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The skyline is cast in a hazy, orange glow as I wrap up my day high above New York City. I call Chris and Jen to see if I can visit. Ethan answers the phone. “Hiiiii!” “Hi Ethan! It’s Uncle Benjamin.” “Ben-ba-ben!” “Ask Mommy if I can come over. Can you save ‘come over?'” “Come…

I’m back. I mean, I know you know I’m back in New York City. What I mean is that I’m back. It took a minute, but I’ve got a groove. I’m walking fast, talking fast, and generally moving at a blur-inducing rate. Is this a good thing? Probably not. But it beats feeling stranded at…

I’m drinking a beer on my deck looking up at the clouds thinking, ‘Where did the sky go?’ I thought I had a pretty good patch of sky reserved for myself. As New York goes, I guess I do. Some nights, when the light’s just right, I can even see a faint star or two.…

The signal to noise ratio in New York City, as I recall through the static haze of memory, is high. For every police siren, taxi horn, and chattering hipster back in the big city, there is a cricket’s chirp, a locust hum, or distant train’s call here in the heartland. Makes a guy think. Makes…

I’m an hour late for the Wagner family reunion in Grundy Center, Iowa, and I’ve yet to wash last night’s show from my skin. This much I will say for now. There is a wave cresting here in Iowa. It’s a melodic, driven, and distorted din. It’s rooted deep in the great and rich soil.…

My commute to the studio takes me from Ashby Street to 42d Street to Guthrie Avenue. Those are the facts. But I like to think it’s all serendipity. Hal Ashby directed some of the most heartfelt, oddball films of the 70s, including “Being There” (the working title of my last album, as it were) and…