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’.

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.

The only love song I know of a guy eagerly awaiting his belle’s release from prison.
Perhaps there should be more.

In which Jeff calls Sir Paul “the Prince of Plastic, the Sheikh of Shallow” (utter blasphemy!) and presents the one song from Paul’s 30something post-Beatle CDs that deserves to be visited and revisited, because it’s
uniquely mature, straightforward, honest and heartfelt.

Here’s a less-known Dylan masterpiece, ‘Black Diamond Bay’ from the last of his great albums, ‘Desire’ (1976).
It’s a cinematic tour de force, a dreamed narrative from a movie that you’ve never quite seen, hovering just beyond the horizon of your consciousness. You know every cliché, even the ones you’re aware Dylan is inventing as you watch.