time Machine, Godzilla, Them!, First Men in the Moon, Planet of the Apes, The Thing, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, et al.

Yet, it all coalesced for me in 1968 when I attended my friend Danny’s 11th birthday party at our local movie house, and the film we watched that Saturday afternoon was director Stanley Kubrick’s and writer Arthur C. Clarke’s masterpiece 2001: A Space Odyssey. I didn’t fully comprehend some aspects of the film, especially the ending, until I finally read the book years later.

Suffice it to say that film blew my very young Roman Catholic parochial mind and forced me to look long and hard at abstract concepts far outside my understanding of man’s place in the universe and what life might look like beyond Earth. Up to that point, I had been a rote Roman Catholic boy eager to keep my soul clean and pure for entrance to heaven. This single moment would define my internal pursuit of answering the question: “Is there life outside our little blue marble?” Moreover, this would propel me to explore all existential and metaphysical aspects of my life. Beyond the cliched philosophic trope: What is the meaning of life? I wanted to know: What happens to our souls? Is there life beyond (or within) the stars in the night sky? Is the universe one giant, ever-expanding, ever-lasting life? What IS reality?

Moreover, as a youngster, I encountered my own “high strangeness.” I could not discount my numerous “lucid” flying dreams that seemed so real, panic-inducing déjà vu experiences, reincarnation experiences, and out-of-body episodes that only frightened and confused me further. My Catholic education could not adequately answer any of those experiences. Years later, I was drawn to meditation and focusing inward, which would help me understand that I was an empath and that I did not have to fear the unknown.

Through the decades, I would consume non-fiction and fiction books/articles/films/television shows about UAPs/UFOs, encounters of a third kind, alternative forms of reality, etc. Always a bit guarded about sharing this fascinating info with most of my peers, I would not shy away from sharing what I had gleaned over the years when asked by family or close friends. If they were at all interested, I was quite excited to share books, shows, films, or websites to check out, editing out the minutiae they might not appreciate.

After graduation from college, I knew I had to expand my worldview, and moving to NYC in 1981 connected me to many people who had similar interests in the paranormal and UFO phenomena. Through that decade, input from my peers on various subjects helped me expand my worldview and helped shape a different vantage on the things still not explained by our government or world leaders. One of my girlfriends from that time period introduced me to some interesting subjects like The Urantia Book, Edgar Cayce, and the Seth books! I remained somewhat skeptical of some of the claims, but intrigued all the same. Cayce really connected with me on many levels. Moreover, these books and others like them would certainly inform my vantage moving forward.

In 1987, when Whitley Strieber released his first non-fiction book about his personal alien “experience,” entitled Communion, it was the next step in my evolution toward trying to grasp the “phenomenon” on another level. (I’ve met Whitley several times over the years and sat with him in D.C. at a private event in Georgetown held the evening before the Forum in Washington.) His “abduction” experience was both terrifying and exhilarating. It only reinforced what I had come to understand about the famous Barney and Betty Hill abduction case in 1961. (A film about said encounter entitled White Mountain is being produced by Barack and Michelle Obama, alongside Tonia Davis, via Higher Ground Productions.) Or that Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) was quite a convincing fictional account of the phenomenon. And I would often buy Communion and share it with friends. My mother loved the book and has always been a believer of life beyond the stars.

Of course, 1993 was a pivotal year for all of us interested in the subject; once the “World Wide Web” gained its foothold, it democratized information for every human on Earth. In fact, it was reported that UFOs were the 2nd most “searched” subject on the web. Now we could share scientific studies, metaphysical information, or UFO stories with people on the other side of the planet. People were thirsting for this information and did not trust our government’s findings in Project Bluebook or The Condon Report. Many serious investigators to this day believe that those government “funded” programs did nothing but try to keep the phenomenon in check. However, the web afforded millions of new users to Congress and other like-minded individuals so that all past and present information and opinion could be shared without any gatekeepers.

While I focused on my music career—DustyWright.com—in the ‘90s, I still maintained my interest in the phenomenon; reading, studying, and sharing information with other individuals. I started working on several film scripts and TV pilots—one project focused on the phenomenon entitled Life Without Sin. And I finally started my meditation practice. Most New York musicians, as well as other artists in other genres, seemed quite aware and keen to share their information and/or experiences with me. In fact, most artists I encountered in the City were definitely “believers.” And sometimes I even used the UFO or alien motif in some of my songs and album covers, like this amazing cover for Gliding Towards Oblivion (2018) by one of my favorite artists, Daniel Martin Diaz.

In the aughts, I started my own audio and video podcast series and website CultureCatch.com. I saw it as an even further distillation of bypassing conventional media gatekeepers. It afforded me interviews with celebrities from all areas of the arts—music, film, television, theater, art. I got to be a “fly on the wall” with folks like Ron Howard, Julie Taymor, Gore Vidal, David Lynch, Tilda Swinton, Bob Weir, Danny Glover, David Cronenberg, DEVO, Ron Carter, and one of my favorite interviews, abduction “expert” and wonderful abstract expressionistic painter, Budd Hopkins. His seminal work Intruders (1987) was yet another book that I would often buy for friends interested in this field. To sit with him and hear his story was extraordinary.

In 2014, I was asked by a friend in LA to help him with his documentary. Little did I know that we would end up attending the 67th Anniversary & UFO Festival in Roswell, NM. My new friend was Leonard Marcel (nephew of Jesse Marcel, Jr.), and we began work on a yet-to-be-finished documentary—Growing Up With Roswell. I was lucky enough to interview folks like Travis Walton, Stanton Friedman, and many others while attending the Festival. Moreover, we then spent time staying with Jesse Marcel, Jr.’s family in Billings, Montana, and I interviewed most of his family members and plenty of his friends in and around the community. No one we interviewed disbelieved his account of seeing and touching material that his father brought home from the famous crash retrieval site. Not one!

In 2015, I co-hosted a radio show/podcast for Indie Air Radio with NYC-based UFO expert Ozzie Franco entitled The Anti-Gravity Show. Most episodes were devoted to vetting the latest stories on UFO activity, books, television shows, and other pop culture references. While short-lived, it broadened my horizons even further. Ozzie was the perfect foil for some of my skepticism, even though I wanted to believe that “disclosure” was imminent. He had witnessed the Hudson Valley sightings in person from his rooftop.

When I turned 60, I held my July birthday bash at my dearest friend’s quite large apartment terrace overlooking the East River in NYC. Coincidentally, it was the same apartment balcony that John Lennon and May Pang famously witnessed their UFO sighting back on August 23rd, 1974. Was this mere coincidence or had something guided me to host my party there? John was always one of my favorite songwriters. (Definitely watch the video below to hear their account of the encounter.)

Six years later, with many important stories now in full view for public consumption, and some even featured by mainstream media, disclosure is indeed upon us. People like Daniel Sheehan, Jeremy Corbell, Dr. Stephen Greer, Chris Bledsoe, journalist Leslie Kean, Ralph Blumenthal, Ross Coulthart, Lou Elizondo, Dr. Garry Nolan, David Grusch, Richard Dolan, Prof. Avi Loeb, Linda Moulton Howe, et al., are all doing important work on leading humanity forward. Social media has become a much safer place to collect and share vetted information as we seek the truth.

As I reflect on the amount of material I’ve consumed on the subject over six decades, I can honestly say that no one person completely understands or owns the definitive answer to what the “phenomenon” represents and/or what “they” want with us. Any person who says otherwise is being disingenuous. As far as the debunkers are concerned, I think it’s healthy to try to disprove what one can’t comprehend, but blatantly debunking claims because there is “no physical evidence” means they haven’t been following the phenomenon closely enough to understand all the variables for each experiencer. (IMHO, they need to read Chris Bledsoe’s book UFO of God and professor Diana Pasulka’s new book The Others for yet another perspective.) And definitely see Spielberg’s fantastic new film, Disclosure Day (written by my former neighbor and friend David Koepp). It raises questions that have plagued disclosure since Roswell. Sadly, it’s what humans do when confronted with new ways of thinking about our place in the universe. Without fear and/or skepticism, there would be no forward progress or evolution in science, culture, art, philosophy, and life.

I remain optimistic that we will come to an apex, possibly quite soon, on understanding the phenomenon—NHI (non-human intelligence), extraterrestrials, spirits, angels and demons, orbs and plasmoids, etc.—and our true place in the universe. And hopefully that disclosure will usher us into a more peaceful and bountiful future. Until then, onward…

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The Australian band The Go-Betweens always reminded me of summer. I recently found this review of their comeback album, released 12 years after their most commercially successful album, 16 Lovers Lane, sent to me by their former bassist and indie publicist, Robert Vickers. It was clear to me that this band deserved a second chance.

THE GO-BETWEENS: The Friends of Rachel Worth (Jetset 2000)

For Australians Grant McLennan and Robert Forster, the two singer/songwriters who once fronted one of the most lyrical and potent indie bands from the '80s, the temptation to work together again was too intoxicating. And while it’s been over a decade since they last recorded under the moniker The Go-Betweens, and while each found critical acclaim with a handful of solo discs during the '90s, they decided the time was ripe to toss around some new musical ideas.

Having found limited success in the States and a wee bit more in the United Kingdom, they reached their creative zenith as a quartet in the mid-’80s with their fourth disc, Liberty Belle and the Black Diamond Express. And it’s the sound of the band from this time period that this newly released seventh studio album most resembles. From the opening track “Magic in Here” (remember the brilliant “Dusty In Here” from the 1983 release Before Hollywood?) with its sparse, acoustic-guitar-driven arrangement to the gentle, bouncy electric-guitar sway of “Surfing Magazines,” it’s as if they never disbanded. Simple and sparse instrumentation with easy-to-digest yet direct lyrics throughout.

Recorded in Portland, Oregon, with assistance from drummer Janet Weiss and guitarist Carrie Brownstein of Sleater-Kinney and Sam Coomes on keyboards, nothing is as striking as their infectious pop opus “Streets of Your Town” from their Capitol Records release 16 Lovers Lane (1988). Regardless, I do love much of the music on this effort. “Spirit” has a lithe bounce and a wonderful acoustic guitar hook that refuses to let you go. And the more electric-guitar-forward driving “The Clock” deserves repeated spins. It’s a mature effort, top to bottom.

Thankfully, nothing is as sugar-coated as most of your standard radio-friendly, folk-rock, glossed-and-gleamed pop that gets peddled on the airwaves today. This is the sound of indie music for adults who still dare to buy indie records. And the perfect album for lazy summer days.

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TOWNES VAN ZANDT

A Far Cry From Dead

(Arista Records, 1998)

The late Townes Van Zandt was truly an Americana and honky-tonk folk legend. Having played all over this great land of ours, never reaching the mega arena of a Woodie, Waylon, or Willie, but certainly influencing numerous songwriting brethren. Just ask his number one disciple, Steve Earle.

This posthumous release compiled and executive produced by his widow Jeanette is sort of a best of comprised of songs that Townes recorded between 1989 and the year of his death in1996. They were originally recorded with just his voice and acoustic guitar. Producer Eric Paul then assembled a top-notch roots rock band to add some color and backbeats to the songs.

The recordings were completed from DAT tapes given to producer Paul by Townes' widow, Jeanene. The beloved Richard Bennett played guitar with contributions from drummer Kenny Malone and harmonicaist Charlie McCoy. (Charlie played on many of Dylan’s Sixties recordings, including Nashville Skyline.)

