Entry No.13;   June 11, 2002

It was 1994, and Peter Gabriel was sharing his world music treats with the Woodstock II kids.

On stage was a fantastic Senegalese kora player - unfortunately, for Gabriel and the kora, Green Day was on deck, and the fans were booing, shouting, "get the fuck off the stage". It was almost as stupid as hearing John Popper at 4:00 in the morning, with a bullhorn screaming, "I fucked your ... " Gross. I was so pissed off I split - I love the kora. Went last week to check out Green Day again. If there is hope for the environment it is Green Day. Down to earth, fun, and really smart: I love this band!

And now Dee Dee Ramone's dead too.

International men of mystery are not exactly like Austin Powers, but I am in awe to have met Peter Malkin, the spy who captured Adolf Eichmann.

Eichmann killed 11 million people, 6 million Jews, 1 and a half million children. He designed the gas chamber and the rail system which sent them to their deaths. Malkin is a hero, and the reason he captured Eichmann and brought him to Jerusalem for trial was so the world would know this horror really happened.

I was in Washington DC the other day for the largest rally in support of the state of Israel, the only democracy in the middle east.

I am hoping for the non-violent messages of Dr. Martin Luther King, and Mahatma Gandhi to take root in the Arab world, amongst Arabs. Non-violence is the only way. I realize that though September 11 was a horrific day of terror, and we lost thousands of loved ones, history has shown the magnitude and potential is far greater. Terror is no way.

Democracy and non-violence are the only way. Get on the bus. I will bring the guitar.

Entry No.11;   Feb. 21, 2002

Bachanal is Carnival and Carnival is Bachanal- this is the mantra in Trinidad for days preceding ash Wednesday.

My favorite thing to do aside from scuba dive in Tobago was to go to the Trinidad panyard, drink a cold Carib, and listen to the Steel Drum Pan Bands like Invaders and Exodus get their music together. 50 or more musicians playing drums that were created when the British Empire forbade the use of drums; it was getting in the way of oil production- Trinibagonians took the oil keg, cut it half and created a new drum when their skin drums were taken away.

Dancing in the street is a big part of the fun, especially during dirty mas(querade) which begins after 2am, runs through the next day, and involves painting your body, and purifying through excess. We do that real well.

We enjoyed a society party at Miss Universe's house. Penny is a very classy lady and it was a thrill to be in her home at such a great time. Maintain eye contact.

The West Indian culture is brilliant. Amazing food: Calliloo, Casavo, goat curry, the freshest fish and produce ever. The people are a fantastic blend of European, African, Indian and Asian. It is not uncommon to see a black person with blue eyes: mix, mix, mix, and you will create beauty.

Entry No.10;   Jan. 28, 2002

Live it up friend, and in that spirit I picked up a 1969 silver faced Fender pro-reverb amp.

Like my mandolin it is older than I am. As time goes by, I simplify, and gear wise this is a great triumph. Much digital gear imitates the sound this amplifier puts out. It was hand made. The tremolo, and reverb give the amp a style and warmth I have been missing. I am augmenting the amp with a tubescreamer peddle, a cry baby wah-wah, and occasionaly analog delay.

I have plans to go into the recording studio with producer Jay Newland in late February to finish my second record. It has been a process of patience. I am grateful to all of your patience.

Entry No.9;   Dec. 10, 2001

Like a child, relegated to the basement of the Knitting Factory to play, I was having flashbacks of the Wetlands lounge.

Friend and former Wetlands owner Peter Shapiro is filming Chick Corea and his month stint at the Blue Note. How cool!! It felt great to debut 7 new songs to an intimate audience in the bowels of downtown nyc. Outside the lights of ground zero illuminate massive cranes hauling seemingly unlimited earth. In New Haven I happened to meet Trey Gunn, touring with King Crimson and John Paul Jones. Apparently Jones plays a mandolin through a Marshall stack. What a gem.

Keep safe.

Entry No.8;   Nov. 15, 2001

Giving food, coffee, socks, boots and Marlboros to police, fireman, steel workers and teenage national guardsmen, I spent a night at ground zero.

The fire is still burning. Nobody can do anything but get through this. The church we were in is on the corner of Broadway and Fulton. George Washington prayed there. We were tending to feet where Washington prayed. The music fire still burns. Fantastic fall foliage during gigs in Boston, Woodstock, Northampton, and Poughkeepsie.

Psychedelic scene: Everytime the wind blows, it rains showers of gold. I climbed into channel 12 TV Westchester for Clearwater: GE clean up the Hudson River! Enjoying an ever-growing circle with writer Jim Rado (Hair), producer John Arrias (Jeff Beck's Wired, Bob Seger), and trumpeter Frank London (The Klezmatics). We are doing everything possible to deliver a new record in 2002.

Entry No.7;   Sept. 25, 2001

Upon reflection of the events unfolding in recent weeks,
I found this poem by W. H. Auden relevant. I hope you will too.

September 1, 1939
by W. H. Auden
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-second Street
Uncertain and afraid
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.

Accurate scholarship can
Unearth the whole offence
From Luther until now
That has driven a culture mad,
Find what occurred at Linz,
What huge imago made
A psychopathic god:
I and the public know
What all schoolchildren learn,
Those to whom evil is done
Do evil in return.

Exiled Thucydides knew
All that a speech can say
About Democracy,
And what dictators do,
The elderly rubbish they talk
To an apathetic grave;
Analysed all in his book,
The enlightenment driven away,
The habit-forming pain,
Mismanagement and grief:
We must suffer them all again.

Into this neutral air
Where blind skyscrapers use
Their full height to proclaim
The strength of Collective Man,
Each language pours its vain
Competitive excuse:
But who can live for long
In an euphoric dream;
Out of the mirror they stare,
Imperialism's face
And the international wrong.

Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.

The windiest militant trash
Important Persons shout
Is not so crude as our wish:
What mad Nijinsky wrote
About Diaghilev
Is true of the normal heart;
For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.

From the conservative dark
Into the ethical life
The dense commuters come,
Repeating their morning vow;
"I will be true to the wife,
I'll concentrate more on my work,"
And helpless governors wake
To resume their compulsory game:
Who can release them now,
Who can reach the deaf,
Who can speak for the dumb?

All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.

Defenseless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.

Entry No.6;   July 31, 2001

I tumbled like a pebble and gave my whole body a ding unseen - ouch!!

Entry No.5;   July 2, 2001

I was high and lonesome during this first week of summer 2002.

Entry No.4;   June 22, 2001

Entry No.3;   May 9, 2001

When I arrived in Turks Caicos I could smell Castro's cigar...

Sharkies was my beachfront sunset bar. besos del caribe- then to New Orleans. No time for trapeze, time to dance to The Funky Meters, WWOZ, Femi Kuti, and in that big bad gospel tent Carol Thomas was introduced. Another glitch in the matrix? Henry Butler was asking for still more dancers. My head was in salsa spin. merengue madness, funky butt, cajun creep, dusty feet, dizzy treat - -

Now back in hell's kitchen I have a smoke with my friend the dishwasher, he says the devil is the chef. I see walking eye dogs with more responsibility than most people.

Joey Ramone's dead.