"They went to another concert last night," my husband said of a couple we know as I heated up the morning coffee. "Someone, I think his name started with a 'J' ~ he had a couple of hits you'll recognize. Can't remember them now."
So we looked on the McCabe's website and found him on the schedule: Al Stewart. No 'J' in sight. And while the name that meant nothing to me, his songs surely did.
On a morning
from a Bogart movie
In a country where they turn back time
You go strolling through the crowd like Peter Lorre
Contemplating a crime
She comes out of the sun in a silk dress running
Like a watercolour in the rain
Don't bother asking for explanations
She'll just tell you that she came
In the year of the cat ...
How could I have not known this man's name? I wandered through his website. He's written dozens and dozens of songs ~ poems, really. The man is a poetic genius. Very post-WWII-Europe in his allusions and influence and thoughts (he was born in Scotland in 1945, so how could he not be?). A bit melancholy and a deep, deep thinker, and I'm grateful to have found him again.
The lyrics to his poems: http://www.alstewart.com/lyrics_tabs__song_history.html
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