The Cure – Mitchell's thoughts, photos, etc.

They Regroup

They Regroup

Anat headed back to her Upper East penthouse. Alana and Marc jumped into Alana’s Infiniti and drove upstate with Lebanon Hanover, Strawberry Switchblade, and the Sisters of Mercy blasting. They had been listening to some of the newer darkwave but needed to remain faithful to their origins. That’s why they added the Sisters. How could you not?

They got to closed-off areas of Marc’s holy camp. The two of them jumped into the lake. They were proud of themselves. They knew Christy A. and Jay weren’t done. Severely weakened they were. It was only a matter of time before they were taken out and cast away. They got out of the lake and heard ZZ Top pumping on their random mix. Eclectic the two of them are.

Marc built a fire in his favorite spot. Unfortunately, his sleeping quarters were destroyed by a man who called himself a professional. There was nothing professional about him. One day Marc would take him out. That was easy pickings. One or two pomegranates’ tops. But he’d toss in some barley to make it hurt more.

Other than their music mix, all was quiet. The two held hands and smiled. Their lips locked. They were happy Marc’s mom was taking care of Sarah and Benjamin David. They hoped they behaved and didn’t use their powers. Marc’s and Alana’s parents had no idea who their kids really were. They wanted to keep it that way. Anat hasn’t spoken to her parents in years and had no care what they knew. She still mourned her grandmother.

Darkness settled in. The only light was the fire and the half-moon. The two were sipping Genny Cream Ale and munching on Freihofer’s chocolate chip cookies. Their mix was still playing. Tunes from the Beatles, Damned, Stranglers, Velvet Underground and more played on. Marc and Alana were in each other’s arms.

All of a sudden, the woods got totally silent. All of the animals that were stirring around were quiet. The fire’s blaze grew. Marc knew what this meant. He heard the herd of buffalo and knew the Woodsman was enroute.

As hard as it was for the two of them, Alana and Marc let go of each other. They had to get ready for a higher calling. They slightly lowered their music. The Woodsman got off the lead buffalo and sat down by the fire. His eyes gazed at the two lovebirds. He opened a beer.

A few sips in, he said, “I know what the two of you and Anat did on Staten Island. I do approve. But be patient.” Alana and Marc smiled. The Woodsman continued, “Jay and Christy A. are down. They will try to get their strength back. Be mindful and careful, and you will complete your work.” He finished his Genny and rode off with his herd.

I Can’t Sing. I Will Never Pretend I Can

Years ago, I was in Durham and on the phone with my dad. I let him know I landed and was at my hotel. Even at my age, I have to let my parents know where I am. Sadly, my dad’s been gone for over a decade. Maybe he knows.

Anyway, I said, “You know I used to sound like John Lennon. Now I sound like Paul McCartney.” He retorted, “You make all the young girls cry.” He didn’t mean I sing like Barry Manilow. He meant my voice would make anyone cry. He’s right.

Sure, I wish I had the voice of Bono, Ian Curtis, David Gahan, Peter Murphy, Robert Smith, or the Moz. Oh, and the two Beatles I mentioned. They were gifted. There are many others in my boat. Far too many. But sadly, some of them think they can sing. I attend many events where we sing by the campfire or as part of our religious services. There was a guy there who used to like to sing and dance. He often said he was shocked that people didn’t recruit him from Lincoln Center to sing at the opera house or in the other theaters.

What do I do? I sing along or use their time up there as the time for a bathroom break. Some of them sing fast. Some drag it out. What should take 3-5 minutes turns into 45 minutes. That’s a lot of time in the bathroom. But it also gives you time to run over to the kitchen and get tea.

But then there are the personalities. The opera star had none. Some of the others are wonderful people. Some retired. Some working. They mean well. They want to sing. I still want to pitch for the Yankees. I blame my mother for never signing with the Bronx Bombers. That’s really a joke. Steinbrenner would have never signed me. Rightfully so. But these days, I might play and be better than whom Hal and Cash have signed.

