#22

I lived in Brooklyn, New York in the earlier part of the decade. Our apartment (My Wife and I) was on 33rd street, just off of 5th avenue - from our front steps looking north we had a wonderful view of a huge catholic cemetery. Massive trees throughout, a black iron gate bordering the acreage that most certainly typified the beauty of most any park. In fact, during our apartment hunt, as we were driving up 33rd street, our realtor behind the wheel, one of us said, "Sweet, we'll be next to a park", our realtor was quick to respond, "Yeah, a park for dead people". All the same, it really was beautiful.

I was attending school in Manhattan and Haley worked in Brooklyn. Walking and riding the subway were our only forms of transportation and looking back now, I wouldn't have it any other way. Riding the subway on a daily basis is its own form of entertainment, people-watching is a pass time in New York and a satisfactory one at that. The typical duration of my ride was around 30 minutes, I read a lot, I remember reading To Kill a Mockingbird. On one occasion I missed my stop, I was in the middle of highlighting a sentence, "It was times like these when I thought my father, who hated guns and had never been to any wars, was the bravest man who ever lived" I'm not sure if that was the actual sentence I was highlighting, It's just the one that I remember, I'd like to believe it was.

I have a multitude of fine memories from our time spent in the world's greatest city. One of my clearest is the Virgin Records store near Union Station, which was only a few blocks from the school I attended. I would hoof it down to that store whenever time permitted and I would sample new artist after new artist. My favorite finding was an artist by the name of Jesse Malin, Brooklyn based, his debut recently hitting the shelves. I have a suitcase full of splendid subway stories, not just subway stories, New York stories, New York memories and Jesse Malin's The Fine Art Of Self Destruction is a perfect prescription for having those memories rise to the top.

#22 Jesse Malin - The Fine Art Of Self Destruction (2003)

"Queen of The Underworld" is the opening track on this alternative, slash, punk-rock album. The Fine Art Of Self Destruction never does become purely punk or even alternative for that matter, something deep within each track keeps this album hovering above and around other genres. I believe shades of Bruce Springsteen can be heard throughout. Jesse shines lyrically; he has a bit of a whiney, higher pitched voice and you will either love this or find it to be somewhat nettlesome. "Queen of The Underworld" starts the album out on the right track,

I Never got an invitation

Never hurt too much

I'm gonna' make a reservation

But I'm not in a rush

There is not a single skip on this eleven track album. In my mind the album serves as a kind of journal for Jesse, each song reflecting Brooklyn and New York in the most perfect way, his emotions out there, left to be loved or criticized. The tenth track, "Almost Grown" is one of my favorite songs lyrically...

My parents split up in the first grade

My father never did come back

My sister liked John Travolta

But I wanted Billy Jack

Throwing things off of the rooftops

40 buildings all the same

My mother took a job as a waitress

Swimming in the divorce age

When you're all alone

And you're all alone

When you're all alone and you're almost grown

Me and Holly snuck into night clubs

The politics of punk rock church

We were so idealistic

But somehow only saw the worst

When you're young and violent sick and silent

Hoping just to be admired

Water seeks its level of pain

And you're all alone

And you're all alone

And you're all alone

And you're almost grown

Some old friends retired too

But they still laugh about me and you

My mother's ashes went into the ocean

Scattered on a windy day

She used to like Frank Sinatra

Cigarettes and JFK

Some retired some expired some were meant

To be admired for a moment at a young age

But I don't care what they say others went and got away

I just want to see her again

When you're all alone

When you're all alone

When you're all alone

You're almost grown

When you're all alone and your heart is stone

I wish I was on the subway now, either reading a good book, people-watching, or holding the hand of the woman I love most, the later is actually at the top of that list. New York is like no other place in this world, Brooklyn is fine and wonderful, and though pictures are nice, nothing quite takes me back to the subway as effectively as Jesse Malin's The Fine Art Of Self Destruction.