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Over the next year Terje Fjelde has agreed to listen to nothing but David Foster on his iPod. He’s loaded the thing with over 1,200 songs produced, arranged, composed, and/or played by David Foster. A deal with the devil? He keeps wondering.

I received the new David Foster CD/DVD in the mail yesterday along with his autobiography, Hitman! Forty Years of Making Music, Topping Charts & Winning Grammys.

I wasn’t ecstatic in any way – I jumped up and down a couple of times and did a pirouette in front of my bewildered wife – nothing major. The CD concept was a bit of a disappointment — no studio recordings, merely a selection of audio files from the PBS Special Tribute Concert featured on the DVD. I didn’t expect this Vegas extravaganza to affect me in any way, and a small part of me didn’t even want to see it. After all, what could Eric Benet, Michael Johns, or Katharine McPhee bring to the table? Sure, I used to adore David Foster, but I’m not that guy anymore – I haven’t been for the past 15 years. David Foster’s syrupy ballads doesn’t move my heart these days; John Coltrane and Bill Evans do.

And even though I always tell people I’m so uncool, it’s really just a way to downplay people’s expectations. I’m secretly convinced that I’m about the coolest person on this side of the North Pole. I have a giant ego and no doubt a seriously disturbed positive self-image. And most importantly, David Foster, Peter Cetera or “I Swear” have no place whatsoever in this delusion. So, when I sat down to watch the DVD, I was prepared to laugh at Peter Cetera’s spasmodic performance jerks. I was prepared to tsk and groan in despair as this poperatic catastrophe evolved before my eyes and ears.

Then something funny happened. I was about to turn away as Kenny G entered the picture two minutes into the concert, but once again the seductive tones of “Love Theme from St. Elmo’s Fire” had me transfixed. I suddenly took in the beautiful autumn leaves flowing over the background screen, I found myself smiling at Foster’s playful glances at his audience. And good, old Kenny G — he looked pretty great for a 52-year-old, didn’t he? NO! I did not think that thought! But I did.