art
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last week, while biking from Times Square to Dumbo Park, this couple from out of town stopped me for directions to the Empire State Building. I often get stopped for directions, probably because I look like I know where I’m going. plus I’m not afraid to make eye contact with strangers. you notice a lot…
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today Brooklyn is a beautiful, devastating autumn. it’s a beauty that comes and goes. on the street where I live there’s an old church that glows with the sound of October’s bells. I bike past it every day on my way to the donut shop where I work. (is it called the Doppler effect when…
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if you’re ever in nyc, look down. hiding between sidewalk cracks and under train tracks, you might find one of the people who inhabit joe’s cool, miniature world. joe is joe iurato, a street and commercial artist, and he’s amazing. he has painted on large, outdoor walls for a long time. he also makes small,…
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I feel like a punk. most teachers, Catholic School nuns, cops, and passersby on the street would say I am one. that’s the attitude that I identify with. one thing about the names people give to us, they can be a kind of injury. a punk: the rotting piece of wood used as kindling to…
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sometimes I think the only place I can make a song is when I’m at the grocery store, listening to the sound of people while waiting in the checkout line. I keep an eye and ear open for what people cast off: half-sentences. corner store English. if the timing’s right, I’ll catch a major blowout between…
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the thing I most dreaded when I began making songs at age 12 was being killed in a classic Brooklyn hit-and-run before I could create a world-famous masterpiece. not so much anymore. these days I don’t sit and wonder if my next song will make me famous, or whether someday critics will consider it a…
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the Nirvana tribute band I heard at this club the other night didn’t disappoint. the lead singer sounded just like Kurt Cobain. he was beautiful and had hair like him, he moved like him, and even had the Mr. Rogers-style chunky green sweater. every Nirvana song they played they totally nailed. it was amazing the…
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when I am talking to myself, I often wonder: who is talking and who is listening? because someone always is, talking and listening, and it’s still me. the fearful, compliant voice I hear comes from the part of my head that isn’t particularly good at making music. but it’s really good at drawing horrible pictures.…
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some nights, when I’m perched on a stool with just my guitar, keeping a little crowd fixed (or at least I hope), it hits me: the only time I don’t feel like such a fuck up is when I’m making music. or playing it for people who care. choosing to be an artist is really…
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playing notes is the basic idea of music. but it’s an impression, and just a shallow one. it’s not enough to play the notes. what I really have to do as a musician is everything that is not in the notation (which by the way I can’t read anyway). the same way I need time…
cookie nieves 