How do I pick which “concert” I attend? There are places I go where those leading can carry a tune. But they are not friendly. In some cases, they are downright nasty and mean. I used to alternate. I recently decided I’d rather let my ears suffer with poor singing, as opposed to suffering unfriendliness.

Nostalgia

How Music is the Driving Force

Over the last few weeks, I saw performances by Paul Simon at Forest Hills Tennis, Bon Jovi at the Garden and Joe Jackson at the Beacon. Future shows include Squeeze at Radio City Music Hall, David Byrne at Forest Hills Tennis, Sting at Brooklyn Paramount and Belinda Carlisle at Palladium Times Square. I hope to see more. I do have a few Yankees-Red Sox games on tap.

All brought back memories. Or, as my mom said, nostalgia. Bon Jovi’s on-stage commentary put it best. He said, let’s party like it’s 1999. We all know Prince, whom, sadly, I never saw did that. Bon Jovi said Let’s go back to 1986. He references when his hair was a little fuller and his jeans were tighter. He continued, saying that all of you listening to me now were much younger back in the day. Probably all in high school and now we’re older.

As I listened to him, I was blasted back to my high school job at the Greenridge Plaza McDonald’s and when we closed the store. We all brought cassettes to put into the boombox to blast while we cleaned up. Remember cassettes and boomboxes? We had one of our managers, Uncle Dave, or Disco Dave, with his choices. Others had their choices. We used to fight over what we’d listen to. We heard a wild mix of Bon Jovi, the Cure, David Bowie, Cinderella, Depeche Mode, Genesis, Guns & Roses, Love & Rockets, Madonna, Mötley Crüe, Poison, U2, Van Halen and Wham. I liked most of it. Couldn’t stand and still can’t Cinderella, Mötley Crüe, Poison and Van Halen. Plenty of other acts made our playlists. They were either on mixed tapes, or albums that we pulled in and out of the boombox. We did not have the luxury of Apple Music.

Hearing Bon Jovi pushed me back to those days. I had visions of us in our uniforms scrubbing the grills, sweeping and mopping the floors. It made me think of the times we hung out in the parking lot after we closed. In our cars, we played what we wanted. In front of the stores, some of us had beer. Not me. I did nothing. That’s usually the case.

As for Paul Simon, I wasn’t around for Simon & Garfunkel’s heyday. I did see their reunion tour in the 2000s. I have seen Simon solo a few times and saw Art Garfunkel once at the original City Winery on Varick Street. As Simon played songs from the “Graceland” album, it reminded me of being driven to Scout trips, particularly our winter ski trip—my first- and only-time skiing. I did not do well.

It also reminded me of when I played music all night and kept my sister up in the next room. I made mixes. Most of the new wave and goth bands. But had to include the classic rock tunes. Elton John, Billy Joel, and the Beatles made the cut. Billy Joel was my first concert. I called in sick when I was supposed to close McDonald’s. I got to the former Brendan Byrne Arena with my family. Seated a few rows behind me were several of my coworkers. No one said a word about my illness.

I constantly listen to the Cure. Many times, I flash back to what was perhaps my first date, seeing them with the Pixies and Love & Rockets. We were too young to buy beer. Not that would have as I was driving. We had M&M’s at Giants Stadium.

All of the other bands mentioned do something similar. People who knew me in college often say they remember my Cure and Depeche Mode posters hanging on my dorm room wall. Sid Vicious hung on my room’s wall at home.

Good music, particularly the best generation of music ever, the 80s, is the driving force of keeping things going.

Keys

We All Carry Keys – Are they the Keys to One’s Heart, Memories, Your Residence or Car?

When you think of keys, the first that probably comes to mind are keys to your house or apartment. Maybe for those of us who own cars, you think of your car keys. Of course, these days cars and many homes open electronically.

Perhaps you think of the keys to opening the heart of the woman you like, and she’d date you. I doubt you think of the character Keys, played by Peter Coyote in “E.T. – The Extra Terrestrial.” There are better characters to think of, such as Gertie.

