The City That Never Sleeps

As I realized many moons ago, my job as Editor at Large is somewhat weird, fantastic, and nebulous. These truths always seem magnified when I leave my rural abode by the sea and plop myself into Manhattan. To wit, here’s a quick synopsis of my last 24 hours on the island. Land at JFK take a cab to the Whole Foods Market in Union Square, overwhelmed with choices, decide on Chicken Tikka Masala, four kinds of Tofu, and a dark chocolate coated pretzel. Eat lunch with the four headed monster of The Festival Network in their offices. By the time I get to the pretzel I realize that they are about to change the face of live music in this country. Buckle your seat belts America. Walk down a flight of stairs and hear Zap Mama scat singing at a piano with famed concert promoter George Wein. Billboard Magazine is taking pics and video, I try to get out of their way. Later, I watch as Zap Mama puts the finishing touches on what is sure to be her biggest record to date. The guest list on this album is like the line-up card for the battle of the biggest bad-ass all-stars. Have tea with Big T. as he tries to track down Al Gore on the phone to talk shop about Global Warming and the concert biz. Amazing stuff here people. Have dinner at some hip new Greek joint, Parea, they have a scotch menu, Yes please. We sit in Leslie’s section. Leslie hands me her card, she’s a stage actress, a vocalist, a pianist, a dancer, and a model. Unfortunately I tell her I’m happily married and I can’t help her career. Bummer.  Only in NYC.

Exhausted I head to Chelsea. Long story made short, I’m crashing at a international pop icon’s duplex. I don’t want to hit you over the head with a "Sledgehammer" but this guy is the "Bigtime." I announce myself as Lloyd Dobbler and ride up the elevator with the Japanese Food Delivery guy. I smell Saki. Tempted but pass. Excited for a pillow. Open the door. Surprise, there is a video shoot happening in the flat. Joesph Arthur & The Lonely Astronauts’ new video in fact. Sleep has just left the building, at least there is a few Corona’s laying about. Anna, the director, editor, wardrobe, and den mother shows me some of the initial rough cuts. Arthur is a comical fabulist dipped in percolating joy. I sink into a couch and stare at a pair of 16 x 8 paintings used as back drops for the shoot still wet from the night before. One is by Arthur, the other is by Kraig Jarret Johnson (Golden Smog, The Jayhawks). Brimming with spontaneity and immediacy they display the opposite of each painter’s outward demeanor. Arthur’s is focused and controlled while Johnson’s is excited and bursting. Needless to say the one hanging on the wall that they did together is chaotically spectacular. It’s a house gift for the homeowner. Before Johnson digs into his food and Anna hits the Saki (much desrved after a few nights with these lads) he hand’s me a demo of his new album.  Track 7 "Scotch on Ice". It lives up to his name. In walks Arthur in some warped mustard brown suit with a green fedora fresh from the Paul Weller show with G. Whiz, aka Greg Wieczorek , Lonely Astronauts remarkable drummer (Twilight Singers, The Honorary Title). Like a match thrown into the roman candle closet, things escalate. Deals are made, lines are drawn, and whoosh he’s off to record the song he and Johnson recorded last night on a shitty Dictaphone and just played for me over said shitty Dictaphone called, "Come With Love or Don’t Come at All" at Duncan Sheik’s studio with David Poe (check it)

After the flash flood has left the building, I sift through the wreckage and discover the demo for the Lonely Astronauts new album under three seprate ashtrays, Let’s Just Be; grab the last beer, and unknowingly synch the album to Tom Hanks’ That Thing You Do muted on the TV. Not quite as good as Dark Side of the Moon and the Wizard of Oz after a valium brownie, but surprisingly close. The rest is a blur until somewhere ten thousand feet over New London, CT, I decide Joesph Arthur will now be working the Film Bureau Desk at Sweet Talk. His first film critique will come bright and early Monday morning. Nothing like a quick trip to New York to clear the cobwebs and clouds.