1. |
Orion
04:09
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my friend Jon
we swapped songs in high school
his were always better
he was likely less depressed
there was one song
about the night sky in December
I remember only one line
I’ve forgotten all the rest
it’s been 40 years this winter
since I heard him play the song
when I close my eyes I still hear
that refrain so clear and strong
soon Orion is swinging around in the sky
it was a waltz
he sang it just like I just played it
the rest of it’s gone hazy
save that fragment that remains
he explained
how Orion heralds winter
how the hunter stalks the starry fox
the angles and the equinox
how he goes from reclining
to stand upright in the sky
and the stars
Betelgeuse and Rigel
and the others everybody knows
the three stars on his belt
week by week he climbs the heavens
chasing pray across the sky
‘til he towers in the darkness
lord of the winter night
December and Orion is swinging around in the sky
but the rest has been forgotten
oh the things I used to know
I am blessed to be the vessel
of this line dropped in the snow
Orion’s march is ceaseless
but it makes for jealous men
‘cause when our arc is over
we don’t rise back up again
my friend Jon
it had been years since we had spoken
the letter from his young wife
the ending of his short life
the disease I did not know
and he was gone
like the shooting stars of summer
one bright line from an old song
nine notes burned into neurons
an earworm across eons
still shining just like him
four decades since his singing
and the line’s still in my brain
how Orion’s up there swinging
can I be all that remains?
was there a tape stuffed in a box somewhere
I asked his family
but the trail it went dark
I guess it’s only me
so when you see
the first weeks of December
the ancient hunter rising
in the cold gray eastern sky
see him stand
and survey all creation
‘til Scorpio heralds springtime
and drives him from the sky
I don’t complain about the weather
pr the depth of fallen snow
I’m still here to see the giant
with the dagger and a bow
it’s winter and Orion is swinging around in the sky
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2. |
Watchmaker
03:40
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he sits there all hunched over
those weird glasses on his face
impossibly strong lenses
to interrogate small space
emplacing gears with tweezers
and winding tiny springs
the enabler of time itself
creator of small things
but in an age of Chinese knock-offs
five bucks out on the street
digital disposable
some point admit defeat
soon he will not be of value
his lease will be withdrawn
his store will be a Starbucks
the watchmaker will be gone
put the set right there says Ernie
as it shudders to the ground
the second floor store made sense
before they weighed four hundred pounds
Filo Farnsworth’s troubled children
he used to fix them all
when you still could change a picture tube
and then degauss the coil
but now the world wants plasma
eighty-two inch LCDs
when they break no way to fix them
you just buy a bigger screen
like American supremacy
we always thought would last
the small TV repair shop
will soon be in the past
all these things we break and throw away
without a second thought
how does it work with people
when we start to break apart
do we still pick up the pieces
when the going gets complex
or like the watchman and repair man
is the marriage councilor next
perhaps its this New England soil
where waste is nearly sin
but I can’t bear to throw away
what’s barely broken in
so I’ll fill my house with picture tubes
and not wind my watch too tight
and keep loving the same woman
until I get it right
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3. |
McNamara's War
03:35
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he was the best and the brightest
the numbers guy from Ford
anything he couldn’t measure
could simply be ignored
with his whiz kid friends from Harvard
handpicked for the new frontier
analysis of data
crunch the numbers answers clear
so when the ghosts of Dien Bien Phu
started rapping at the door
events were set in motion
for McNamara’s war
he analyzed the bombings
he yields and the troops
he parametrized the models
he anesthetized the truths
a rational objective
they’d let the war expand
to the point where the north’s losses
should be more than they can stand
he tracked all of the metrics
from the air and ground attacks
the inputs were the people
the outputs body bags
half a million strong
so the Vietcong
should choose to fight no more
a fundamental error
in McNamara’s war
‘cause the dominos were never going to tumble
the hearts and minds were never ours to win
the red tide sure flowed when it came out