I would think we all own a few sets of house keys in our lifetime. I remember when I got my first set of keys. I was about 8 or 9, and they were for the house my parents, sister, and I lived in on Staten Island. Eventually, I got the car keys to my first car. It was my father’s Caddy. It became mine. I loved that vehicle. It was fun to cruise Staten Island while playing the Cure or Depeche Mode. When I took it to college, it was easy to make friends when you were on campus with a car. I drove everyone around. I played the same music.

I got residence hall and off-campus apartment keys at SUNY-New Paltz, and eventually keys to the apartments I rented and the one I now own. I own it. But currently, the bank owns me. Soon enough, it won’t.

Years ago, after my father died, I had the keys to his Plant City, Fla., home. I sold it. The keys are gone. I don’t have the keys to my mom’s house anymore. I used to for many years after I moved out. Eventually, she got new doors that required different locks. At one point, I had the keys to my sister’s first apartment. We basically lived next to each other. Nor do I have the keys to my prior dwellings. Why would I keep them? They wouldn’t open any doors.

In addition to the Caddy, I have had two Nissan Sentras. I remember selling the third one. I still have one of the keys. Why? I have no idea. I doubt the car is still running. It was 2002. But maybe. I kept my second car from 1992 to 2002. It was in six figures in mileage.

There are the keys to opening the hearts of the people I like. Those keys do not fit the lock—nothing more to say.

I remember when my grandmother gave me the keys to her Brooklyn apartment. She kept giving me sets of keys. Eventually, one of the sets worked. She told me one might have been my grandfather’s set. He’s been gone for a while. Too long. One might have been the set she gave to a friend, and the list goes on. Eventually, I got the keys to her building and apartment.

Of course, half the time I visited her, I never remembered them. I had to call her when I got there to be buzzed in. She can’t really hear. So, I had to call a few times. A few weeks ago, she went into the home (nursing home). She is now 99 years old. I’ve visited. It is hard to see her there. My mom, my aunt, and my uncle cleaned out her apartment. It was a rent-stabilized unit. She’s been there since before I was born. I figure the building will put it on the market. When the apartment was empty, my mom returned the keys to the super. My sets are in my kitchen—doubt they’d open the door anymore. Weeks ago, while she was still living there and we knew she was leaving, I mentioned to my mom that I guess I could toss the keys into the incinerator. She said not yet. Sadly, I think the time has come. But still holding on to them.

While I may no longer have the physical keys to my cars, dwellings, or whomever it is I like, I will always carry the vaulted memories of what they opened or could have opened.

What Does the Venue Think?

By Mitchell Slepian

Last night, I saw Paul Simon at the Forest Hills Tennis Stadium. A few days ago, I was at Yankee Stadium. Just before that, I saw Lenny Kaye in the Loft at City Winery, Human League with Soft Cell and Alison Moyet at Radio City Music Hall, and Kim Deal at Pier 17. Future shows will be at the Beacon and Garden. Speaking of the Garden, we all know Taylor Swift married there on July 3.

Paul Simon at Forest Hills Tennis Stadium

All shows brought their expected crowds. We had the aging hippies, the artsy and all-black-wearing new wave and goth crowds, and, of course, those of us decked out from head to toe in our NY Yankees apparel. It didn’t help. They embarrassed themselves by allowing the Twins to pound them. Seems to be a trend. George and the Stick must be rolling around in their graves.

Many of us have felt the Garden shake during performances by The Who or felt connected to Bono. We’ve come to a new understanding of the world while listening to the top-notch songwriting and skills of the Cure and Depeche Mode. We ached that Siouxsie Sioux only did a few shows and did not come to NYC.

But did you ever wonder what the arena feels like? We know what the Stadium feels. It wants the Yankees to bring home that trophy. It’s been far too long. Sure, these venues are concrete and steel. But do they have feelings? Do they have a sense of what’s happening inside them? Does the Garden ever say to Radio City Music Hall, I wish the Human League were on my stage? I doubt the Stadium talks to Fenway Park. They hate each other. Or maybe they complain about the fans or certain players?

