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Thursday, 27 December 2007

End Of An Era

Here am I again at my folks place with the Christmas blues, feet on a footstool in the living room, playing with the Siberian cats, those miniature tigers from eastern Europe. Been poking them with a bamboo cane for half an hour and they seem to enjoy it. Cats are strange creatures indeed. The holidays are a rough time. I always get depressed. Something about glossy, phony music being pumped out on to empty city streets makes me sad. Maybe it’s a suppressed childhood memory of a Salvation Army Santa spanking my ass, but more likely a byproduct of being part of a Jewish family that doesn’t celebrate anything. I get so bored! My only defense is movies – Seen 4 in the past 72 hours, and that’s only in theater, not including DVDs. This year is a little different. By the end of next week I will no longer be a New Yorker. If you had told me this time last year that I’d be moving to London, on the verge of my greatest adventure yet, leaving behind everyone and everything I know and love (a bit melodramatic, but it makes for good cinema), I wouldn’t have believed you, I couldn’t have believe you. For those of you who don’t know, this past summer I signed a deal with EMI Records in the UK. 2008 is my big shot I guess, though I think every year is my big shot, and at the end of every year I’m proved wrong. How many big shots can you get? If you ask a Zen monk, every day is a big shot, or no shot at all. Before I get too confused, lemme say I’m gonna miss this city so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so so much. The grid that is Manhattan is forever stamped on my soul and I swear to never lose my NYC twang, no matter how many flats I live in, lifts I enter, fags I smoke, crisps I eat, pubs I drink in, kips I take, etc. Already I feel my loneliness turning to inspiration, these very strange British words making their way into my lyrics. Don’t worry about me kiddos, I’ll be okay, just take care of yourselves. Before you know it, I’ll return triumphant, strutting down the boulevard with a Barnett haircut and skinny jeans. Robert Smith got nothing on this.