These are songs that shoot straight from the heart and are left unpolished by the standard Nashville production gleam. Townes’ voice sits comfortably up front in the mix, with just enough background instrumentation to add the right color and texture to the proceedings.

“Sanitarium Blues” is simply one of the most haunting pieces he’s ever recorded, a firsthand account of something he no doubt lived through. “Pancho & Lefty,” a hit record for Waylon & Willie, is reprised here as well, proving that a great song never dies. In fact, all of these songs have rightfully been reborn.

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Written and released in 1968 on his self-titled album, “Waiting Around To Die” is the other standout track. Townes’ aching vocals are even more evocative than when originally recorded.

The shame of the matter is that, in our icon-driven society, it often takes the untimely death of our great artists to receive the recognition they so deserved while they were alive.

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The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame will release its latest inductees in a few days, and sadly, Don Van Vliet, aka Captain Beefheart, will once again not be voted in. One suspects that if he were still alive, he would have made fun of the honor. I asked my friend and master guitarist, Gary Lucas, who once managed and played guitar for him, what he thinks Don would have said about the “Hall of Shame.” Gary replied, “I know that he would have accepted the award if his health had permitted it, but would have probably added his own wrinkle to the proceedings.” Gary then pointed out that he’d once booked Don on the David Letterman Show (clip) and that Don took his time walking out of the green room onto the set, clutching a brown paper sack containing a bottle of Perrier water; most assumed it was a bottle of booze. Regardless, it got big laughs.

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If you do not know him or his lasting influence, let me elucidate. His music was a major influence on the avant-garde and alternative rock music scene. Along with contemporary and equally inventive Frank Zappa, their relationship began when they were just teenagers in Lancaster, California, in the Mojave Desert. Later, Frank would fund, produce, and release some of his music on his Warner imprint, Straight Records, most notably Beefheart’s masterpiece, Trout Mask Replica, released on June 16, 1969. Five years later, they would collaborate on Bongo Fury, which has just been re-released in various configurations and is worthy of aural exploration.

I recently found an old review of Beefheart’s work pre-Trout Mask. It certainly laid the foundation for that album and his subsequent albums with the Magic Band.

CAPTAIN BEEFHEART: The Mirror Man Sessions (Buddha Records)

Don Van Vliet, aka Captain Beefheart, reinterpreted the blues for an ever-increasing neurotic middle class. He was their Robert Johnson, even weirding out the devil himself with his own brilliant musical agenda.

In 1967, following the excitement of his Safe As Milk effort, the good Captain planned to release a double-disc set of aggro blues. He and his Magic Band entered TTG Studios in LA in November of 1967, planning to record one live disc and one studio disc, titled It Comes To You In A Plain Brown Wrapper. It is from those sessions that this 9-song disc, including some unfinished numbers that appeared on Safe As Milk, was reissued.

The first three tracks were recorded live in the studio and capture the Magic Band really stretching out. “Tarotplane” clocks in at 19:04. Captain’s free-form horn and harmonica push the guitar prowess of Alex St. Claire Snouffer and the slide guitar magic of Jeff Cotton (later dubbed Antennae Jimmy Semens on Trout and Ry Cooder’s replacement after Safe As Milk) into a psychedelic-blues frenzy. John French (Drumbo) on drums and Jerry Handley on bass, keeping Captain time and propelling this musical miasma forward. Quite noticeable on these remastered tunes are the astounding guitar intricacies. And on “Kandy Korn,” the tinkling of piano keys can be heard at about the 5:46 mark for several measures.

In 1968, Strictly Personal was recorded, including 5 re-recorded tracks from this disc. But producer Bob Krasnow re-edited the material, adding wacky effects like distortion, echo, and phasing. Some say Beefheart dug the final product, but when it was greeted rather modestly, he turned sour on it. By 1971, a single disc of Mirror Man, featuring only four cuts, was released.

Don would take tighter control of his musical output after Mirror Man and really push his sound even further “out” from these original sessions, as Trout Mask Replica and Lick My Decals Off, Baby both prove.

Beefheart moved to the Mojave Desert after Ice Cream For Crow (1982), which failed to chart. It turned out to be his final album. He promised his wife he’d never record again so he could focus on his painting, which he did until his passing in December 2010. Regardless, his music lives on as a constant and engaging vision. And The Mirror Sessions is somewhat of a blueprint album of what the good Captain would morph into, albeit with shorter songs and even more engaging titles and dissonant music.

And the fact that he, and other innovators, are still not in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame exposes what a sham that museum represents.

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“This ain't no party, this ain't no disco
This ain't no fooling around
This ain't no Mudd Club, or C.B.G.B.
I ain't got time for that now” - David Byrne

The world is teetering on the verge of something “HUGE.” Not sure where we will land, but people are concerned. And rightfully so. My friend, Harry, an extremely talented artist whose hand-rendered artwork once graced the covers and pages of the Daily News, Washington Post, etc., was recently booted from his Soho domicile. Some greedy new owners literally kicked him and his family to the curb. I won’t go into details, but he was forced to sell his loft and, after incurring heavy legal fees, had to move to the eastern Pennsylvania suburbs because he could no longer afford to live and work in New York, a place that was his home for 72 years.

As I’ve mentioned in many emails to him and a small group of our friends, life has become way more unpredictable than it was for our middle-class parents in the ‘50s and ‘60s. For me, it’s easy to understand… the disparity in wealth in our country and the world has never been wider. The middle class shrinks daily while the technocrats and billionaires get wealthier. According to my most recent AI search: “the top 1% own a record 31.7% of all U.S. wealth as of late 2025. This gap has significantly widened since 1989, driven by soaring stock market gains and uneven wage growth, largely outpacing the economic growth of middle and lower-income families.” The trickle-down economy effect is complete BS. And with the rise of AI in the workforce, that gap will certainly widen even more.

My kids can’t find jobs that pay enough to afford proper housing in the city they grew up in. My daughter, with her master’s from Columbia, moved to London for work because Trump’s regime cut many jobs in her field. Sadly, she can’t afford housing in London without our financial aid. My son works for my wife because he can’t find a job in his field. Sure, there are plenty of service jobs that pay minimum wage, but this is not the NYC my friends and I moved into as young adults in the late ‘70s/early ‘80s. Those days are long gone. And while I feel blessed that they do have jobs, I know plenty of people struggling to make ends meet. New York has a way to expose the vulnerable from one building to the next. Hell, in some cases, from apartment to apartment. The struggle cannot always be escaped.

Harry asked me about our new mayor. What did I think of New York mayor Zohran Mamdani’s policies and ideology? I don’t believe socialism will ever work in New York. The concentration of wealth in Manhattan is over $3 trillion dollars, with the highest concentration of millionaires, making it the wealthiest city in the world. He opined: “It’s not surprising that young people find socialism appealing, since capitalism isn’t doing a very good job of providing a future for those who aren’t going to inherit money. Even high-paying tech jobs, like computer programming, are threatened by AI, and there is talk of a coming civil war between the trust funders and everyone else.”

But the struggle is still the same for many of my fellow citizens. Credit card debt affects up to 111 million Americans. And, in these difficult financial times, it will only increase. And while many of them are working harder for more money, they face higher taxes, inflation, and the cost of goods and services rising faster than their paychecks. Again, the middle and lower classes feel that sting a lot more. And especially for the marginalized communities that are viewed as second-class citizens.

Politics today is all about populism, regardless of what a candidate’s true intentions may be or not be. And, as anyone who uses it knows, social media drives a wedge between the two parties by manipulating our emotions without any emotional attachment. Moreover, corporations and lobby groups control the political narrative to best affect their bottom lines. Perhaps term limits and new election funding modifications need to be installed. But will the current power brokers ever allow it? I think not. Simple, common-sense, and effective gun laws remain as elusive as ever, even with America’s senseless daily gun violence. What chance do congressional and judicial term limits have with so much power in the hands of so few?

Perhaps, we need to find new enemies around every bend to deflect our problems at home? But who are our real enemies? And, who ultimately profits from the injustices of the war machine?

Our world stage seems more and more fragile as bombs and drones find new ways to target areas for “balancing” the power, eradicating unwanted leaders, and improving land grabs. I don’t pretend to understand the complex issues at hand, but raw resources (mineral rights, oil, water, food crops) seem to be at play. And installing Western democracy that will align with our values, even if certain countries don’t want it or will never allow it. I’m all for crushing antisemitism. There is a rising voice of hatred against my Jewish friends and the recognition of Israel as a sovereign Jewish state. Israel has had very few years of peace and has primarily operated in a state of high readiness for war since 1948.

The stakes are high in Iran. You bomb the hornet’s nest, think you’ve destroyed the hive, only to find out that the hornets have built a new nest in a new location and have enlisted more soldiers. Maybe they’ve lost the first round, but they look to play the long game. Will a regime change work unless US and Israeli ground troops are deployed? Is there a single, agreed-upon political group that can effect real democratic change in Iran? Will Iran’s leadership capitulate to our President’s demands? And what are his demands? Is it possible this “war” will finally usher in peace in the Middle East? And at what cost? How many lives will be lost? How much money will be spent? When will it end? When will Trump “feel” it’s time to move on? One thing is certain: No one knows the endpoint at this time.

Dan Rather, the esteemed newsman who hosted the CBS Evening News for 24 years, posted this on SubStack a few days ago about the war in Iran. (Thankfully, he can’t be “edited” by his previous employer.)

“At the most important juncture of the Trump presidency, here’s where we are: the Strait of Hormuz remains effectively closed, oil prices keep rising, and the media is coming down hard on the President. And Donald Trump is losing the plot. He spent the wee hours of the morning raging at reporters on social media.”

Is it possible for different political and radical religious beliefs to ever fit into a single, unified worldview? True harmony and acceptance of our differences seem far off. As long as some groups want to dominate or harm others, conflict will continue. The idea of a perfect world will probably always be out of reach. Utopia is a world we shall never see.

Yes, radical Iranian mullahs hate the West’s imperialism and our cultural and religious differences. But, do 92 million (98% Muslim) Iranians truly despise Jews, Christians, Western culture, and democratic ideals? Or is it the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps with millions in its ranks, along with the Basij (volunteer militia, think Brownshirts), with weapons and strong-armed barbaric tactics, who will continue to crush any and all dissenters? I have read that many Muslims honor Jesus as the Messiah (al-Masih) and regard him as a “messenger” with a significant message. Allegedly, mainstream Islam does not promote hatred, but as we have seen, extremist groups continue to target Christians and Jews. Historically, Christians and Jews were often treated as protected persons (dhimmis) under Muslim rule. This is what the Quran asserts. Unfortunately, in today’s Middle East, many Muslims have stoked real hatred toward Jews and Zionists, often using the Israeli/Palestinian conflict as a pretext. And in Iran, the hatred grows daily.

IMHO, organized religion is the opiate of the world. As long as one “faith” group tells us they are better than another “faith” group, well… we will never have peace. I read recently that there is a group of radical Evangelical Christians who believe our President is meant to usher in the end of days! (Watch video above.) Did you know that the “rapture” was actually created in the early nineteenth century (around 1830) by dispensationalist theologian John Nelson Darby and added to the Bible? WTF? For me, it is all science fiction. There is only one universal truth: KARMA—cause and effect are real. It may be instant, it may take years, or even a lifetime. And life is messy because of it.

