And now, at last, this Honker of an album is set loose upon the universe.  Be good, little album, and take care!

With the record industry being what it is, this is a super exciting new way to try to fund an album.  We only get the money if we meet our fundraising goal of $12,500 within two months — if we fall short, everyone gets their money back and we get squat — so the stakes are high, but I’m hoping it’ll give the people who enjoy our music a deeper sense of ownership over the project.  Speaking of which, everyone who donates gets a CD and a credit as a Micro Producer, and if you donate significantly, you get a lot more than that.

And oh, we are off to an awesome start.  After a day and a half, we are over %10 of the way to our goal. Thanks to the 24 backers who’ve donated so generously already!

Read more about the project, and how you can help, here.

About 80 folks came down to see it, and they were a warm and responsive and handsome crowd.  I never know what an audience is thinking, but I felt like some people definitely responded to it.  

The piece asks a lot of the audience.  They really have to invest, and all they have to look at is each other, so they have to navigate that dynamic too.  

I’m glad I got the chance to present the piece in the way I first imagined it.  It will be back someday, either in this form or another.  Maybe as a radio play or podcast. Maybe with some pictures.

A big thanks to Paul DiPietro at 3LD for helping to make it happen.   Thanks, Paul!

Here’s a link to the invite.

I don’t know if this is the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever had for a project, but it’s right up there.  I don’t understand why it keeps pleasing me.  I’m a hair nervous that it will seem dumb to other human beings, or that what opens up a world of exciting questions and possibility for me will strike others as a snore, but I am psyched to have the piece presented in the way I originally imagined it.  3LD is a super cool space too.

In August, the band will be welcoming you as you leave your midtown office with a set at Bryant Park.

And come September, we’re rocking out at a new outdoor fest on Roosevelt Island called, triumphantly enough, Roosevelt Live! Our pals Gloria Deluxe play that gig too.

Hoping to get some recording done somewhere in there.

And I wrote a surprisingly cheerful, upbeat song the other day.  When I broke it out at rehearsal, the guys compared it to the theme song for “Greatest American Hero.”  We’re still early in the arrangement process, and the song is still a million percent ridiculous, but perhaps, someday, it will find its way to cool (without losing any of its uplifting cheer).

I couldn’t be at the funeral, which was today in Los Angeles, but I’m thinking about him.  Here are some things I will always remember about my Grandpa Nathan:

His devotion to his wife.  In the years that I knew them, nothing mattered more to Nathan than Irene and her well-being.  Their love was deep, lasting and romantic, and I don’t say that just because I once walked in on them sleeping naked in Palm Springs.  Whether buying her jewelry or taking her to the doctor, Nathan was always there for Irene.   They were the ultimate team.  And for two who people who could really appreciate a well-phrased complaint, I never heard either one of them complain about the other.

My grandpa Nathan made the best matzo brie and the best potato pancakes.  Simply the best.

My Grandpa Nathan fixed things well enough so that you could keep using them.  Sometimes more than once.

On most occasions, Nathan Lipton let other people do the talking.  On Passover, he made up for it.  With joy in his heart.

My grandpa Nathan could lighten the mood.  He could drive 12 hours without stopping.  When he spoke, he sounded like Chicago, Lithuania and the desert all rolled into one.  When he said something heartfelt, he might squint or throw his hands in the air, and you got the sense that it hurt him a little to say it.

My grandpa loved Judaism.  It gave him something to do, a way to see the world, and a way to grow. His study of Judaism later in life became Nathan’s college.  It allowed him to become an educated man years after the opportunity to do so had seemingly passed him by.

My grandpa didn’t drink.  He didn’t lie.  He didn’t steal anything more than a packet of Sambo’s jelly, and that was probably for Irene.  He was as moral a person as I’ve ever known, and his morality came not from God or family, but from somewhere within.

My grandpa raised two wonderful sons who dutifully and lovingly spent years of their lives trying to do for him what he had done for them and Irene.  There is no greater tribute to his decency than that.

As much as anything, what I will remember about my Grandpa Nathan is that he liked to start at end of the story and work his way back.  To him, context was everything.  The climax was only a way to frame the story.  What really excited him was the little details, the surprising turns, the minor victories that one experienced along the way. 

We all talk like that too, Grandpa.  And we can’t help it either. 

We love you, and we will miss you. Thank you for the latkes and for the sincerity of your example.