58,000 soldier’s veins
the master of the details had to flee
the picture was too big for him to see
the flawed extrapolation
focused through the fog of war
the vulgar escalation
to construct the winning score
bent with age and wisdom
he admitted they were wrong
there were things they couldn’t measure
they killed a million Vietcong
and so it’s now another country
it’s now another fight
it’s not a cold war proxy
this time maybe we’re right
but there’s American soldiers dying
and every week I read their names
and our leader might be lying
and I’m worried just the same
and though I hope this time it’s different
I’m not entirely sure
we ever learned the lesson
from McNamara’s war
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4. |
Guild D40
04:45
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I had a Guild D40
it was my first real guitar
I was 13 when the salesman
pulled it off the wall
and the sound and feel and smell of her
I knew she was the one
it was the start of a threesome
me and her and Neil Young
she was the stronghold of my sanity
my familiar in the dark
the creator of my calluses
and I wore her finish off
often lonesome and despondent
a walking broken heart
that guitar took all my pounding
transmuting pain to art
but her smell was like a potion
when I’d open up the case
the spruce and the mahogany
like incense for my faith
I’d take her out and hold her
breathe her essence in
and be back in that guitar store
where our affair began
but we were star-crossed lovers
we’d argue and we’d fight
I sent her back to Guild four times
her neck was never right
I started seeing other instruments
I guess I’m a fickle man
and when her bridge began to pull
I sent her back again
but that smell was the connection
when I’d open up the case
the spruce and the mahogany
remembrance of that place
I’d do the Marcel Proust thing
catch a whiff and step into
that second-floor guitar store in 1972
a big box arrived on my front porch
I hauled it on inside
my resurrected mail order
problem child bride
I hoped that they’d fixed her
and we’d renew our routine
the love affair I’d had with her
since I was thirteen
but when I opened up the case I found
when they’d replaced the bridge
they put a shiny coat of lacquer
on the old finish that I’d ridged
she was a stranger with a facelift
and an unfamiliar smell
and it shattered the connection
I used to love so well
I tried to play her but she was just gone
I didn’t know what to do
she sat alone and untouched for many years
but it was just gone
so I let her go
I sold her to a woman
though it nearly broke my heart
a gift for her fiancé
though they later split apart
I home someone appreciates
the warm tone and the wood
I hope somebody loves her
because I no longer could
so now I play other instruments
that aren’t so battle-scared
they’re responsive and expensive
I don’t pound them quite as hard
their intonation’s flawless
if they lack a certain Zen
we have intimate sessions
but they did not know me when
oh god I miss the smell of her
when I open up a case
I guess that cedar and rosewood
just don’t transmute time and space
I’d track her down and find her
but I still can’t get back to
that guitar store in Northampton in 1972
I had a Guild D40
and I wonder where you are
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5. |
The Extended Stay Motel
04:11
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she sits out on the stoop
at the extended stay motel
she’s literally the girl next door
if Mayberry went to hell
she’s got that wholesome pretty
but I don’t think she’s what she seems
as she sits there smoking cigarettes
and talking to marines
she looks great in that tank top
tattoos for all to see
the modern substitution
for the heart worn on the sleeve
it’s an odd juxtaposition
the girl next door has gone
the vodka bottle’s empty
I’ve been away too long
but I’m only an observer
not my place to interfere
measurement makes discontent
in this small imperfect sphere
I remain the staid researcher
it’s really just as well
I watch from a safe distance
at the extended stay motel
hooker’s such a harsh word
and I don’t know the facts
maybe she’s just looking
for some company not cash
this guy could be her brother
but not all of them I’ve spied
but if they’re really paying clients
why do they sit and talk outside
I come back from doing laundry
her door’s ajar as I walk by
there’s that lonely human silken thread
she smiles and say hi
I so want to ask the question
but it’s the biggest line there is
what’s a girl like you
doing in a place like this
and there’s big red flashing danger
not just from jealous marines
I don’t fraternize with strangers
I don’t do that kind of thing
and I’m out of here next Wednesday
