I stepped out of my office, last Friday afternoon, into that fleeting, end-of-summer heat and started my walk back uptown, weaving northwards through the streets of TriBeCa. Ever wanting to keep my commutes varied and interesting, I took a random turn towards the east on Franklin Street. About halfway between Church Street and Broadway, I spied a familiar character walking in my direction. Though disguised with a pair of shades and an incongruous baseball cap, I knew instantly that it was singer/songwriter Joe Jackson (the man responsible for such classics as “Look Sharp,” “Is She Really Going Out With Him?” and several others, and NOT shitty Michael Jackson’s dead father). Despite being an avowed fan of the man’s music, I decided to not say anything and let him pass in peace. Longtime readers may remember an exchange I instigated with him many years ago that did not go so well. As I learned firsthand that day, and later confimed in his biography, Joe Jackson has never felt entirely comfortable fraternizing with his public, so to speak.
That, in turn, brought my thoughts back to the clip below, which acts as a handy teaser for a (hopefully) upcoming and seemingly long-in-the-works post.
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