In the midst of all my mid-life reflection last week, I received an email from a guy I hadn’t heard from in 
twenty years. John* had tracked me down through the massive power of the Internet, so of course, I immediately directed him to the Basement Songs (we writers are kind of narcissistic that way). After a friendly exchange of e-mails that detailed an overview of our lives, John checked out a couple of my columns and wrote me a follow up e-mail. He told me to disregard the previous e-mail as bullshit. He then wrote one of the most confessional letters that has ever shown up in my Gmail inbox. I’m not going to go into details because his life isn’t an open book like mine (again, narcissism), but I will say that John had a rough time in the ’90s. Happily, through the love of a good woman who never gave up on him, he’s dug himself out and now leads a happier life.
I understood what he was talking about. I went through a period of months a couple years ago in which I suffered through a paralyzing depression. I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel and each day it got harder and harder to get up and face life. I, too, am lucky that I had a good woman and good friends to help me through the times and to right the course of my life. Have you ever experienced that? Have you ever tripped into the dark sides of your psyche and dragged your loved ones with you? If you haven’t been through that hell, then you, my friend, are fortunate. (more…)
is down there on the 
or 
. If I am in a really regressive state of mind and nostalgia has me by the nosehairs, out comes 
and the 
CD are like instant mud – just add water. Some of these tunes are fondly remembered, some barely remembered and still others come from the “what was I thinking” file, but in combination, this constitutes the strangest mix I think I’ve ever achieved and, quite rightly, I’m afraid of it.
(1987)
(1998)
(1984)
(2005)
(1995)
(1994)
(1973)
(1975)
(1992)
(1999)
(1982)
(1987)
In 1988, Leslie Phillips turned her back on a successful career as a Christian Contemporary artist, changed her performing moniker to “Sam,” and recorded her first mainstream pop album, The Indescribable Wow, with producer and soon-to-be husband T Bone Burnett. It was a bold move that paid off critically, if not commercially. The album sold a fraction of Phillips’ Christian work, but her inventive songwriting and unique voice won her a new cult of fans.
Three years later, in what could only be considered a case of having your cake and eating it too, MacManus returned on a new label, Warner Bros., with a look vaguely similar to his feral Buddy Holly, only this time he was painted like a ghastly harlequin, beheaded, and mounted on a royal blue WB logo frame, a placard beneath the bizarre tableau reading “The Beloved Entertainer.” Here lies the genius of Elvis Costello, giving the public what they wanted AND the middle finger at the same time, for the album 
My father was admitted into the hospital this week complaining of chest pains; because he’d had bypass surgery in 1992, the doctors were very concerned about the condition of his heart.
