Today is the fifth anniversary of an infinite number of curves. Grab a piece of fruit to chomp on; I’m taking a look back at the last 12 months.
JANUARY
Is winter The Best Season? One killer quartet, why not three?
FEBRUARY
From Blossom to Houston and LA visiting Shepherd and Colburn. She got my blessing. Sure, there’s Jane Fonda, but the real attraction was at Mannes. Meanwhile, the Lincoln Trio was taking no prisoners in the state of Illinois, hitting every conceivable venue across the state in pursuit of their Better Angels. Can you hear it, Mr. Prez?
MARCH
Musing on the great city. Beyond musing, when it comes to The Infinite Sphere.
APRIL
Time to brag in triplicate about the accomplishments of others, work hours Through the Night, dig my way out of a fine editorial mess, and wonder about my inability to stop talking through the music.
MAY
Finding a cure for shingles, nailing down a flailing Appendage, and remembering the forgotten.
JUNE
Sessions, sessions, sessions, a marathon, a perle, and what the hell is a crwth?
JULY
An auspicious, or suspicious, 350th anniversary, a Voice remembered, hirsute, how to make a Cool Night, the biz.
AUGUST
Things are either better or worse than they seem, and how long is it from Cool Night to Twilights?
SEPTEMBER
How to describe the love of a good man? Ravinia calls; I sit and watch. Not going there.
OCTOBER
The youngest daughter unlocks the door, an old friend resurfaces — oops, there’s another one – and talk about pointless fears.
NOVEMBER
It’s in the genes, say arf, messing with my image, and WORD.
DECEMBER
And now, having failed to remove “phone tag” from the contemporary lexicon, I’m ready to ring in the new.







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