Forest Hills Tennis must have been happy to have its local Forest Hills High School boy, Paul Simon, performing at its arena. Although the schoolyard in “Me and Julio Down by the Schoolyard” is never officially named. Per the lyrics, it is in Corona. I have been to the schoolyards; it is believed to be. As I was listening to him perform it, I wondered how many people in the venue had ever traveled to the yards he meant. What does that schoolyard think?

Do the venues have favorite artists? Do they prefer the classic rock, goth, or pop crowds? Does it give off feelings that enhance or hurt the show? Does it get excited when one band does three or four nights? I saw Billy Joel’s residency at Madison Square Garden a few times. Does the Garden kick back into Billy’s coming tonight, and will we have his awesome crows? What does it think when Robert Smith takes the stage with the Cure, and they play in darkness vs. the more top 40 shows that light up the place? Does it prefer bands that really honed their craft to those that are marketing projects created to sell tickets and push downloads? Maybe I need to ask it. It might laugh at me. Or whisper back its thoughts.

Marc and Alana Regroup

Marc and Alana went to visit Jen. Their kids sat in their strollers, under Ben’s watchful eyes. He was getting bigger and smarter. Like his mom and dad, he was friendly. Probably not a mean bone in his body. He’d never develop superpowers. That’d destroy his sweetness. He’d have to be always on his guard.

Morrissey was blasting on Apple Music as they sat down to eat and sip Pinot Noir from City Winery. Their conversation flowed as smoothly as the wine and Morrissey’s voice. Some people hate the Moz. He speaks the truth and is a great man and entertainer.

Marc and Alana discussed the mess with Christy A. Jen was still a little shaken from her run-in with them. She was still pleased that Jerry was there to keep them safe. She was amazed at how a little boy could be so strong. But she knows he’s Jay’s kid and Anat adopted him when Jay left him for dead. That kid had to be strong.

Jen’s a decent cook. She served skirt steaks with cauliflower and other veggies. She even baked a peach cobbler. Meanwhile, Christy A. was near the Conference House. She rarely goes to Staten Island. No one was sure why she left Brooklyn. Who would ever?

A band was about to play. They opened with “Rescue” from Echo & the Bunnymen and played a medley of tunes from the Cure, the Smiths, R.E.M., Erasure and the Pet Shop Boys. I guess a cover band can mix the Cure in with the Smiths. Imagine Morrissey and Robert being civil to each other?

They just finished playing R.E.M.’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)” and launched into the Cure’s “Boys Don’t Cry.” As soon as the vocalist got to the lyrics, “I try to laugh about it and hide all the tears in my eyes,” there were tears all over the Conference House.

Middle-aged adults, some with their young children, were getting smacked with semolina bread. The goths were hit harder than the others. None of the people who usually stopped Christy A. were anywhere near Staten Island.

Almost at the same time, Marc’s, Alana’s, Jen’s and Anat’s iPhones buzzed with an Apple News flash. It mentioned the NYPD was on the scene at the Conference House trying to stop an attack. They texted Dan to see what he knew. He wrote back that he was out in the park with Gili when he got the alert. His commander asked how fast he could get to the Conference House. He said he’d rush over.

Meanwhile, things were getting messier in Tottenville at the site of the Conference House. The emergency response unit was getting smashed. Dan dropped Gili off at his parents’ and jumped into his car and prayed that Anat and her Avenger-like friends were en route. He had no idea.

His Wi-Fi wasn’t working well. He was able to call Anat. She was home and said she’d do her best to get there. But the trip from the Upper East Side to the southernmost tip of Staten Island was not easy to make. She’s not Superman and couldn’t fly. She didn’t have a tie fighter. She would figure it out. She wondered where the others were.

What Does AI Really Know About You?

How Accurate Is It?

By Mitchell Slepian

I read on a social media platform to do a deep AI search of yourself. You should see what people find about you when they search for you. It’s a good idea.

These days, organizations do that as a pre-employment check, potential dating partners check you out and organizations do it to see if you’re okay to volunteer with them. This is only the top of the list.

Maybe you read my May 15 post, “Is AI Really That Smart?” I discuss its accuracy and your need to verify. AI is a great tool, and it is forging ahead. We are in the midst of a revolution. We are also at a learning stage.