it’s really just as well
I’m steering clear of trouble
at the extended stay motel
I want to help her somehow
I want to be her friend
I want her to know that I am
not like other men
or maybe her marine’s deployed
and these are just his friends
keeping her together
for his extended stay and then
hoping for a stay of execution
from the stray projectile’s rage
to be nearby if they notify
in this brutal modern age
I’m wondering if I come back
in a month or in a year
will she still be sitting on the stoop
with a cigarette and beer
I’ve never wished so hard I’m wrong
about a thing that I can’t tell
I hope she’s locked in with her sweetheart
at the extended stay motel
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6. |
20 Messages From Julie
05:23
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I went to junior high with Julie
but I did not know her well
she was so popular and pretty
and I was in my shell
different cliques and different circles
all those currents had their sway
a few smiles in the hallway
then my family moved away
there was just one time as young adults
that chance caused us to meet
my mom had bought Bob Brown’s house
Julie lived on the same street
we talked like we were old friends
it’s the image that still sticks
me and Julie Frederick
fall of 1976
I wish my 8th grade self could see this
be glad for these chance connections
that restore what we forgot
this being human stuff ain’t easy
but it’s really all we’ve got
38 years later
I’m on Facebook killing time
and it does that spooky data thing
triangulates through time
on the right side of the window
six words caused me to stir
you might know Julia Ann Frederick
and I thought yeah it must be her
hey what you doing in Gatlinburg
she said “Tennessee is the home of my heart
it’s what I came back for
I’m from the only county in the South
that stayed Union in the war”
her photo showed her fishing
Cape Hatteras in the surf
so we talked striped bass and bluefish
like we were quenching a long thirst
she said only another fisherman
could understand the whole
“that when you look at that picture,
you’re seeing part of my soul”
then we started talking cars
yeah we gave that a whirl
she said “as long as you know
that I’m a Mopar girl”
be glad for these chance connections
that restore what we forgot
this being human stuff ain’t easy
but it’s really all we’ve got
maybe I should’ve thought more of it
when Julie posted this one day
“the worst part about being strong
no one asks if you’re okay”
then the messages stopped coming
but I thought that’s just the way
when two friends at last run out
of entertaining things to say
but the truth broke like a bad dream
that Julie’d opted out
she left us stunned and gut-punched
shattered and in doubt
I thought I should’ve sensed it
I thought I should’ve tried
as if some guy from junior high school
could be the one to stem the tide
we can’t save other people
we can barely save ourselves
but a friendship is still real
if it gets up where it fell
to reconnect in measure
twenty messages was all
still a gift I’ll always treasure
from Julie in the fall
I went to junior high with Julie
but I did not know her well
|
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7. |
For My Boys
04:21
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my father died when I was ten
it did not really hurt me then
like a stone I soon became
pummeled smooth by wind and rain
stumbled through those early years
a well of pain but dry of tears
the words nobody ever spoke
a dream from which I never quite awoke
so here I am washed on the beach
the perfect shell just out of reach
dad still waiting to be found
maybe here when I’m around
nearly fifty years away
flummoxed still on father’s day
by the neckties cards and things
oh the burned breakfast children bring
for my boys
I hope I taught you something
I hope I did the right thing
I hope I did ok
so I’m sorry if I was restrained
didn’t give a damn about soccer games
unlikely for a game of catch
a fundamental mismatch
of all the things that I should face
preoccupied by time and space
a world of almost endless need
men suck it up and women bleed
a friend of mine once said I should
admit I had a tough childhood
its hard for me to think that way
Jewish boys turn out ok
a mother who was nearly saint
I grew up without much complaint
sniffed my truth out on the ground
you learn not to miss what’s not around
it must be time to leave stage ten
attracted still to older men
a little late for surrogates
dancing in his silhouette
the figure high up on the ridge
the water washed away the bridge
I try I do the best I can
I hope that’s what it means to be a man
for my boys
I hope I taught you something