Some of you may remember President Dwight D. Eisenhower’s farewell speech in 1961, warning our nation of our military-industrial complex creating instability in the world that would threaten our own country’s peace and prosperity. Little did he know how prescient his warning turned out to be. He hoped that voters could ultimately prevent it. So far, no luck as we’ve seen long, drawn-out conflicts/wars in Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, etc., preventing nothing but creating heartache, misery, and disillusioned civilians and vets alike. Hopefully, Iran will not be another unmitigated misstep like those mentioned. Someone in my group thread brought up President “Tear-Down-This-Wall” Reagan and how he might have negotiated peace in Iran. When he was helping usher in perestroika with Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev to end the Cold War, he said this to the UN General Assembly in 1987:

Cue the music and this trailer from The War of the Worlds (1953). Is a fabricated alien invasion next? Noted ufologist Dr. Steven Greer has long believed that something is in the works by the “powers that be.” That a fabricated “disclosure” or “invasion” crisis will be just another diversion from the real issues at hand. (Watch his full interview here!)

Or, better yet, if an apocalyptic environmental black swan event were to occur, it would require all survivors to work together to repopulate humanity. Mother Earth may have the final say about global conflicts and the environmental destruction at the hands of men. Perhaps we would see the potential for global unity after such a catastrophic occurrence. Will it be a Lord of the Flies scenario, who will cannibalize whom, or will someone “invent” a new religion to cope with the new world order around them? Or will the Divine Feminine finally find its way back into our lives?

And then the wheels of life will start all over again.

Here’s my RANT’s Spotify playlist for further contemplation:

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Some days you need to let go. Let go of the stress. Let go of the world around you. Let go of your ego. Lift off from this mean ol’ world.

For me, music is my escape pod to letting go. And last night, I achieved lift off at The Beacon Theatre in New York City, fueled by the opening night of a 10-gig run by the Tedeschi Trucks Band. What has become a yearly pilgrimage for the peerless jam band and their adoring audience, this community communion is the perfect getaway. Leave your politics at the door. Let the music soothe your aching soul.

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The show started with a crowd favorite, the soulful midtempo ballad “Anyhow,” from their 2016 album, Let Me Get By, the whole band easing their way into our heads and hearts. Everyone who occupied a floor seat was on their feet, swaying along to the music.

I should mention the current lineup features Susan Tedeschi on electric guitar & lead vocals, Derek Trucks on slide guitar, Gabe Dixon on Hammond B3 organ, keyboards, piano, & vocals, Mike Mattison on vocals & acoustic guitar, Brandon Boone on bass guitar, Tyler Greenwell on drums & percussion, Isaac Eady on drums & percussion, Mark Rivers on vocals, Alecia Chakour on vocals, Kebbi Williams on flute & saxophone, Emmanuel Echem (temp filling in for, Ephraim Owens) on trumpet, and Elizabeth Lea on trombone. Like an elite Formula 1 racing team, they work in perfect harmony, everyone ready to handle any musical situation and serve the jam.

“Playing With My Emotions” and “I Got You” kept the groove movin’ with the double drummers propelling the proceedings. And Derek’s guitar prowess just keeps everything so damn interesting. They debuted several new songs in the first set, including “Hero” and “Under The Knife” from their soon-to-be-released album, Future Soul. The funky groove of “Part of Me” allowed the background singers to shine as they traded lines with Susan’s sweet, soulful vocals.

When the band launched into “Stand Back” by the Allman Brothers Band, the crowd erupted. Many of us attended those yearly shows by that Macon, GA band before TTB took the baton. And Derek was a longtime guitarist in that band. That blast from the past was followed by the easy-on-the-ears ballad “Soul Sweet Song,” from their 4-lp set, I Am The Moon, which was gorgeous. They ended the first set with a funky, horn- and vocal-driven “Love Has Something Else To Say,” a song they’ve not played since 2015, off their 2011 debut album, Revelator. I hope they start playing it more often. The crowd was satiated—time to catch some air. I think the smell of stale perfume and weed nearly did my head in. I definitely had a contact high.

“Ohio” by CSNY opened the 2nd set. A slow burn, 8+ minutes of fury, as it exploded with defiant anger. The lone political statement delivered as a plea of our growing frustration with gun violence in our world at the behest of our leaders, who may or may not have our best interests at heart. Susan changed Neil Young’s lyrics ever so slightly to: “Tin soldiers with guns they’re comin’ / We’re finally on our own…” The crowd sang along. If we had Bic butane lighters, they would have been burning in unison. “Midnight In Harlem” followed. One of the band’s most beloved ballads and the perfect New York moment for it. It shifted the mood ever so slightly.

As perfect as the first set might have been, the second set raised the stakes with a double blast of killer Derek & The Dominoes covers, “Bell Bottom Blues” followed by “Why Does Love Got To Be So Sad.” If you’ve not heard it, check out their version of that entire album, Layla Revisited, here. It was divine.

Things got trippy with “Circles ‘Round The Sun,” another outstanding track from I Am The Moon, which was the perfect segue into the instrumental “Pasaquan.” Is this Derek’s “Darkstar”? Nearly 25 minutes of improvisation with the keyboardist Gabe Dixon and bassist Brandon Boone never seemed forced. Then the double drummers’ solo, with everyone in the band having exited the stage, only adds to the song's magic. I must confess that during the Dead’s “Drums” solos, I often found myself wandering around the venue looking for a beverage or a distraction.

Their final second-set song, a rousing New Orleans gumbo-soaked cover of Dr. John’s “I Walk On Gilded Splinters,” had the entire venue on their feet and dancing—Mike Mattison’s raspy, expressive vocals in total command. In fact, if you don’t like to stand and dance, don’t buy a seat on the ground level of the Beacon. Only the balcony seats will let you sit through a nearly 3-hour set from TTB.

Encore time did not disappoint, featuring the call-and-response Louis Jordan jump blues cover, “Let The Good Times Roll,” and finally their early hit, “Made Up Mind,” closed the evening’s proceedings.

22 songs. No opening act. No fillers. Ended just after 11 pm.

Obiting around the moon. Time to call it a night. Drag my tired, but happy feet to the subway for a short ride home.

If you have the opportunity, catch TTB on tour now. They’ll be criss-crossing America through the fall. I’ll be catching them again in early September at Tanglewood in Lenox, MA. ‘Til then…

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Sunday Morning Vinyl time. Revisiting the past with Ben Harper’s most excellent fourth album. Spring forward today with a wonderful collection of songs that need to be played and heard.

BEN HARPER & THE INNOCENT CRIMINALS

Burn To Shine (Virgin, 1999)

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Ben Harper isn’t afraid to wear his musical eclecticism on his sleeve. If Lenny Kravitz has effectively mugged Hendrix and Sly, then Mr. Harper has effectively raided Taj Mahal’s rich Americana library. This isn’t to suggest that his fourth disc, Burn to Shine, is a lame or derivative record, but rather to suggest that Harper is not content to rely on one musical style throughout. Whereas Taj continues to explore different styles from album to album, Harper explores multiple styles on one disc. Whether he’s throwing himself in the middle of a 1920s-style jazz number with “Suzie Blue” or a simple, moody rock number like the opening track “Alone,” he’s laying bare textures that have defined music in America for most of a century now.

Having said that, “Burn To Shine,” the first single, is clearly the easiest for most listeners to latch onto, a chugging rocker with straight-ahead drumming and lyrics and a tasty Harper slide guitar solo. Its simplicity makes it effective and should be gobbled up by radio programmers and consumers alike. Moreover, the gospel-tinged, organ-fueled “Show Me A Little Shame” sounds like the vintage blues-rock styling of Taj, but again, that’s not saying Harper is a plagiarist. He’s only plumbing the mines of Americana, which is exactly what Taj did back in the ‘60s.

One would find it difficult to ignore the personal touches Harper has added to his music lesson here. And it doesn’t let up from beginning to end. The acoustic-driven “In The Lord’s Arms” closes the disc, and it’s one of the more soulful and emotive readings presented. David Lindley, guesting on banjo, mandolin, and fiddle, enhances the rustic vibe. But in all fairness, though some might dismiss this sonic stew as indulgent, Ben Harper has crafted his most effective effort to date. And one that deserves repeated listening. In a world of disposable pop fodder, that’s saying plenty.

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It’s SMS—Saturday Morning Spin—time. Grab a cup of java, tea, or hot chocolate. Warm up the tubes on your old Macintosh receiver. Crank up your record player, whisk the dust off the album, and drop the needle on this classic slab o’ vinyl. Well, your old compact disc is fine, too, since this album is a holy-grail collectible.

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BECK

Midnite Vultures

(Geffen, 1999))

Beck Hansen, gettin’ funky y’all, and it’s a joyous reason to celebrate. An album with many twists and turns and plenty of background support from some very unlikely places. Horns, synths, string sections, fiddles, pedal steel, and plenty more make this a poppin’ rockin’ party record. Even The Dust Brothers get to throw it down again on two tracks. So you were worried after the super indie vibe of Mutations. Well, that was a record that Beck didn’t want Geffen to release in the first place. This should make everyone happy—the label with dollar signs in its eyes, the alternative crowd that hates the sell-out vibe of most major label geeks, as well as the rest of us who like good music regardless of the street cred.

The lead-off track “Sexx Laws” starts with a Tower of Power ‘70s horn line that slips into Beck’s vocals. It rocks hard and funky, and smokes start to finish with Beck pleading “I’m not afraid to cry” before a banjo and pedal steel ease into the mix. I must admit that on paper this sounds way silly, but trust me, it works.

Next up is “Nicotine & Gravy,” a kinda T.Rex vamp circa Zinc Alloy. D.J. Swamp adds some tasteful scratching as keyboardist Roger Joseph Manning Jr. (once of the beloved Jellyfish, but now one of Beck’s brigade) adds his weird synth textures. In fact, most of the best keyboard grooves ooze from this man’s fingers. Manning and Beck were born to work together. “Mixed Bizness” is a strong and relentless pop-rock dance track. Think Talking Heads during their Stop Making Sense tour. Beck even corrupts his vocals with a vocoder (i.e., cheesy) without drowning the proceedings.

“Peaches & Cream” and “Debra” could be Prince doing Beck, but instead it’s Beck outdoing Prince, complete with falsetto vocals. I love the horns, funky Fender Rhodes, and Beck’s sexy lover rap on the outro of the latter. (Somebody should have gotten these songs to Prince.) Elsewhere, former Smiths axe-slinger Johnny Marr adds some tasteful guitar on “Milk & Honey” and Beth Orton adds background vocals on the sumptuous ballad “Beautiful Way.”

Is Beck underappreciated in 2026? In a year (1999) that found me hard-pressed to pick five, let alone ten, “great” new records, Beck had single-handedly saved the day. As broad a canvas as music can be painted upon and still appeal to everyone.

This album, my friends, is a feast for all midnight vultures, late-night slackers, and Saturday morning sleepers. Wake up your neighbors. Never too late to join the party.

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Looking for some “new” old music? I found my old digital files on a CD-ROM. A treasure trove of music reviews from 25 years ago. Some of them appeared online at CDNow. That online music company went belly up in 2013, and the digital review files are MIA. Well, not quite. Glad I still have them. Since I covered Bowie a few weeks ago, I wanted to share one more Bowie review with my paid subscribers. Here’s a David Bowie review from 1999. I need to listen to this album on vinyl again.