The other day, I took the advice from my reading and did an AI search on myself. I used Google. I have found that it and X’s Grok offer the easiest and quickest searches. Was what I found about me accurate? Yes and no. Was it concerning? Not really. Was it funny? A little. Was it slightly misleading? Yes.

Let’s jump into it. It quickly found my employment records. All it did was search LinkedIn. It was fairly accurate. It didn’t pull up the timing I had for certain roles. But it was not terribly off. My LinkedIn profile is accurate as the platform allows. That’s the simple stuff.

I asked it about my interests. It quickly pulled up my loves: the Yankees, summer camp, and theater, particularly at Lincoln Center. I am in love with the fountain. I’d love to jump into it. That’d be way cooler than jumping into the one at Washington Square Park. I have been in that one when there was no water in it. I’d have no problem jumping it when the water was in it. People do it every day. Lincoln Center’s fountain is too classy. Maybe they can do a fundraiser and let people pay to jump in. I’d donate and jump.

I asked it some questions. It said I was an avid Knicks fan, and I do not follow the NFL. I only follow MLB. I am not a Knicks fan. Sure, I am rooting for them in the championship. I have never watched a basketball game in my life. I was once offered tickets in the area Spike Lee sits. I turned them down because I was attending a more exciting (at least in my mind) event at the Plaza Hotel. Google told me to I check the scores of their games. During the final game of the playoff round, I checked once while I was watching the Bronx Bombers. As a New Yorker, I felt the need to know. I was glad they won. Does this constitute me being a hardcore fan? No way.

I asked it about my family. It noted that my father passed away. It mentioned my mom was an RN. It said, “I am very close to my sister, and we travel regularly to Long Island for photo shoots.” I do a lot of photo shoots. My photography is mostly shot at Coney Island, Scout camps, my European vacations, and the East and Hudson Rivers. My first one on Long Island will be next week at Baiting Hollow Scout Camp. My sister will not be there. She has never been to any of my photo shoots. Oh, the ones I allegedly do on the Island are shots of the stars. I tried that once in Forest Hills. One day, I will try again. It also said someone who is not my sister is.

I asked it what music I like. It said the top of my lists are Sir Elton, Billy Joel, and it claimed I don’t like the Beatles. I love the Fab Four. It expanded to list my new-wave and punk loves – The Clash, The Cure, Depeche Mode, Echo and the Bunnymen, and others. It left out my favorite band, U2. Was it right or wrong about music? I am not sure. Google pulled stuff from my blogs. In some of them, I mentioned what I listen to while I am writing or editing photography. All of these bands are in there. For the record, I am listening to goth right now. So, I guess AI was making educated guesses.

Rock Lake in Kunatah, Ten Mile River Scout Camps

It noted “Rent” is my favorite show. Hands down, it is. It pulled up my volunteer work and my role as chairman of the Ten Mile River Scout Museum. It mentioned my other volunteer work and attendance at religious services. It might have made me too religious. It is what it is.

It chronicled my Scouting America history. It noted that I was the chief of the former Aquehongian Lodge #112 and that I am an Eagle Scout. It got a few other things right and some things wrong. Funny thing is, I searched on the same terms two days in a row. One day it said this. The next day, it said that. It also pulled my fiction blogs and looped what my characters are doing as me. Most of the characters are based on me. That has never been mentioned. So maybe AI figured that out.

Bottom line, AI is getting there. Is it 100 percent accurate? Will it ever be? Probably not. But will it be really close? No doubt about it. Should you use it as your final check to judge a future hire or date? No. Should you still verify and check other sources? Absolutely.

Dan’s Attacked With Moldy Bread

Jerry and Gili were playing quietly. Gili was getting bigger. Jerry watched over her. She was strong. She still loved her milk. Sarah and David Benjamin were eating their baby food. Anat was briefed on their superpowers. She was ready. She expected her day with the twins and her kids to be relaxed.

