In which Jeff bemoans maybe turning down a job with a very famous Hollywood director.

A precious, delicate flower from 1966.
Baroque & roll.

The 20th anniversary of 9/11, Erev Yom Kippur, and a spookily prophetic 1964 song about civilization’s greatest tower laid to waste, brought about by the ‘Pride of Man’.

Ok, hotshot–what group of musicians played on more number one hits than the Beach Boys, the Rolling Stones, Elvis, and the Beatles combined?

I’m about to submit myself to a month-long prayer marathon, be bored out of my mind, try to seriously ponder my destiny for the coming year, and sneak in an occasional thought about Aretha and Ray’s ‘Spirit in the Dark’.

Tigran’s website says he plays “atmospheric punk jazz improvisations fused with the rich folkloric music of his native Armenia”. Me? My binge is in its sixth day and I still have no idea what I’m listening to. But I’m still listening.

How Julie London enticed Jeff into basshood

Willie was blinded at age seven when the lye his stepmom threw lye at his dad and missed. Willie sang on the street corners of Beaumont, Texas and slept in a li’l church. When it burned down, he slept there in a rain-soaked bed and caught pneumonia. And you think you got the blues?