I have different standards for artwork by people I know and by people I don't know. When it is someone I know, I compare their work to what I think I might be capable of creating. This is not a very high standard, so it's likely that I am easily impressed by the writing, music, and cooking of friends. When I consider the work of strangers, I compare it to what I think the entire world of artists is capable of creating. Who wants to read a second-rate novelist when so many classics go unread? Listening to January Zero is the wonderful experience of being in both worlds at once. The music stands up in my playlists full of professionals and stars. This sounds like so much flattery, but it's demonstrably true. When it comes time to perform the dispiriting task of culling my music library to make it fit on an antiquated audio device, I have always left some favorites from that indie folk rock outfit which I used to think of as a housemate. And when "Another Summer" comes up in the shuffle mix, a tap on the repeat icon is more likely than one on "skip," whatever my mood. I have been enjoying "The Long Radio Silence" while doing other things — riding the train, walking to work, working — and so haven't paid close attention to which particular tracks I am enjoying. So far my favorite has been whichever is playing at the moment: "Going Quietly" at the moment. There's also an instrumental number I quite enjoy. Perhaps I would like the Rolling Stones more if I had spent evenings watching "The Young Ones" and "Dr. Katz" with them. Not many are so fortunate to have such interactions with gifted artists, and I count myself among those lucky ones. Thank you for a great record! P.S. Cheers to your backup singer, whose voice I hear on whatever track is playing now.
I can think of no better reward for all the time, energy, thought and effort I put into this project than to have it be so well used and enjoyed. Deep and resounding gratitude to you, my friend, for listening, for allowing the songs to find a home in your private world of sensation and meaning. Thanks also, very much, for supporting me and it, not just all those years, by your engagement and encouragement, but also lately, in buying a copy. I hope that it will, like the ideal suit of clothes, continue to grow and stretch along with the ever-changing configurations of the life situation, as that is what it is intended for. I realize that's a lofty goal, to put it mildly, and that I am allying myself with Eliot's "poetry for all time/s" position rather than Williams' "poetry for this moment" position, but I guess I won't try and deny the hand I've shown. Here's to self-discovery, aided by our friends, whom I count as my greatest wealth. One of the poets I studied under in grad school once told me he had a small collection of readers that constituted his micro-audience. Yeah, he cared how the wider world tangled with his verse, but mainly drew his feedback, both in terms of critique and the gratifying energy exchange, from a small group of friends who cared about his work. I have adopted that strategy, at least ad hoc, and am grateful to count you as a (perhaps unwilling) member.