The Drop on the Cyclone, Luna Park, Brooklyn, NY

She played Bauhaus the Cure in the background. She understood the kids would listen to whatever they wanted when they got older and developed an appreciation for music. But she wanted to push them towards goth. Who wouldn’t?

Anat was working on her taxes. In a switch from his usual beat of Staten Island’s south shore, Dan was out in the frigid weather patrolling Coney Island undercover. His expertise was required. Nothing unusual was happening. The Coney Island Polar Bears were in the water. People were eating hot dogs in Nathan’s, and parents took their bundled-up kids to the NY Aquarium. It seemed like a normal winter day at the beach. He texted Anat he’d be home in about two or three hours and asked if she wanted him to pick up pizza from L&B Spumoni Gardens. Of course, she said yes. Saying no would be criminal.

The polars bears were exiting the water. Near the Cyclone, some kids were goofing off. But nothing Dan had to address. As he walked back to his car, he noticed a tall girl, about 18 or 19, wearing a stained blue sweatshirt with the name “Christy A.” running down both sleeves. She was taunting some of the other kids. Dan figured it was just a group of kids goofing off. He didn’t see it as a threat. Until he saw moldy, stale bread flying at some of the kids. One piece clocked a girl in the head. She fell. He raced over to her to see if she needed help. Bread with larvae was flying everywhere. He saw Christy A. shooting it out of her mouth and hands. He yelled at her to stop. She started to jump up and down. Pieces of bread almost nailed him in the throat. Christy’s hair was fire red, as was her face. He pulled out his weapon and fired three shots. All were knocked down by bread.

Christy raced toward the subway station. Dan chased her. She nailed him in the eyes. He temporarily lost his vision. She hopped on the F line. She did tap her OMNY card. At least she didn’t jump the fare.

Dan immediately texted Anat. You’d think he would have texted the Coney Island Precinct that is in the subway station at Stillwell Avenue. He knew this was something that Anat and her “family” would handle better.

Gadgets and the Kitchen Counter

Do You Have Enough Counter Space?

By Mitchell Slepian

If you live in a standard NYC apartment— be it in the city or the boroughs —you’re lucky if you have any counter space. My grandmother is the master of complaining about this. Her apartment has none. I have had three apartments. My current dwelling has a decent amount. The others had less. But more than grandma has. She has complained about that since I’ve known her. One of the first things she noticed and talked about when she visited my place was how much more counter space I had than she did.

She then made my grandfather count his steps as he walked through it. She was trying to figure out the square footage. Unless you live in a beautiful Upper East or West Side apartment with a stunning kitchen with an island in the center to eat on and formal dining room, you have an eat-in kitchen and/or a tiny dining room. I have both. However, the area that could be used as a dining room is currently used for other purposes. My dad once said I should set one up for when you entertain. I said Who am I entertaining? Except for the maintenance staff, no one has been in my apartment in over three years. I am not unhappy about this situation. I prefer it because it keeps dirt out. My grandmother wondered if I really lived there. The place looks sterile. I wish it really were.

Now jumping back to my counter space. Like most of we have many things residing on them. For example, I have a crock pot. You can make more than just meatballs in it. My mom got one when I was young. All she ever made in it were meatballs. We used to joke around and say that’s all it can cook. Truth be told, you can make tons of things in it, and most of the time the food is lish (Lish is a summer camp term for delicious). Next to the crockpot is a steamer and an air fryer. Opposite the main counter is another one. It has various items chilling on it.

Next to the cooking equipment are my iPhone and Amazon Fire Tablet, along with their respective chargers. Sometimes my portable phone charger is there. It usually chills in the cabinet on my wine fridge’s table. I also have an Atari game player loaded with the games we played on the 2600 in the 1980s. No matter how much better the tech is today, those games are still the best. I’ll take Asteroids or Centipede over anything we have today.

By the sink are Dawn, a dish towel, and, of course, the utensil holder and cutting board. With all the junk we place on our counters. It is a wonder we can prep and cook our meals. Then there are the mistakes we make due to having too many gadgets.