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I was recently booked to perform for my friend Victoria’s Ideasmyth Salon next week (Tuesday, Feb. 17th), and she asked me to describe my music for the website. I told her “Americana.” But what does that mean? “Well, it’s like Creedence Clearwater Revival meets Warren Zevon.” But what is the definition of this genre of music? According to Google’s AI assistant, “Americana is a contemporary music genre blending American roots traditions—including folk, country, bluegrass, blues, and R&B—into a distinct, often organic sound. It acts as an umbrella for roots-oriented music that exists outside mainstream, polished radio, often featuring acoustic and electric instrumentation. Developed as a radio format in the 1990s, it emphasizes storytelling and musical heritage.” I disagree on the birthdate; I say the genre was born in the late ‘60s/early ‘70s, with FM radio calling it country-rock, and many of the artists I mention below were also architects of the “California sound” since they lived in California.

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When I started playing and writing music back in the ‘80s, I had no idea that I was on a collision course with my true singer-songwriter destiny. My love of rock ‘n’ roll and radio-friendly music was undeniably cemented in the mid-’60s by The Beatles, The Monkees, Paul Revere & The Raiders, The Beach Boys, The Rolling Stones, and a huge dose of garage rock—The Standells (“Dirty Water”), The Nightcrawlers (“Little Black Egg”), ? & The Mysterians (“96 Tears”), The Castaways (“Liar, Liar”), and more. But a few years later, I would happen upon the country rock/Americana songs and albums by Dylan (The Basement Tapes, Blonde on Blonde), The Byrds (Notorious Byrd Brothers, Untitled), Eagles (Desperado), The Band (The Band, Nothern Lights - Southern Crosses), Poco (A Good Feelin’ To Know), CCR (Bayou Country, Green River), The Grateful Dead (Workingman’s Dead, American Beauty), Linda Ronstadt (Don’t Cry Now), Neil Young (After the Gold Rush, Harvest), Flying Burrito Brothers (Gilded Palace of Sin), Warren Zevon (debut), to name but a few. It was Zevon’s debut that really struck a chord with me. Songs like “Poor Pitiful Me,” “Carmelita,” “Frank & Jessie James,” and “Desperados Under the Eaves” were simple, yet undeniably powerful. The die was cast. I had a new genre of music to get lost in.

“Changed The Locks” - Lucinda Williams (Lucinda Williams)

For me—sorry Emmylou—Lucinda is the Queen of Americana. One of my very first paid interviews for a New York magazine was with her in 1988. She had just released her third solo album. I played the hell out of that album. So many amazing songs; such poetry, tone, and vibes. I knew she would be an important singer-songwriter and one of the most important women in Americana music. There was no denying her talent. This song is a tour de force roots-rocker, a brutal “fuck you” to an unfaithful lover. Hey, Tom Petty even covered it. ‘Nuf said.

“Born on the Bayou” - Creedence Clearwater Revival (Bayou Country)

I first heard this song on my uncle’s 8-track player in his souped-up hotrod and was transfixed. It was the opening track on the album, and the B-side of “Proud Mary.” John Fogerty’s opening trem-heavy, swampy guitar hook, his countrified vocals, the timeless groove, simple and concise lyrics, and, like “Proud Mary,” an instant jukebox staple. In fact, most of Fogerty’s hit songs are timeless jukebox nuggets. Imagine my surprise when, years later, I learned that Fogerty wasn’t even from the South but from the Bay Area, yet he created an Americana persona as vibrant as his songs. What was in the water in California that produced so many vital Americana bands?

“Chestnut Mare” - The Byrds (Untitled)

While The Byrds' early albums defined folk-rock, the addition of Gram Parsons and Clarence White helped create country-rock on the seminal Sweetheart of the Rodeo. As much as I love their early recordings, vocalist/12-string guitarist Roger McQuinn cowrote this magnificent story song with Jacques Levy. It’s about a magical horse and was intended for a country rock musical entitled Gene Tryp. This lineup of The Byrds was the longest tenured and featured the incredible six-string heroics of Clarence White. Without question, it’s one of the band’s best original songs and got plenty of airplay on progressive rock stations all over America. I first heard it on WMMS-FM (Cleveland). What could be more Americana than a song about a beloved horse accompanied by acoustic guitar, 12-string, and the pioneering Parsons/White B-bender Telecaster swirling around the narrative? Not much then or now.

“You Ain’t Going Nowhere” - Bob Dylan (The Basement Tapes)

And speaking of The Byrds, I first heard this Dylan song on their seminal country-rock album Sweetheart of the Rodeo. It was the lead track and released as a single, too. It’s one of the few Dylan songs that I have played live hundreds of times. (It will be on my next studio album, Maximus Americanus.) It was written in 1967 by Dylan whilst holed up with The Band in Woodstock, but was not officially released until 1971 when it was re-recorded and included on his Greatest Hits, Volume 2 album. Dig the banjo and harmony vocals by Happy Traum and Dylan’s harmonica. Each version featured different lyrics, too. Here’s a link to The Basement Tapes version with The Band in all of their ragged glory. For me, Dylan is the Godfather of Americana.

“Acadian Driftwood” - The Band (Northern Lights – Southern Cross)

Released in 1975, this was The Band’s final masterpiece from the very best Americana band. Robbie Robertson’s homage to his Canadian homeland traces the struggles of Nova Scotians and Acadians and is loosely based on Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s 1847 poem “Evangeline.” You can feel the cruel winds of displacement and patriotic pride in the lyrics and perfectly executed music. The perfect bookend ballad to Robbie’s other North American history-lesson song masterpiece, “They Night Drove Old Dixie Down.” Over the years, and countless tours, Dylan has had plenty of extraordinary sidemen, but none quite like The Band. They remain giants in the genre.

“Elvis Presley Blues” - Gillian Welch (Time [The Revelator])

It’s hard to believe that Ms. Welch was born in NYC, raised in LA, attended Berklee College of Music in Boston, and then settled in Nashville. You’d swear she was Appalachian. This homage to the “King” leans on a duo acoustic-folk vibe with her longtime musical partner, lead guitarist and vocalist David Rawlings, but the subject matter is pure Americana. I mean, Elvis was white America’s first rock ‘n’ roll hero. Gillian and David Rawlings are currently on a 2026 tour featuring a tribute to the Grateful Dead’s acoustic live album, Reckoning. Everyone needs to see this tour!

“Uncle John’s Band” -The Grateful Dead (Workingman’s Dead)

I had a friend who took banjo lessons from Jerry Garcia in the Bay Area. If you know anything about Mr. Garcia, you know that he and his Merry Pranksters defined the very nature of Americana music, a heady brew of all those musical genres showcased on studio albums and thousands of live shows, not to mention Jerry’s numerous acoustic-driven side projects. The Dead’s two most beloved studio albums—Workingman’s Dead and American Beauty—are masterclasses in the Americana sound. Robert Hunter’s songwriting partnership with Jerry created some of the most timeless and iconic songs in their rich and varied catalog. Beautiful harmonies, acoustic guitars up front to showcase Jerry Garcia’s chops on bronze strings. The lyrics on this song refer to several well-known bluegrass tunes. “It’s the same story the crow told me,” and “don’t tread on me” are just a few of the reference points. Can you name the others? It was released as a single a day before my 13th birthday on July 1st, 1970. This song and “Friend of the Devil” from American Beauty may be two of the best Americana songs ever written.

“Carmelita” - Warren Zevon (Debut)

As I mentioned above, Zevon’s debut had a huge influence on my songwriting. This song, another one I cover live, with its Mexacali vibe, is a peerless acoustic-driven ballad about heroin abuse. Zevon’s simple but needle-sharp lyrics help nail the character’s pathos, especially on the chorus: “And I’m all strung out on heroin / on the outskirts of town.” It was covered by Linda Rondstadt, along with several other Zevon songs, years later by Willy Deville of Mink Deville, and by Zevon’s pal Dwight Yoakam. All wonderful covers, but the original remains the best.

“The Devil’s Right Hand” - Steve Earle (Copperhead Road)

I first heard Steve Earle in 1986 after moving back to New York from Los Angeles; his debut album, Guitar Town, was on constant rotation. The song “Some Day” from that record remains one of my favorite tracks from this Texas troubador. While some of that album was a bit too country, his 1988 album Copperhead Road, which he co-produced, was the biscuit. He rocked a little bit harder, but lost none of his lyrical prowess. This song from his best album (IMHO) about the devil and its influence on a young punk resonates with me even today. In fact, I pay homage to him and this song on my new album with my Americana ballad “Nowhere Good.” With 30 or so albums under his belt, Steve’s songwriting continues to hold up.

“I’ve Been the One” - Little Feat (Little Feat)

Lowell George’s Little Feat was one of my favorite bands in high school and college. This gorgeous ballad from their debut with the aching pedal steel by Sneaky Pete Kleinow (of the Flying Burrito Brothers) was pure Americana before they expanded their lineup and drenched themselves in Nawlins funk. Mik and Keef, Dylan, and The Dead all name-checked them as one of America’s greatest bands. This hidden gem on their debut was overshadowed by the mega-popular evergreen ballad “Willin,” which would be recut on their second album and garner tons of radio play. But my favorite version is by vocalist Syd Straw and The Golden Palominos (Blast of Silence), whose cover completely owns this song, as you can hear above. It even features Sneaky Pete on pedal steel!

Before I write part two, featuring more contemporary Americana artists post-’90s, and including black America’s contributions to the genre, here’s my current Spotify playlist with 30 grand Americana tunes for your enjoyment:

Looking for some “new” old music? I found my old digital files on a CD-ROM. A treasure trove of music reviews from 25 years ago. Some of them appeared online at CDNow. That online music company went belly up in 2013, and the digital review files are MIA. Well, not quite. Glad I still have them. Here’s a short review from one of my favorite bands from the ‘90s/aughts. I have not listened to this album in years

RED HOUSE PAINTERS

Old Ramon

(Sup Pop, 2001)

This is the sound of muted melancholy. This is the voice of reason in these days of mediocrity. And while Mark Kozalek, lead singer/songwriter/guitarist in Red House Painters, recorded this disc some three years ago, and while it is their last, it is still an intoxicatingly potent sound that most cannot deny. Nothing here is extraordinarily earth-shattering, nothing here is massively breathtaking, yet nothing here is boring or redolent like most things floating along the pop music landscape. That’s the point. And yet, when I listen to this music, it transports me. It is ten timeless songs that pull at the fringes of your mind, tempt your psyche, and massage your ears. Songs like the long, slow “River” (11:21) and the even slower, but shorter “Cruiser” (8:46) border on the slo-core and ambient vibe and exist outside conventional alt-rock-and-roll trappings. Having starred in Almost Famous (as the bass player in the fictional band Sweetwater), Mark has released two solo records over the last two years; his second features ten deconstructed alt folk-rock cover versions of AC/DC songs entitled What’s Next to the Moon (2001), as well as spearheading a John Denver tribute effort. This is a welcome return to form from this remarkable aural wordsmith. We will miss you and your Painters.

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David Bowie (David Robert Jones) would have been 79 years old on Thursday, and today is the 10th anniversary of his untimely passing. He was one of the 20th century’s greatest artists and performers. His songs are timeless. And he was a significant influence on my songwriting and my life, both obvious and not-so-obvious, and one of the reasons I moved to New York. After graduating from college, I met Joey Arias, who performed with Klaus Nomi, an alt-opera singer, at my father’s friend’s restaurant, The Wine Merchant, in Akron, Ohio. The night before they performed at The Bank on June 18, 1980, with my friend Sue’s band, Chi-Pig. (My favorite Akron band.) Joey would go on to befriend me when I moved to New York in September of ‘81. He was working at the hipster clothing boutique Fiorucci. Before meeting him, Joey and Klaus had famously performed with Bowie on Saturday Night Live in December 1979. It was avant-garde theater as much as musical performance, their “costumes” and robotic movements adding to Bowie’s masterful proceedings. It resonated with me on many levels. And it certainly was one of the most memorable music moments in the show’s storied history. Dare I say, all three of David’s songs that night must have inspired David Byrne’s costume and performance choices on his Stop Making Sense Talking Heads concert film.