I hope I did the right thing
I hope you have no fear
you gotta know
I was short on examples
I was flying with a blindfold
but hey
I was here
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8. |
Spend a Lifetime Dying
03:50
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there’s a couple on the subway
so in love you feel the heat
you’d think that they made aging
obsolete
all eyes fixed on heavenly bodies
raise the periscope of youth
we spend a lifetime dying
we don’t want to know the truth
wise men want for nothing
while rich men dig for oil
the tree of life transmogrified
into rich financial spoil
thirty thousand days spent marching
like a lemming toward the cliff
we spend a lifetime dying
and we don’t know how to live
it’s not fair
I got distracted
in the middle of my swing
can I call in my mulligan
and become a different thing
can I dig in with the crampons
can I roll away the stone
can I throw the dogs of reason
a bone
put the longings in a scrapbook
cull the gems and junk the hoard
put the dishes up on craigslist
put the stone back on the sword
I’m afraid that where you’re going
you won’t need sensible shoes
I’ve spent a lifetime dying
and I haven’t got a clue
but baby can I spend it here with you
baby it’ll be alright
would you be mine tonight
I could read a book by your light
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9. |
Irreducible
04:38
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when I organize the office
or clean out my top drawer
the bills go in the folders
but there’s stuff that I can’t sort
here’s some cufflinks from my father
here’s a tape from my old band
here’s a fountain pen from high school
when I used to write longhand
here’s a birthday card from Lisa
here’s my old UMass ID
here’s a clipping from a magazine
that reviewed my CD
these things can’t be filed or classified
and can’t be thrown away
so I put them in a box
with other stuff that I must save
irreducible
fragments of a life
irreducible
it’s a wonder what survives
irreducible
these pieces I can see
irreducible
must mean something to me
here’s my old expired passport
with that picture taken when
I’d been awake for three days straight
that first week of exams
here’s an entertainment license
from 1998
says Nantucket street performer
yeah I did that for one day
oh look a map of Glasgow
I was young and stupid then
I’d hitchhiked up from Edenborough
to visit an old friend
a trucker saved me from a snowstorm
are ye daft lad? then he poured
us both hot tea from a thermos
and he drove me to her door
fragments of a life
it’s a wonder what survives
take one of them away
I’d be someone else today
so what is the importance
of this box of random stuff
what separates significance
from the flotsam and the fluff
the one thing they have in common
is the accident of how
I never sought to save them
but I can’t pitch them now
sometimes I open up these boxes
and let them take me back
I don’t clean them out or second guess
I leave it all intact
as I look across this cluttered house
from the mundane to the grave
I think about these memories
and wonder what to save
fragments of my life
it’s a wonder I survived
greater than the whole
breadcrumbs to the soul
|
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10. |
Here at all
03:40
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the father hunter fumbles
in the neolithic dawn
searching for his stone knife
and his dog-eared Iron John
to slay the scary monsters
and appease his angry god
takes a venti skinny latte
spare the child spoil the rod
danger Will Robinson
my alarm clock blindly shrieks
as it jolts me from one nightmare
to the other in the street
the red meat on the table
from the dead beast in the hall
sometimes I wonder if I’m here at all
as the Tweedle Beetles battle
over butter over guns
the screeching clowns of virtue
stoke their vengeance seeking Huns
would you have the wherewithal
to flee the breaking wave
to seek the elevation
or just crawl back in your cave
I’ll slay the killer rabbit
with my laser pointer then
dispatch the dogs of darkness
dad you got another ten
a cash machine a beauty queen
a slipper at the ball
sometimes I wonder if I’m here at all
would you leave your lover
in the middle of her sighs
would you dare to look
a wild gift horse in the eyes
a postcard from a hurricane
a letter you won’t send
but you’d blow out every old flame
and then light the other end
so I’ll pretend to be Gibraltar
you pretend to be the Louvre
and we’ll sublimate desire
when it crawls into the room
exhumed at o’dark’thirty
just a shadow on the wall
sometimes I wonder if I’m here at all
I walk on mental beaches
with my svelte and stoic twin
but I don’t see his footprints