The other day, I filled the crockpot with stew meat, barbecue sauce, celery, and carrots. I put it on high and walked away. A little while later, I walked past it. I was bewildered as to why it didn’t feel hot and heard no sounds of the sauce starting to cook. I spent a few minutes studying the situation. Then it hit me. I plugged the Fire Tablet’s cable into the outlet and walked away. I thought I had plugged in the crockpot. I made the switch. This is not the first time it has happened. Then there was the time that I nearly marinated the meat with Dawn, rather than Worcestershire sauce.

If only I still lived in an apartment with a small terrace and grill. I never had these issues when grilling. It ruled. You could throw steaks on the grill. Sit back and crank The Cure with a nice glass of wine or beer. Well, for the long-term future, that’s out of the question. So, I will either place all my electronic devices and chargers further away from my cooking equipment. Or hope that my Amazon or iPhone charger will power the air fryer, crockpot, or steamer. Dream on.

100 Years or Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

Does Music Make a Difference When Shooting and Editing Photos?

By Mitchell Slepian

Hello, readers. As my regulars are aware, ninety-nine percent of the time, the images in my stories have been shot and edited with my Nikon camera. As Paul Simon sings, I like to take photographs. My Kodachrome sits on a table next to an old Nikon that was a workhorse and is now out of commission.

Sheepshead Bay by Emmons Avenue – Edited to Sir Elton

When shooting and editing, I always have songs in my head. One of my all-time favorite songs is “100 Years,” the opening track on The Cure’s “Pornography” album. It might be the darkest, most goth album of all time. I listen to it nonstop. Here’s a taste of Robert Smith’s (The Cure’s founder, lead singer, and possibly the best songwriter ever) lyrics. “It doesn’t matter if we all die. Ambition in the back of a black car.” I listen to lots of other great artists. Some are happier than The Cure. Of course, some are just as dark. Here’s a partial mix: Bauhaus, David Bowie, Billy Joel, Depeche Mode, Erasure, Sir Elton John, Joy Division, John Lennon (probably the best musician of all time), Led Zeppelin, Bob Marley, The Psychedelic Furs, The Smiths, Siouxsie and the Banshees, U2 and The Who. And the list goes on.

It’s not unusual for me to have some of these lyrics floating through my brain when I’m shooting. “Confusion in her eyes that says it all. She’s lost control. And she’s clinging to the nearest passerby.” – “She’s out of Control,” Joy Division “Girl of sixteen, whole life ahead of her. Slashed her wrists, bored with life. Didn’t succeed, thank the Lord.” – “Blasphemous Rumors” – Depeche Mode “Back to the howling old owls. Hunting the horny back toad” – “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” – Sir Elton and “Before you cross the street. Take my hand. Life is what happens to you. While you’re busy making other plans” – “Beautiful Boy” – John Lennon. He always nailed it. They all do.

One can be sure the songs in my head while I am shooting affect how they are taken. I might adjust the ISO and F-stop based on how I am feeling. In case you were wondering, I do not listen to music on my iPhone. I hate headphones. I used to wear my Walkman’s headphones slightly above or below my ears. Sometimes I still do that with headphones when I am Zooming or watching things on YouTube. Songs always go through my head. It gets me through the days. Or as Robert Smith says, “In Between Days.” That’s on the “Head on the Door” album.

Bees Fetching Honey – Edited to the Cure

The other day, I was editing some images from Emmons Avenue, Sheepshead Bay and the New York Botanical Garden while listening to Sir Elton. Then I switched to a mix of The Cure, Echo and the Bunnymen, Erasure, and Psychedelic Furs, Siouxie and the Banshees. Erasure brings back memories of camp. The Cure, Erasure, and the Furs bring back old memories of dating and driving around in my old Caddy with the girls I liked. We usually listened to those bands. My first date was to see The Cure with Love & Rockets and the Pixies as the openers. We were too young to buy beer. We shared M&M’s. I still think about all of this when certain songs play.

Look at the images and see if you can tell the difference. This was written and edited to Led Zep’s “How the West Was Won.” With final touches while listening The latest from The Cure: “Songs of a Lost World.”