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I was fortunate enough to see David play live on one of his last tours. My wife and I stood a few feet from the stage next to his wife, Iman, and her mother at the Beacon Theatre for the entire 23-song concert. It was part of his “New York City Marathon Tour” in October 2002. He performed one show in each of New York’s five boroughs, including the October 20th show at the Beacon in Manhattan, fulfilling his promise to bring his music to fans across the city. The other borough performances were at St. Ann’s Warehouse (Brooklyn), Colden Center (Queens), Snug Harbor (Staten Island), and Jimmy’s Bronx Cafe (Bronx). No one would have anticipated that his 2003 Reality tour would be his last.

Here are ten of my favorite Bowie songs, and how I’m connected to them:

“Life on Mars” (Glastonbury 2000)

My favorite track by him. It’s one of rock’s most evergreen and enduring ballads. Hell, one of the greatest ballads of all time, one of a handful of gems from his first masterpiece, Hunky Dory. This is David crooning like Anthony Newley at the height of his vocal prowess. The original studio piano track was majestically created by Yes prog-rock keyboard wizard, Rick Wakeman. And the criminally underrated Mick Ronson, Bowie’s early ‘70s guitarist and collaborator, arranged the string quartet and played guitar and recorder. Ronson became my favorite guitarist during this time period. His hooks helped define the glam rock era. As an aside, have you heard Barbara Streisand’s fully orchestrated version? A bit bombastic, but worth a listen.

“Five Years” (Old Grey Whistle Test BBC TV show, 1972)

On a recent road trip to Ohio to visit my 91-year-old mother, I traveled with my daughter, Mina, and this song was on her playlist. I was chuffed that she had such a deep Bowie track on said playlist. The first girl I ever “French-kissed” in high school was while this song played in the background. From his second masterpiece, The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars. It was the soundtrack to my early high school daze and why I bought my first pair of “platform” shoes. I was ridiculed to no end the first day I wore them to school, but Bowie’s artistry—musically and stylistically—had already been cemented in my psyche.

“I’m Afraid of Americans” (Official Music Video)

The perfect industrial dance rock song for our current times. The disillusionment and paranoia that more than half of our citizens feel right now are beyond palpable. America’s misguided, dystopian, and dysfunctional imperialism writ large. I wonder if he’d appreciate that sentiment today? He spent his last two decades living in New York. Bowie shared tour stages with Nine Inch Nails around the time of this single from his Earthling (1997) album, co-produced by NIN’s Trent Reznor. Check out Trent in the cinematic video above.

“Cactus” (Berlin, Heathen Tour 2002)

David was a massive fan of music, both old and new, as his righteous Pixies cover so beautifully demonstrates. He made it his own, even better than the original. In 2002, I interviewed his longtime producer, Tony Visconti, at the Apple Soho Store in Manhattan for my newly launched podcast, CultureCatch.com (click the link to listen). He shared with the audience an unreleased early demo—every instrument played by David—of this song from his criminally underappreciated album, Heahen. (You can hear that demo on my podcast link above.)

“Space Oddity” (Official Video)

I first saw this video in 2018 in the David Bowie Is exhibition at the Brooklyn Art Museum. My wife and I were among the last visitors that day, so we got to spend a ton of time poring over the collection's minutiae at our leisure. This is a very different recorded version than the one ultimately recorded on June 20, 1969. This version was recorded for Love You Till Tuesday, a film made by Bowie’s then-manager, Kenneth Pitt. A new permanent home for David Bowie's archive is now open at The David Bowie Centre at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.

“The Stars (Are Out Tonight)” (Official Video)

From his album The Next Day from 2013, a throwback rock ‘n’ roll guitar-forward classic, it’s a study on the life of a celebrity and the stalkers that might threaten them at any time. The video features Tilda Swinton as Bowie’s spouse, and a creepy young couple that look like them and “follow” them throughout. I interviewed Ms. Swinton about her indie film Julia for my CultureCatch podcast in 2009. I wanted to book Bowie during this time, but he stopped doing interviews in 2004 after suffering a heart attack. Suffice it to say, Tilda reminded me of Bowie in appearance and mannerisms. They might have been alien siblings. “The stars are never sleeping / Dead ones and the living.”

“Subterranians” (Nacho Fan Video)

Bowie starred in one of my favorite sci-fi films, the Nicholas Roeg classic The Man Who Fell to Earth (1976). Although none of his music was used in this critically lauded feature, he had prepared this song for the film. He later suggested that the song was inspired by the divided city of East Berlin and its inhabitants, but the producer of the Station to Station album, Harry Maslin, claimed the track was intended for Roeg’s film. It was the first album in his Berlin Trilogy: Low, “Heroes” (both 1977), and Lodger (1979). This Brian Eno-enhanced track, which added his sonic magic to all three albums, would ultimately become the closing song on his ambient masterpiece, Low. This fantastic fan video features footage from TMWFTE.

“Fame” (Cher Show, 1975)

Back in 2018, I was part of a monthly group called Guitar Mash. Each month, we’d gather in a loft in Soho and invite celebrated guitarists to share stories and songs around our faux “campfire.” Each attendee would bring an acoustic guitar and play along to curated sets programmed by the guest-star guitarists. It was the ultimate fan experience. One such night in May of that year featured longtime Bowie guitarist Carlos Alomar. I sat next to him and got to perform a few songs with him. He shared stories about his time with Bowie. One in particular was how he’d created the magical, funky riffs for this Bowie classic. He said that Bowie and John Lennon, who provided background vocals on the track, left the studio for lunch, and that while they were gone, he added his iconic 6-string magic. Bowie was thrilled with the results.

“Quicksand” (Madison Square Garden, 1997)

I pinched the title of this piece from the chorus of this beautiful ballad from his epic album, Hunky Dory. “Knowledge comes from death’s release” are words to live by. This album remains my favorite in David Bowie’s rich catalog. I once approached Tony Visconti at a music mastering workshop at Sterling Sound and gushed about how much I loved his production on this album. He gently reminded me that he did not produce it! (That honor belonged to Ken Scott.) My wife asked me in the car yesterday what instruments Bowie played. I told her guitar, piano, saxophone, bass, and drums. I loved that he often played a 12-string acoustic, especially on his earlier albums.

“Lazarus” (Official Music Video)

But Mr. Visconti did produce David’s final studio album, the late-career masterpiece, Blackstar (his 28th, including his two Tin Machine albums), in 2016, as well as 12 others. Outside of singer-songwriter Warren Zevon, I cannot think of another artist who approached his final recording with such bravery and honesty. From his off-Broadway musical of the same name, the brooding, hypnotic jazz-rock ballad and its accompanying video are riveting. The Thin White Duke, who had lived with his wife and child in Nolita, New York, for two decades, shared his final deathbed confession for all to hear and watch. Bowie died two days after releasing the album on his 69th birthday.

Thank you, Starman. Your music and legacy continue to shine brightly even in our most overcast skies.

Here are 10 tracks, plus a few other choice nuggets, for your listening enjoyment.

“I haven’t fucked much with the past, but I’ve fucked plenty with the future.” - Patti Smith

My new view of the universe remains positive, filled with empathy and compassion. It’s easy to be cynical after this past year. I lost some very close friends and family acquaintances to the great abyss, and the world lost some socially awakened giants across the arts, politics, and life. I’ve faced challenges in my personal life that I will not elaborate on. But I remain steadfast in my optimism for a better tomorrow for my children, my family, and for all of us.

Let’s focus on how we can lift each other up, not knock each other down. Let’s dance the night away and keep dancing into a new dawn.

Peace.

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There is too much music to consume daily/weekly/monthly. As a singer-songwriter, I have a finite amount of time to consume even the “best” music of each passing year. And while I love listening to vinyl, adding new titles to my collection remains daunting. Said music, if new, must be a timeless, stone-cold classic, worthy of history. Sure, over the past few years, I’ve chosen some albums I was initially suckered into by glowing reviews from journalists I hold in very high regard. Reissues don’t count as new, either. Plenty of reissues have found their way back into my collection, even though some of my favorite titles have been remastered multiple times. The Grateful Dead catalog seems to have cornered that market. Sometimes it seems a bit excessive. (Ask my wife, who sees a growing collection taking up more living space.)

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Digital singles are a different animal, as I love sharing playlists. This past year, I’ve picked 25 songs I kept on repeat on my Spotify account. For this column, I’ve only picked seven to review. (This will allow readers to listen to my entire playlist at their leisure.)

In no particular preferred order:

1.) “Southern Man” - Chris Pierce

As someone who has no interest in rote readings of fabulous original songs, I found Cali-based singer-songwriter/multi-instrumentalist/producer/radio host/et al., Mr. Pierce’s version to be even more dynamic than Mr. Young’s biting original. He’s toured and opened for Young on numerous tour dates. He’s also covered other classic rock songs, like the most excellent version of The Cars’ hit “Drive.” His R&B-meets-gospel-rock, guitar-forward version rings straight through his opening piano and bass notes. It’s a powerful interpretation, made even more profound by his ancestry. Watch the video above, and judge it for yourself.

2.) “Pussy Palace” - Lily Allen

If you thought Rumours by Fleetwood Mac or Hear, My Dear by Marvin Gaye were savage breakup albums, think again. British Allen has laid waste to her ex-husband, Hollywood actor/Stranger Things dad David Harbour, on her latest album, West End Girl. For me, this track is the apex moment on that longplayer. You long for reality in lyrics? Try this verse on for size: “Duane Reade bag with the handles tied /
Sex toys, butt plugs, lube inside / Hundreds of Trojans, you're so fucking broken /
How'd I get caught up in your double life?” Any woman scorned by their ex-lover/husband's infidelities has found the perfect revenge song to send as a parting punch.

3.) “Catch These Fists” - Wet Lag

And speaking of punches. UK-based rock duo—Rhian Teasdale & Hester Chambers—are now a five-piece, having added touring members Josh Mobaraki (guitar/synth), Ellis Durand (bass), and Henry Holmes (drums). They are also all credited for songwriting. If I picked one album to add to my collection this year, Moisturizer would be it. And, it’s even better than their debut, which was pretty damn good. The new songs are even more dynamic, and while I loved their hit single “Chaise Longue” (2022) from their debut, “Catch These Fists” is better. Dripping with guitar and vocal hooks, for me, it’s like a more muscular version of a Breeders’ track.

4.) “S P E Y S I D E” - Bon Iver

If this is Justin Vernon’s final album with his band, well… good for him for going out on top. One of three albums of new music from 2025 that I purchased. (I confess, I’m a fanboy.) His multi-layered vocals and evocative yet straightforward acoustic guitar playing are the hook of this sumptuous ballad. The sad lyrics reflect his deep sense of regret, guilt, and self-reflection. It is also a whiskey-producing region in Scotland, with peaty bog lands certainly worthy of introspection into one’s shortcomings in love and life. This song takes me to a place of my own self-reflection. Music this powerful can do that to a person.