and I wonder where he’s been
the father hunter stumbles
in the dark he feels so small
sometimes I wonder if I’m here at all
|
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11. |
A Landscape of Ghosts
04:13
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there’s a unicorn somewhere
that does not believe he exists
there’s a love trapped in stasis
hoping the memory persists
the thing that reverberates still
the bell in the church at the top of the hill
the pheasant that’s trapped under glass
hoping you can’t resist
there’s a book in a universe
I don’t inhabit at all
an arguable premise
statistically valid but small
the thing that’ll snap like a twig
the old man in robes and a wig
deciding between saints and sinners as if it’s his call
the saddest thing I've ever seen
through mortal man’s eyes
a butterfly covered in amber
still struggling to fly
the audacious sadness of hope
drawn from the rack and the rope
not knowing the logic of life is to lay down and die
there’s a landscape of ghosts
that inhabit this space I call me
the things that I didn’t do
didn’t become didn’t be
unable to laugh at the moon
stretched thin like a human balloon
extruded into the cold digital sunshine
rendered and lit
and prepared to be writ
in the book
of
your
life
cry
those
big
analog tears
do
it
now
while you’re still here
don’t be like the unicorn
there’s a unicorn somewhere
that does not believe it exists
|
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12. |
When Oen Ran the Show
02:59
|
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the weekly open mike night
waiting for your spot
to strut your stuff with songsmiths
show off what you’ve got
from the storefront to the firehouse
the hosts did come and go
but it found its soul and center
when Oen ran the show
he shared the stage with spirits
an emotional exchange
a magnet for the misfits
and the burned out and the strange
introductions empathetic
so connected to the flow
you could not be lost or lonesome
when Oen ran the show
soon many would bear witness
as the ranks of faithful spread
some go to church on Sundays
we came here instead
three AM still full of people
and we’d go round again
sometimes we went out to breakfast
‘cause we didn’t want to end
but something so organic
can not survive for long
we knew we were part of something
we knew that we belonged
there will be other venues
fertile ground for roots to grow
but man it sure was something
when Oen ran the show
|
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13. |
The Fish Story
06:30
|
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Nantucket I’m fishing vacation
it’s relaxing to cast off the yoke
I’m spending my kids’ education
when I say that, they think it’s a joke
I spent years casting only for bluefish
they’ll bite on a cigarette butt
for striped bass you need squid or mackerel
and a good deal of old-fashioned luck
surfside beach my prime spot at sunset
the stripers were starting to bite
with a twang the rod bent hard over
and I hung on with all of my might
and it’s hey hey haul the bass in
I think it’s the real McCoy
I like to stand with my toes in the sand
and learn about patience and joy
the line whizzed loud and fast as the fish took my cast
but I worked him just like a pro
I let him run ‘till it tired
then started to reel him in slow
a big striped bass on line will run lots of line
I’d hooked a big fish no mistake
when I reeled him in oh what a grin
a striper the size of my leg
and it’s hey hey haul the bass in
I’ve reeled in the real McCoy
I like to stand with my toes in the sand
and learn about patience and joy
I dragged him up out of the water
with the sun setting had a good look
the joy I had earned turned to concern
he had totally swallowed the hook
I worked hard with the fisherman’s
pliers again again
trying so hard not to kill
it was swallowed so deeply
embedded in tissue
and taking too long the fish drowning in air
three times I took the fish and the hook
and the rod and the reel back down to the surf
walked the fish back and forth
to flush oxygen into his gills
if I didn’t unhook him the fish would soon die
so I looked in the back of the truck
I found a small knife I reached down his throat
and cut the flesh holding the hook
he was finally free of the metal from me
but the fish had one fin in the grave
I put him back in the churning sea wrack
and he went belly-up in the waves
I’d killed him for sure so I pulled ashore
I figured it’s me or the birds
and there as we sat with the fish in my lap
a most magical moment occurred
now most people would say that a striper looks straight
that its eyes are fixed in its head
well this fish turned one eye and looked right up at aye
as if to say “I’m not dead!”
