Beauty is Imperfection

Last year I released an album on Amazon, iTunes and other fine outlets called “Diasporous.” This album includes some of my oldest songs, things I wrote in my ’20s, in probably their fourth or fifth versions.

One of them seemed as if it would never be good, never reach its potential. It’s a punk-pop song, whose strengths are think are obvious, yet I managed to mangle it so many times I’d come to hate it. My first set of lyrics for it were vaguely about 9/11, and a vague song about 9/11 tends to be automatically in poor taste. Either you have a point of view about that day or you ought to shut up. So I gave the lyrics what I realized years later was my strength: a story. And I clarified the melody. And when it popped up in my iTunes queue a couple of weeks ago, I realized: I finally don’t hate this thing I made.

So here it is: A pop song I made that I no longer hate enough to hide.

It’s called “Patriots/Crossed Lines.” And it’s loud, by the way. Enjoy.