5.) “The Subway” - Chapelle Roan

An expertly constructed, flawlessly produced, and lyrically compelling pop radio love song about heartbreak could easily be a showstopper in a Broadway musical, let alone a worthy cover song by the next TikTok sensation. That it is New York City-centric, and that I witnessed it firsthand many decades ago, struck me to the core. My first New York love affair began with a chance encounter on the A train. And, way before mobile phones! We would smile at each other from afar each morning, the cars bouncing noisily, clickety-clacking, southbound towards our respective office jobs, until I finally mustered up the courage to approach her and ask her out. Our relationship lasted until my company transferred me to Los Angeles. It was heartbreaking for both of us. This song brought me right back to that memory.

6.) “Everybody Laughs” - David Byrne

Wail? What? Is this a new Talking Heads song? David’s latest single is his most Heads-like song in decades as a solo artist. A sharp social critique of our phone-addicted, social media-heavy society, it uses clever wordplay and jaunty music to capture the mood perfectly. In a world where everybody is everywhere at once and sharing everything about themselves with everyone, is this humankind’s new quandary? It’s time to unplug and tune out the noise while dancing to this earworm. From his latest album, Who Is The Sky? (Matador). He will be on tour in 2026, too.

7.) “Berghain” - Rosalía feat. Björk & Yves Tumor

This is an uncompromising song and an unlikely hit from this exceptionally gifted Spanish artist. Sung in German and English with a rap crescendo, it was the lead single from Rosalía's fourth studio album, Lux (an album I may end up purchasing in the new year). It features the eccentric Icelandic singer-songwriter, composer, and producer Björk, and the American experimental musician and producer Yves Tumor (Sean Lee Bowie). The operatic stylings allow her to flex her classical music training. And with her accomplished collaborators in her corner, it is the must-hear (and see) hit of the year.

And speaking of opera. The esteemed author/writer/musician/podcaster and friend, Tony Fletcher, asked me to elaborate on my favorite music gig of 2025 in response to a comment I posted on one of his recent Substack articles. It was the Gershwin’s Porgy & Bess at the Metropolitan Opera in New York City. Poet and novelist DuBose Heyward (1885–1940) collaborated with his wife, Dorothy (1890–1961), to adapt his novel Porgy into the world-famous show with music and lyrics by Ira and George Gershwin. Over the years, some have protested that the show created by white Americans reinforced negative black stereotypes of poverty, drug abuse, and crime. Regardless, the show has become one of America’s most enduring and landmark works. If you’ve never been to the Met, let alone any opera, it is a worthy bucket-list affair. The grandeur of human voices singing without amplification in magnificent music halls with enormous casts and inventive staging is an art of the highest order. For me, goose bumps typically follow the first aria of any of the opera singers on stage. The beauty and emotional connection one feels is awe-inspiring, even if sung in Italian, German, Spanish, or, let alone, English. This is the first staging of this American classic in 30 years, and producer James Robinson does not disappoint, transforming the massive Lincoln Center stage into a vibrant Catfish Row on the Charleston waterfront, with a cast of over 60. The two leads, bass-baritone Alfred Walker and soprano Brittany Renee, are superb, as is an all-star ensemble that includes Janai Brugger, Latonia Moore, Denyce Graves, Frederick Ballentine, Alfred Walker, and Donovan Singletary. Conductor Kwamé Ryan leads the outstanding orchestra on this beloved score. Additional shows have been added; now through January 24th.

If you’re a fan of audiobooks, I highly recommend the new Patti Smith tell-all, Bread of Angels: A Memoir. Critics have lauded it as one of the best books of the year. I concur. On my recent holiday roadtrip from NYC to Akron, Ohio, it was a welcome distraction as I made my way along the boring, 18-wheeler byway of I-80. Some of the passages were so beautifully written and narrated by Ms. Smith that I wept. Her poetry and prose weave in and out of this soul-baring memoir with equal weight. Like her music, her story is unsurprisingly provocative, sad, exhilarating, visceral, and triumphant. She is one of the artists who inspired me to move to New York so many years ago. I would listen to a chapter and then play some of her music. Try it. Extraordinarily impactful on so many levels.

Happy Christmas and Holiday blessings to one and all!

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Jazz is god’s way of relaxing—unpredictable, beautiful, revelatory, chaotic, inspiring, infinite. If you are open to the experience, you will be moved in ways you never dreamed possible. As a career musician, my only regret is not becoming a jazz musician. The freedom one can express in America’s greatest musical genre is endless. To be fair, some artists and shows can challenge a listener on too many levels. (A Cecil Taylor gig comes to mind at Lincoln Center.) But if you sit back and let the music move through you, well, your rewards will be bountiful.

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On Thursday night, my wife and three of our friends witnessed one of the most inspiring shows I’ve ever seen, and I’ve attended more shows than I can remember! It was the first show at 8 pm of bassist Christian McBride’s new trio (with veteran guitarist Kurt Rosenwinkel and young drummer Savannah Harris), opening his annual Village Vanguard December shows. He will be performing with this trio through the weekend and then next week with his band Inside Straight. In the world of jazz, Christian is one of the baddest men on the planet. Fuck it, in the world of music, he’s one of the baddest men!

“Bassist extraordinaire, composer, arranger, educator, curator and administrator, Christian McBride, has been one of the most important and most omnipresent figures in the jazz world for 20 years.” — NPR

Mr. McBride has played the world’s most famous jazz club for 18 consecutive years. Well, he joked between songs that he missed one year, but no one will hold him to it. I’ve seen him the last few years in different, carefully curated lineups. He never disappoints.

We had seats right next to the stage and at the feet of electric guitarist Kurt Rosenwinkel. I’d never seen him perform before, but I’m now an ardent fan. His tone was sick, volume perfect. He was playing his Soloway S14 through a vintage Fender Pro Reverb. I studied him during his solos; transfixed as he manipulated his volume pedal on every solo, every note, every song. Rare that jazz guitarists even use pedals; Nels Cline is one of the few exceptions. Kurt was a Philadelphia High School for the Creative and Performing Arts classmate of McBride, along with drummer QuestLove (Ahmir Khalib Thompson) and the late organist Joey DeFrancesco. McBride joked about how no other players (students) could match the prowess of their quartet. No doubt. I would have loved to hear that quartet in action, even back then.

The 8-song set was comprised of jazz legend Joe Henderson’s favorite tunes, interpretations of Billy Strayhorn, and jazz standards. Complex, effortless, and riveting, the interplay between the three virtuosos was awe-inspiring. The crowd cheered and whistled their approval throughout the set. Kurt transcribed Joe’s saxophone lines into angular guitar chords and solos. Christian, too. His solos on his upright, both plucked and bowed, were intense but beautiful. Hard bop with softness. The last song of the set was “Crazeology,” written by trumpeter and composer Benny Harris but made famous by Charlie Parker. However, the swing and pace cut closer to Hank Mobley’s version from his Messages album (1976). (Check out Roy Hargrove’s version above with guitarist Mark Whitfield shredding the bop.) Kurt’s guitar zig-zagging with aplomb. And when Christian leaned in on his solo, the roof nearly caved in. Ms. Harris took her solo with equal dynamics, never losing the groove even while displaying her prowess on her kit. And boom, the show was over. Standing ovation. Smiles everywhere. We were all witnesses.

Christian will be on tour in February 2026 with Ursa Major, his quintet of young jazz masters, off to Europe with pianist Brad Mehldau, then back home in the States for more shows. If you get a chance, DO NOT MISS this tour.

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Dearest Katharine,

Oh, how do I miss thee? Let me count the ways. (Gratitude to Miss Browning’s poetry.) How is France? I trust you had spectacular weather in Paris and Nice? It’s been frightfully warm and humid in New York, but not so much in the Berkshires, although I’ve not been away nearly enough. And you can imagine. I’m fraught with worry over your imminent arrival Stateside. It’s not that our home is not ready to accommodate your ferocious appetite for fun, but rather, your dizzying display of sharing your joie de vivre with our family and close friends. I suspect they are not nearly as accepting as your eclectic group of Latin Quarter friends. They would definitely ruffle more than a few tail feathers here in New York. But as your loving husband, I will always accommodate your demands.

And so, as requested, I have convinced Nikola to join us for the long holiday weekend. I am aware that his presence alone will create controversy, here and possibly abroad. I do find him a most amicable fellow, but I worry that his mind is far superior to those who might dine with us each evening. Moreover, I know that not inviting him would have left you bored with the rest of our guests.

He has already sent me a list of requests, the first one being that none of our lady guests wear earrings. I found that quite odd. I hope you can get him to share why. And he can only stay for three days. Why is he constantly obsessed with the pairings of threes? Is it some mathematical equation that escaped me at boarding school? And why must he travel with pigeons? Might he be using them as carriers of news while here? Or perhaps he’d use them to deliver more veiled threats to our neighbor J.P. [Morgan]? I do not pretend to understand why he insists that J.P. fund his latest invention. I suspect he’s trying to get back at Edison. He still maintains that his lab stole many of his inventions and will profit mightily from them. It all seems quite mad, like something from Mary Shelley’s book Frankenstein. But alas, perhaps his genius is yet to be recognized, despite his foibles.

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I had lunch with him a few weeks ago. I find it quite remarkable that he thinks the pyramids possess some giant energy system capable of derailing our marvelous electrical system, making our day-to-day lives much more enjoyable and easier. And, he did prattle on about Edison. But lately, he sounds vindictive and seems to harbor jealousy. What would our world look like without his profound contributions to society? Even now, given the option, I would much prefer to share these words with you using his new device, the telephone. Imagine Nikola thinking he can move electricity without wires and transmit it through the air. Preposterous, I say. But who am I to be certain? I fear our world is spinning out of control. All of these changes. What will our children be delivered into?

And, I’m a bit reluctant to invite Reverand Lynch again. You will recall their argument about religious dogma and the need for mankind to have a moral compass to keep us on the road to salvation. But having said that, and after a rather long-winded lunch with Tesla a month ago, he’s been keen on this new “mystical” philosophy called Theosophy, which believes that the universe is one giant, energetic presence or “life force,” as he calls it. He may even write an article about his findings for the magazine in the new year. He knows his onions on the subject.

Some of my friends at the New York Guardian have called him a hoaxer, a hoodwinker. I myself cannot say, as I do not possess his scientific knowledge of his world. I know that our food must include copious amounts of garden vegetables, as he will not consume fish, fowl, or beef. I hope this does not cause you or our other guests much inconvenience when you arrive. I know how some of my guests love hunting for our feasts.

To that end, I’ve arranged a duck hunt and know that his Serbian scientist friend, [Michael] Pupin, and Samuel [aka Mark Twain] have agreed to participate. I'm not sure how that will sit with Nikola, but a bit of fresh country air will do him good, if only he will walk with us. Suffice it to say, I will never force him to fire another punt. I’ve learned my lesson on that front.

I’ve also invited George [Sylvester] Viereck, that fussy poet fellow, but such a dear friend of Nikola. Perhaps he will stand guard over Nikola’s other peculiarities. I’ve arranged for their sleeping quarters to be next to each other. I pray he can help with Nikola's restlessness and early-morning walking. And I just learned from one of my editors that Tesla wrote a poem for George titled “Fragments of Olympian Gossip.” Imagine that. I shall procure a copy for you.

Ah, one more thought, before I end this letter, please do not mention anything about “signals from space.” His claim of radio signals emanating from Mars will only upset our guests, notably Rev. Lynch. The ridicule he faced after publishing his book Talking with the Planets has done nothing to diminish his enthusiasm for the subject. And while I remain open-minded to his theories, our more “delicate” guests may not find his continued experiments in Colorado Springs amusing dinner conversation.

