I don’t know whether this is more a sign of my insensitivity or my passion for music, but on September 11, 2001, I made a point to hit Best Buy to pick up Ben Folds’ new release Rockin’ the Suburbs (along with Bob Dylan’s Love and Theft). New albums always come out on Tuesdays and when my favorite artists are involved, I always buy them on the day of release. To alter that pattern because of an attack on the homeland would just mean the terrorists had won.
I know a reporter who, on the same morning, suggested he go to Circuit City to interview people watching the horror on the TV bank there just so he could pick up the Dylan album. So at least I’m not alone in my depravity.
I really can’t find a thing wrong with either of Jenny Lewis’ solo albums, but there’s not enough right with them to place them among my favorites. She writes and sings beautifully but her albums don’t have that special something that has me reaching for the repeat button when they finish.
Going back to yesterday’s thought on simplicity ruling when it comes to love songs, here’s a fabulous love song by Randy Newman, a songwriter known more for caustic irony than wearing his heart on his sleeve. And that’s one reason this song works so well.
Meet Me In Montauk 