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Infinity BoyThis week I hit a couple of milestones. I’ve reached one of those fun ages with a gawping new zero in it. And I’ve also released my 22nd album, containing my third symphony.

It’s called Infinity Boy. Like my other two faux-symphonic efforts Gravitas: A Life and The Widowhood of Bunny, it’s an electronic work with pretenses toward being a string orchestra piece or string quartet. It’s also the only way I can musically express my love of Prokofiev given my current limitations: I can’t play violin or write musical notation for it. I hope time is not running out for me to cure those shortcomings in the future (note my other milestone), but it’s not likely I will. I don’t usually stand up for philistinism, but I did indeed try transcribing one of my pop songs once, and it took almost two hours to get through the first verse. Considering that I’ve put out more than 16 hours of music arranged for multiple instruments, you might forgive me for not pursuing a huge musical notation project in the immediate future. I gather some people think you’re not a real composer unless you can write it down. I appreciate those who can, but no, it’s not more important than the act of simply making art by any means necessary.

Infinity Boy came about mostly because I was frustrated in my attempts to create a jazz album (who do you have to blow to rent a saxophone in this town nowadays?) With extra nervous energy and time on the train, I start putting out my classical appreciation albums. Anyway, I hope you like it, and if not, maybe just give it a listen as a way of saying happy birthday to me. As my grandparents might say, I sure am getting tall.

As usual, the piece was written, arranged, produced and performed by yours truly in Apple’s GarageBand for iPhone. The work was completed between August and November 2019 in my home studio. All performances are on keyboard.

A sample:

Love Now

She went to the window

And her perimenopause turned on the air conditioner

“Not tonight. It hurts and I don’t want to be touched.”

It’s OK. A young lover lies on you; an old lover lies with you.

She lay with calm nose breaths

While he came up with some new jokes

The one last night really killed.

Yellow

The magazine was dripping with innuendo

It promised nipples and betrayal

The moon and Page 6 asked my hormones to dance

“You’ll never guess where Tom Kaulitz and Heidi Klum ….”

Began the headline I didn’t finish.

Participation Medal

The train coughed off its riders

Who would watch hockey or meet a friend

Or hoped to meet a girl

Some had been drunk on the train

To get ahead of the way they hoped they’d feel

A young teen explained to his friend

How to mug Long Islanders

“They’re so stupid, when you stare at them,

They just give you their money.”

Another woman chatted

As loud as she could

In the quiet car

And for a while it was enough,

For me to just watch the city

The firework box of surprises

 

Then I went to the street corner

And yelled “fuck” as loud as I could

 

I heard once the bulls of Pamplona

Like to knock spectators off the walls sometimes

And gore them.

And I remembered, no matter what city you’re in,

You really should participate.

 

 

From Sour To CinnamonMy 21st album, From Sour to Cinnamon, is now available on iTunes, Amazon, Spotify, CD Baby, and other places where music is (still) sold. As I’ve written previously, it’s an album of pop songs with some dark undertones.

The album art was provided by my 8-year-old son Xander.

While the last Salon de la Guerre album displayed my recent obsession with country music, this album is all pop, and most of it was generated with keyboards in Garage Band (though I play guitar on the  the song “A Kid’s Inside,” an ode to youth and play and silliness and joy).

Again, all songs written, performed and produced by yours truly.

Enjoy one of the latest tracks here:

Piano

The little boy played
The piano
Sad and cold and blue
Like he was on a ferry pulling out
Leaving you behind on the pebbly North Fork
Dressed in clouds hiding their tears

Who Built It?

A pile of bottles. An empire of bottles
Each leaking spirits into the bottom of the bin
Who built this Solomon’s temple? What spirit?
Just experience
These blown bottles have left their hurts
Accepted and absorbed
With desire and cigarettes

A spirit is always in five different places
I only make it whole by talking
The way the song rings over the glasses
Lose it in a bottle
Find it in a temple

Who built this? Really,
You’ve got to tell me, gorgeous
Who built this?