That is all for now. I'm counting down the days of your arrival. Safe travels, my darling. We shall have fun, no dewdroppers. I promise.

Your loving husband,

Robert

[A letter from Robert Underwood Johnson, editor of The Century Magazine, purchased from a bookstore in Stockbridge, MA.]

Someone once posted that Eno was the Tesla of the studio. So with that in mind, please enjoy this musical interlude in Nikola’s honor.

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It’s been far too long since I released a whole album of original music, as my last record, Dusted Off (PetRock, 2024), was entirely cover songs. And I released an Irish folk song, “Roads of Connemara,” on St. Paddy’s Day. Earlier this year, I began work on my twelfth long-player of new music; some of the songs I’ve played live for years, while others are brand-new compositions. Some personal challenges left me feeling reluctant to even want to record anything, let alone write new material. But I found a creative spark with the first song I recorded.

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I co-wrote the folk-rock ballad—“Where To Be”—twelve years ago with my friend, the London-based singer-songwriter/producer David Ogilvy. It was tucked away on a shelf in one of my lyric books. As I was leafing through them a few months ago, I was seeking inspiration for Maximus Americanus (March 2026). Yeah, I had the album title before I’d written anything, but that title gave me a blueprint. The song conveys optimism and hope, celebrating the joy of youthful innocence and the unexpected nature of love found in relationships, emphasizing gratitude for these surprising connections.

I’m quite pleased with how the song came together and couldn’t have found the voice for it without the help of the talented musicians who played on it. I sang lead and played all the guitar parts, with longtime bandmate Kevin Mackall playing bass. Erik Deutsch (on loan from his tour with The Black Crowes) played organ. And David played drums, mandolin, and provided background vocals. I know it was a magical moment for all of us.

The song was co-produced by Graham Stone. He’s a new collaborator whom I met here in the Hudson Valley. He also mixed and mastered it at his beautiful country studio in Austerlitz, NY. He has a very relaxed way of conveying his creativity through my music. I can’t recommend him or Stone Studio enough; the vibe is intoxicating.

I found the cover art painting, “Woman Holding Bird Heading South,” by Sandra McCutcheon Pape, on eBay and purchased it. I loved the simple but elegant image of this very small pastel. Those of you who know my music may not be aware that I collect outsider art and have used some of these pieces as my album covers.

The video was created by Said Kanoun for Jelly Topsis Studio. I’ve worked with him in the past. I sent him the song, hoping to get some ideas. He fell in love with it and wanted to use an anime style for the characters. I was reluctant at first, but I trusted his instincts. Never imagined I’d see myself animated in one of my music videos, but it worked. We decided to add some of my family photos from my past that he animated using AI. The results gobsmacked me, and how they came to life. We know there is no turning back from this extraordinarily disruptive intelligence. When used properly, it can be revelatory, but suffice it to say, we are now living in the “matrix.”

I’m stoked to share “Where To Be” with all of you. The rest of the songs are far more Americana than my previous albums. You’d have to go back to my third album, Elevened, for comparison.

The song, along with all of my music, is available on all major digital platforms, including iTunes, Spotify, and YouTube. Please listen to it, add it to your playlists, and share it with your friends. Enjoy.

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Apologies for this long-overdue post, but I've been dealing with some complicated family matters. Finally, coming up for air. Here’s my latest.

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Some artists wear many hats and suffer no diminished returns when releasing other art forms. Recently, a handful of my writer and painter friends—essayists, poets, and fiction writers—have shared new music with me, and it is quite noteworthy and well worth listening to. I’ve been blessed to have collaborated with all of them at some point in time over the years.

PREACHER BOY (aka Christopher Watkins)

I met Preach in New York a few decades ago. His charisma and chops were undeniable. He contributed tasty banjo and dobro to some of my favorite songs on my fourth album, Elevened. When he left, our city was left with a music void. His move to the Bay Area allowed him to expand his artistic reach and, in the process, release some amazing boho music. Sure, the Tom Waits influence fits, but he's his own person. He is well-read, erudite, and a profoundly deep thinker.

Recently, he expanded his "alternative blues" to incorporate some of his literary works. His latest double vinyl album, Ghost Notes, which features 18 original songs, is accompanied by a standalone book entitled Ghost Notes: Songs and Stories (Coast Road, 2025). In it, he shares in-depth insights into the writing process and the meaning of his songs. Moreover, he even shares the instruments he plays and explains the reasons behind his choices.

One of my favorite songs, "Scene of the Crime," explores anger —a theme that runs through many of his songs. According to Chris, it's one of the angriest songs on the album.

"the song of myself, sung by a fool

and performed by a mime

tuned to a bell with a crack in the back

that is still made to chime."

Moreover, Chris states that it is a song of "anger solidarity," railing against the "rucksack gumshoes" and trying to sort out what went wrong. And who really are our enemies? (I often pondered that every single day.)

After a break to focus on writing poetry (courtesy of a grant to live and write in Jack Kerouac's former house), Preacher Boy returned to releasing original music. He's released over a dozen albums since 1995. I encourage my readers to delve deeper into his catalog—there are many gems to be mined. 

ROBERT COCHRANE

Robert is a poet, critic, and dynamo in the music biz. He has written, produced, and curated music events throughout Manchester, England. He knows most of the outstanding musicians from that city, too. I was first introduced to him by Hayden Wayne, a former keyboard player for Jobriath, and we became fast friends. Over the years, he has shared his dozens of volumes of poetry (The Bad Press) and carefully curated music projects with me. His work is extraordinary—emotional depth and imagery abound. His lyrics for his music and those of others—John Howard, Cecilie Anna, etc. always evoke a delicate, melancholy reaction whenever I hear them.

Do You Remember - The Selected Poems Of James Lyons, a long-lost English poet who died far too young. Besides the book of his poetry, Robert produced a tribute album, The James Lyons Project - Do You Remember?, using his poetry. I provided a track that recounted the lost souls aboard the Titanic's fateful voyage, entitled "The Last Hour (The Titanic)." Other notable artists included Bill Fay, John Howard, and Sharon Lewis, among others.

For Those Who Wander By (Think Like A Key Music) is his latest collaboration with singer-songwriter John Howard, and it's a magical, must-hear album. "Losing Myself In Others" is one such sumptuous track on said album, and my favorite. The ballad follows the story of Irish humanitarian and rebel Sir Roger Casement's forgotten poet godson Roddie Ward, who shot himself in France in 1922. Rob found his 1920s book of poetry, Poems & Sketches (The Medici Society, London), and thus began this ballad of personal tragedy. As Rob stated: "The line 'losing myself in others' entered my mind and I thought that's what suffocated Roddie Ward, the loss of others, a slow but gradual asphyxiation, combined with a sequence of events to which he was an innocent bystander." (For more backstory, read this article by Rob.) One senses a Bowie-like command of John's piano and vocal delivery. It's a slow, haunting burn. The background choir adds the requisite tone to the proceedings. It is one of Howard's most remarkable performances and songs. Kudos to my friend Rob for adding his lyrical magic to the proceedings.

Robert is currently curating a Jobriath double tribute album. Some very notable artists have signed on to share their cover songs, including Morrissey, Momus, Ann Magnuson, Marc Almond, Dana Gillespie, Pat Dam Smyth, Clay Hips, Jeff Duff, John Robb, That Joe Payne, Tim Arnold, and yours truly. Later this year, Dr. Wilde's Twilight Adventure, a concept album by the German progressive rock band Argos, will be released. The album is inspired by the sex scandal surrounding Oscar Wilde's father, William, and features his lyrics.

TONY FLETCHER

Ah, what can I say about Tony that many of you may not already know? To put it simply, he's a force of literary nature, and I am a fan. His critically acclaimed books on Keith Moon, Echo & The Bunnymen, The Clash, R.E.M., The Smiths, Wilson Pickett, and Eddie Floyd, amongst others, are rightfully lauded biographies. His memoir, Boy About Town, is a personal favorite and a must-read. His early fanzine, Jamming, and current home on Substack have not diminished his sharp and evocative grasp of detail, while conveying considerable emotional breadth. He recently retired from his role as a director and mentor at the Rock Academy. I first met him at Limelight, a church that had been converted into a hip live music and club venue, where he booked my grunge/punk band, Bastards of Execution (BöE, pronounced "boo"). Over the years, we'd run into each other at concerts all over NYC and became friends. We now both live in the Hudson Valley and continue to socialize, sharing our love of music, pop culture, and wine.

But Tony is not just a writer. He's a musician, too. (And a marathon runner, skier, explorer, podcaster, and wine expert.) His first band, Apocalypse, a trio formed in south London when they were sixteen, first opened for The Jam at the Rainbow, and they did so again a year later. As a five-piece, they did about twelve dates with them during their last two tours, including two nights at Wembley with Big Country. Moreover, they were their last-ever support band at the Brighton Center in December 1982. Tony's band disbanded in 1984. But he and his best friend, Tony Page, from that band, remained friends.

Fast forward to this decade, and it was time to reignite the musical magic and thus form a new band, The Dear Boys. In 2022, they released their single, "Yes Men." That was followed by "(They Say) Don't Waste Your Vote," released in time for the UK elections. And in October 2024, they released another throwback single that has lost none of the bite and snarl of their earlier work. Their third double A-side, "Gone Viral/Scan Me," continues their astute observations about this mad "modern world" and all of the trappings that threaten to swallow us.

As Tony rightfully states: "It's been an incredible process, writing songs all over again and realizing that not only can we still do it, but that they're good!"

His other music project with his partner Paula Lucas, Hudson Palace, put out two conceptual Virtual 7" double A-side cover tunes in the last few years, and their first original single, “Holding Hands With Strangers,” will be released on Friday.

For more of Tony's observations and criticism, subscribe to his most excellent SubStack page; you won't be disappointed.

RON ENGLISH

My friend and totally unique Popaganda artist, Ron English, has always functioned full-on as a multidimensional artist, photographer, billboard guerrilla artist, toy designer, songwriter, and producer—a Renaissance dude for my generation. If he’s not creating his extraordinary pop art collisions of high-brow art and pop culture absurdities, he's crafting long players that feature songs about the creatures that inhabit his make-believe worlds. And many of them have been released as vinyl collectibles. (I own several of them and original artwork, too.) His last gallery show opened in May 2023 at Allouche Gallery (77 Mercer St, New York, NY 10012) in New York. Now You See It explored his immersive world and featured a series of oil paintings inspired by his intricate technique of set building, some of which were on display.

However, Ron has always been a big fan of music, and many of his paintings feature motifs borrowed from iconic rock musicians. His series of KISS paintings is fantastic. His "zipper banana" album art, a spoof of Warhol's Rolling Stones' Sticky Fingers cover for The Dandy Warhols' Welcome to the Monkey House, is a classic. He collaborated with singer-songwriter Daniel Johnston, which was weirdly wonderful. And he was part of the Butthole Surfers' Texas posse back in the day. I was honored to have graced his very first album, English 101 (Unkulunkie Records, 1994), which featured 17 songs about the artist. Ron's epic painting, THE ANTI-WARHOL, graced the cover of that CD. And my band, The Dusty Diamonds, played a few of his NYC loft parties, too.

Over the years, I've written about him and conducted audio and video podcast interviews for my website CultureCatch.com. During SXSW 2015, my FuelFX team created the world's largest AR target featuring his Smiley Skull face on the side of a building in Austin, TX. We created a scavenger hunt, à la Pokémon Go, using his outrageous artwork as AR (augmented reality) pop-ups all over the place. Check out the video for his Ron English PopApp here.