so once more we went back in the water
I’m sure we were quite a display
I walked him around he seemed to rebound
he went from belly-up
to his tail sticking up
and his nose pointing down
like a whale when it sounds
and then slowly the fish swam away
you may ask why I went to such measures
for one striper I’d caught on a squid
such a beautiful fish deserves its last wish
and I still had last night’s catch in the fridge
and it’s let the bass swim
I released the real McCoy
I like to stand with my toes in the sand
and learn about patience and joy
you can trust this story I’ve told you
every word’s as it happened says aye
believe what you wish I revived a dead fish
though it’s well-known all fisherman lie
and it’s hey hey haul the bass in
I’ll do it all over oh boy
I like to stand with my toes in the sand
and learn about patience and joy
|
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14. |
||||
my aunt Flo and uncle Bernie
used to have a place in Maine
a little house in Bridgeton
to escape the city’s strain
it was a long drive from long island
up to long lake but once there
we’d run and swim and boat and fish
and just enjoy the fresh Maine air
but Bernie used to tell us
an old Maine tradition said
you should swear like a sailor
when you crossed the Kittery Bridge
“Maine is all ‘bout freedom, so let it out when you come here”
and we’d roll down the car windows
and we’d swear and swear and swear
and we’d say… well I can’t tell you what we said
but it’d curdle milk and steam off paint
and probably wake the dead
one of my best memories
from when I was a kid
was swearing with Uncle Bernie
when we crossed the Kittery Bridge
I’m sure you can imagine
the zeal with which I did
embrace the fine tradition
of this language on that bridge
but when vacation’s over
and you’re heading home again
Bernie said that you reverse it
to take it all back in
and we’d swear a blue streak backward
it’s fun cussing in reverse
we’d say kuf and tish and mad dog
which sounded much less worse
one of my fondest memories
from when I was a kid
was swearing backwards with Uncle Bernie
when we crossed the Kittery Bridge
30 years later I was traveling up to Maine with Maire Anne and we crossed over bridge that looked awfully familiar
then it all came flooding back
I said excuse me I have to do this I’ll explain in a minute
I rolled down the window stuck my head out and let fly George Carlin’s Seven Dirty Words loudly and with feeling
I’m not sure who was more surprised
Maire Anne or the guy in the car on my left
when we got home, I told my aging auntie Flossie “we just drove up to Maine and when we crossed the Kittery Bridge I remembered the tradition and swore like we used to with Uncle Bernie but I didn’t see anyone else doing it. Is it possible I had the wrong bridge?”
my auntie Flossie looked at me sad and wistful and said “I don’t know how to tell you this, but your uncle Bernie made that up”
I said “you mean… it wasn’t a Maine tradition? it was just our tradition?” well that just made me love it all the more
so if you’re traveling northward on I95
and you cross out of New Hampshire
and you wish to feel alive
do it for the freedom
don’t you hesitate or doubt
do it for my uncle Bernie
go ahead and let it out
and yell what ever the heck you want to
it’s not up to me to say
but make it real and salty
you’ll feel good and free today
and I don’t believe that heaven
is where an old soul goes
I don’t believe he’s looking down
or that he even knows
but can swear for certain
he’d be laughing if he knew
that when I cross the Kittery Bridge
I still say fuck you
|
||||
15. |
Rob Siegel Boston, Massachusetts
Rob Siegel is well-known in Boston folk music circles as an innovative songwriter who draws from his idyllic yet stressed-
out middle-class suburban existence and produces memorable, intelligent, well-crafted songs.
His first new CD in 14 years, "A Landscape of Ghosts," will be out in April, with a CD release show at Club Passim on Monday April 30th.
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