And so, here he goes again with yet another compelling musical romp. Earlier this year, he released Ron English's Area54 Earth—ten songs to ponder while orbs and drones fill our skies. Friends or foes? You decide! (This made me so very happy on so many levels.) This album will augment a full-sized spaceship installation now in production. It's about a group of aliens looking for the ultimate party on Earth. Party on, ET!

Ron is relentless with his output. I confess, even as a friend, it's difficult to keep up with him. His output would make anyone in our age group stagger! Worth exploring his world every single day.

STEVE HOLTJE

I've known Steve for decades. He's an unparalleled musicologist, scholar, writer, editor, label head (ESP-Disk), composer, musician, producer, and DJ. We met years ago while working for the New York Review of Records magazine. We shared similar interests and tastes in music, although his knowledge of jazz, classical, and avant-garde music surpasses that of every music nerd I've ever known (or will know) and me. His eclectic music collection (CDs, vinyl) also dwarfs mine. He was my deputy editor when I was promoted to editor-in-chief at Creem Magazine in the early '90s. When Prince hired me to publish and edit his magazine, New Power Generation, I hired Steve. When I started my online smart culture site, CultureCatch.com, he joined me yet again. Besides his chops as an ace editor and astute writer, his love of music is truly inspiring. He introduced me to the brilliant jazz pianist Matthew Shipp, and over the years, he has released several of his albums on ESP-Disk, including his most recent, New Concepts in Piano Trio Jazz (2024). Moreover, Steve is enthusiastic about sharing the soon-to-be-released album Realism, a guitar duo by Joe Morris and Elliott Sharp. He also produced the album.

When I asked him about his music, he suggested checking out his brilliant piano, keyboard, and composition work with his free jazz, classical, and Krautrock outfit, Caterpillar Quartet. 

He is currently in three active bands (playing keyboards and trombone): Phantom Honeymoon is a duo with Theremin player Alexandra Beneski. They've recently released an EP, Interstellar Underpass, with a limited-edition vinyl release. What You May Call It, a quartet with saxophonist Chris Kelsey, drummer Charles Downs (a.k.a. Rashid Bakr), and guitarist/vocalist/keyboardist Rose Tang (album coming out later this year). Thirty-Three Chords and the Truth, a duo with Tang (he also added some recitations).

As a true fan, Steve has plenty to say about new music and emerging acts, and his astute reviews can be found in Jack Rabid's must-read music magazine, The Big Takeover, as well as his social media posts and eclectic DJ sets in clubs throughout Brooklyn and Manhattan. As Steve pointed out, "Every year is better because we have more music than the year before. That a millennium of music is available to us for listening is amazing."

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Such

a

good

person.

Never

snuck out

late

at

night,

slugged

his

little brother,

burned

an

anthill

with

a

magnifying

glass,

teased

his

neighbor’s

mean

old

dog,

or for that matter,

threw

eggs

at

that

grumpy

neighbor’s

house.

Never cursed.

Never smoked.

Never ingested mind-altering mushrooms.

Never belched, farted, or picked his nose in public.

Never talked back to his mom, dad, grandma, or bullies.

Never short-changed a waiter, waitress, or a newspaper vendor.

Never played “doctor and nurse” with his older sister.

Never went “all the way” or pleasured himself.

Never

hid

in

the

trunk

of

his

friend’s

car

to

sneak

into

a

drive-in

movie.

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Never cheated on exams, board games, or taxes.

Never called anyone “dude,” “babe,” “hottie,” “sweety,” “cutie,” or “bitch.”

Never listened to Death Metal, rap, punk, jazz, or trip-hop.

Never rode his bicycle without a helmet.

Never jumped off a garage roof into a pile of leaves.

Never wore black, got a tattoo, or pierced a nipple.

Never

went

a

day

without

twice

brushing

and

flossing

his

teeth.

Never

missed

a

day

of

work,

unless

it

was

his

two-week

vacation.

Never

slept

naked.

Never

slept

in.

Never paid full retail on his underwear or socks.

Never went a week without changing his sheets.

Never told a little white lie.

Never took anyone to task,

though

he

once

thought

about

it

when

his

boss

accused

him

of

leaving

the

office

early.

Never felt envious of someone else’s success.

Never drank a six-pack

of warm Mickey’s Big Mouths

behind his junior high school.

Never jacked a car, truck, or scooter.

Never left

rude graffiti

on the side

of a church,

or abandoned buildings.

Never jaywalked.

got a speeding ticket,

or a parking ticket.

Never

got

married.

Never

had

children.

Never volunteered to help someone else.

Never considered the existence of something else.

Never considered his opinion to be of any value.

Never

took

a

piss

outside

in

his

yard

in

the

middle

of

the

night.

Never

ate

in

a

restaurant

by

himself.

Never tried sushi, curried goat, moussaka, tripe, durian, lox and bagels, or kimchi.

Never

played

video

games.

Never

played

an

instrument.

Never painted his face camouflage to hunt or play paintball.

Never

went

to

see

ballet, modern dance, or the circus.

Never

stared

into

the

sun, even for a few seconds.

Never

traveled

to

Europe,

China,

Mexico,

Canada,

Pittsburgh,

or the Native American burial grounds

only two hours away.

Never left his hometown,

or his family’s home.

Never put up a bird feeder.

Never put down a pet dog or cat.

Never put in an A/C unit in his bedroom.

Never put out candy on Halloween.

Never blasted music on his record player.

Never invited his neighbors over for a BBQ.

Never slept in a hyperbaric chamber, meditated, or got a massage.

Never

saw

Bigfoot,

UFOs,

small grey aliens,

ghosts,

orbs,

or a drag show.

Never

gambled

on

football,

basketball,

baseball,

tennis,

billiards,

cards,

dice,

or his

future.

Never

thought

he’d

die

alone.

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Death is not the end. I know it. Plus, thinking that this life is all we have seems cruel. For me, the whole universe is one living entity with everything connected to it. As we age, we inevitably view life differently. Last year, I lost my post-college roommate, Rob, my pickleball partner, Brant, and other acquaintances known from my 40+ years in Manhattan and a few from my youth in Ohio. This year, we lost our beloved dog, Nikki, and just two weeks ago, my dear friend and partner-in-music, Martin John Butler. 

I met Martin walking our pups in Riverside Park in Manhattan about 12 years ago. The tall, lanky dude was opinionated but tres cool, dressed in black, strutting with confidence. A real New Yorker who grew up in Brooklyn, never one to suffer fools. Plenty of chutzpah and whip-smart on various subjects—politics, films, books, architecture, stereo equipment, vocal microphones, UFOs, Atlantis, to name a few. I cherished our morning walks as we attempted to make sense of our crazy world. But we truly bonded over our love of music—listening, writing, producing, and playing it. 

He'd been in some kickass rock 'n' roll bands in the early '70s. He was on the cusp of megastardom. The glam-rock quartet Pandora and one of the first wave of punk rockers, The Demons. Those bands featured some "heavy" music luminaries—drummer Frank LaRocca, bassist Buzzy Verno, vocalist Rick Prince, guitarist Walter Lure, et al.—from the music scene in New York. And he knew plenty of the most famous rockers and bands on the scene. His bands also graced the stages at all the legendary music venues like CBGB, Mudd Club, Dancetaria, and Max's Kansas City.

Martin would eventually leave rock 'n' roll and become an award-winning music composer. And, he would become a critically acclaimed singer-songwriter and release two exceptional solo albums of original music. After his divorce from his wife, he moved to Nashville to be around the best songwriters on the planet. It was there that he started working on his next album. Here's one of his new songs—"I Thank You For Everything"—from his last live performance in his hospital bed in September 2024.

But, he was also a brilliant guitar teacher, teaching my children, Luca and Mina, several friends, and countless others in New York and Nashville how to navigate a guitar neck. Even his doctor in Nashville took lessons from him when he was around and if Martin had the strength. 

He was like the older brother I never had. He was there for me when my father, Joseph, and then my brother, David, died a year apart, my only sibling in a horrible motorcycle mishap. He had been in one himself and had his second NDE (near-death experience). He had his first as a young boy. He shared how mystical both ordeals were for him. It had changed his perception of death. He was no longer afraid of it.

Marty, as I fondly called him, one of the few people allowed to call him that name, had requested that I get to Nashville quickly, saying he was not long for this world. He had been through the meat grinder. And I agreed. It was his time to go "home" and free himself of the accumulated suffering, the countless hospital visits to drain his decaying transplanted liver (well past its expiration date), his numerous bile duct stent operations, his four cracked vertebrae that had to be fused, his double hernia that couldn't be repaired because of the stents. Yet, his will to squeeze every ounce out of his battered body was genuinely remarkable. And inspirational. But he was ready to move on. His body was worn out.

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On our last time together, Friday, February 14th, the day before his trip to the other side, I played him some new songs that he helped improve. (Those songs will be on my next album, Maximus Americanus.) Though he was physically weak, his spirit was still burning bright. I truly valued his opinion and input on song structure and lyrics. I always valued his mixing ideas, even though I didn't always agree. He co-produced two of my albums and mixed several of my singles.

As he lay in bed, trying hard to stay awake, he ate half of a Magnolia Banana Pudding cookie and weakly smiled, enjoying the treat as he railed against the pain. His doctor was there, marveling at his remarkable will to live. So was artist James Willis (a fellow Upper Westsider and close friend), who had been his main anchor and lifeline in Nashville for two years. Ditto my friend Stewart, a longtime Nashville resident, who had helped him move several times when he had to downscale his life. As James noted, it was a proper music send-off. I told Marty I would take care of his music legacy (publishing). 

He was also battling a week-long chest cold, which was intensely painful when he coughed, fearful that he might break another vertebra. I played one last song, "Ghosts," written about my ghost experience in London in the late '90s. The chorus was befitting for my fading friend, who had told me he could see his spirit guides (angels) at the foot of his bed. He prayed that he would pass while he was sleeping. I secretly prayed as well. 

“Cuz we’re all ghosts who leave trails behind / Waiting to cross to the other side.

We’re all ghosts who just hang on / Trapped by the walls we can’t knock down.”

After the song, he whispered to me quietly, "Do you know what is a miracle? Of all the millions of people in New York City... we met and became friends. You were there for me when I needed you. I will be there for you when it's your time to pass." I nodded and told him I loved him. 

The next day, Saturday, February 15th, I arrived in the early afternoon to take his lunch order. When I got to the hospice, the receptionist told me that the head nurse would meet me at his station. My body tensed up. I knew the score. The head nurse, Bryan (originally a cop from New York), met me when I got off the elevator. He shared the news I dreaded. Martin had passed just thirty minutes earlier as he offered his heartfelt condolences. (A week later, he was on my flight back to New York to visit his daughter on her birthday.) I wept, knowing I had missed one final chance to hang out with my friend.

When James arrived 15 minutes later, we discussed Martin's final wishes as we awaited the hospice nurse to prepare his body for cremation. We placed a guitar pick on each eye, his favorite red scarf, one of James's woodcut prints, and other personal items. Although we were sad, we were relieved that his suffering was finally over. Another male nurse approached us and said, "I'm not religious but spiritual. When your friend passed, the emergency exit (the door next to Martin's room) started opening and closing, and the alarm went off." He seemed shaken by the event. I said with tears, "Elvis has finally left the building."

I know in my soul that Marty has already started his next band on the other side. He is running free with our pups, Nikki and Charlie, and finally exploring the real truths of our strange and beautiful universe.

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