Hello from the Hudson...

Taxi and bus drivers in New York manage the remarkable feat of combining inch-perfect accuracy and complete insanity – it’s something to behold the bravado of these guys as they edge in front of enormous trucks and buses, squeezing past each other to get in the best position for the next green light. You can almost feel the wing mirrors kissing.

  When the lights change, it’s like six bullfights happening simultaneously – the instant that you think you’re headed for impact, someone steps aside in a split second decision and the yellow cabs go snorting and charging like bulls down the concrete canyons.

  My friend Bob Welch told me years ago: ‘Walking in the streets of New York is exactly like the movies... It’s not like noticing something that looks like a movie. It’s EXACTLY like a movie.’ I had that impression this morning – stepping out of the Port Authority bus terminal with my guitar case and walking across 8^th Avenue. Right across the street is the New York Times office, and when you step across the crosswalk, you walk past five lanes of waiting yellow cabs, trucks and buses while the buildings tower over your head and the seething mass of the city spreads out to either side, honking, wailing and steaming. The sky above is a narrow jagged band of blue between the buildings.

  I’m here for a week, to play three shows a day on stage at Vanderbilt Hall in Grand Central Station, as guest of Tourism Ireland. The promotion is aimed at giving commuters and visitors a real feel for Northern Ireland – so there are a variety of very impressive stands around the hall, along with speciality stands covering crafts, accommodation, food and drink and so on. And every now and then, I take to the stage with Ben Glover and we play a half hour set, talking a little about the music scene in Northern Ireland.

  The hall is a massive, golden, marbled space, filled with glorious antique chandeliers and vaulted ceilings. A few steps away is the famous main Grand Central Terminal Building, which is just cinematic in its majesty.  Throughout the day THOUSANDS of people pass through this space, and many of them stop for a look around, speak to exhibitors and take away leaflets and business cards. The hope is that we convince them to book a flight and actually come over.

  Our first couple of performances are a little ropey as we try to settle on sound levels and approach – this is an enormously tall marble room, and the acoustics are drenched in echo. Right in front of the stage, though, there are four rows of chairs, and from close range, the sound is pretty good.

  Away from the shows, we’re staying in a lovely hotel in Weehawken, New Jersey – it’s a 20 minute bus ride through the Lincoln Tunnel from Manhattan, and its windows look across the Hudson River at the most spectacular skyline in the world – the lights of downtown New York. There are a couple of nice places to eat in the neighbourhood, and even after one day, we’re all pretty assured of our methodology for getting to and from our destination.

  Having made a trip on Friday night out to Larchmont to visit Andrea’s brother and his family, I arrive back in Grand Central and start walking down 42^nd street towards the Port Authority terminal – and I discover Bryant Park.

  Every town planner in the world should be brought to somewhere like Bryant Park, to see what can be achieved with green spaces in city centres. By night, the park (adjacent to the New York Public Library) is illuminated from on high by a bank of powerful spotlights on top of the MetLife building that shine down through the gently swaying canopy of trees. The central green is dotted with tables and chairs, where people sit and drink coffee or chat. In the dim cloisters around the edge, lovers smooch among the leaf shadows. There are a couple of ping pong tables, a beautiful fountain and a poster for Tai Chi classes. All around, the skyscrapers form a surrounding palisade studded with lights, and on the margins, the cabs and the trucks thunder past. It’s a remarkable space, made up of light, shadow, water, space and stillness in the midst of frantic motion. One that radiates tranquillity and civic pleasure.

  And from there to the bus station and onward to Weehawken, where the boats in the Lincoln Harbor Marina tinkle and rock together gently. More in the next few days.

Sand and water

Castlerock beach – We’ve been living in the city for the last six months, and it was – unbelievably – the first chance in all that time that the pair of us got to walk on a beach on the north coast, something we used to do two or three times a week when we lived up there.

  I’d forgotten how big the sky can be, when you’re at the edge of the world like that. The enormity of the space as you look out to the ocean and realise that there is nothing out there between you and... Iceland in that direction, and Newfoundland that way.

  The clouds were piled up enormously high, bruised and backed up all the way to Donegal, where you could see bands of rain and sunshine moving across the terrain, the little white houses on the hillsides picked out as the sun came and went, like sheets flapping on distant washing lines.

  It’s been a weekend of huge contrasts - my daughter and I went to see the mighty Wilco in concert on Friday night, in a densely packed marquee in Custom House Square in the centre of Belfast. It was a balmy evening, a feeling of damp, warm late summer, with hundreds of people milling around outside the bars after the shows making all kinds of wow noises, vendors selling T shirts and thai food and handing out leaflets for the other weekend gigs.

  And the next day Andrea and I are driving on the north coast and we drive into rain that you can actually see up ahead, like a curtain strung across the road, a wall of broken glass falling and hitting the windscreen so hard that you have to slow right down and put on your headlights. You come out the other side like emerging from a tunnel of water, to rainbows and bright sizzling air. Welcome to Ireland.

  And in between there is the beach and the ocean, the width and height and the glitter of it all entering you again, filling a space you hadn’t even realised was empty.

Toronto without an agenda

August 12 - In the early 80s, Sir Peter Ustinov was asked for his impressions of Toronto and came up with a wonderful description – he said it was like New York, run by the Swiss. He was remarkably on the button; the city has all of the glamour and sprawl of the Big Apple, but it’s cleaner and less chaotic, and the people are much more polite. If New York City is a mad cab ride, Toronto runs on rails.

  My introduction to the city comes via a couple of Andrea’s friends who have offered us the use of their apartment while they go up country for a couple of days. Lots of Canadian city families have cottages – usually modest wooden cabins, near water, somewhere in one of the many wildernesses that are still left in Canada. The cottages are always stuffed with all the blankets and sheets and paperbacks that you wear out at your city home. Most of them are filled with 70s or 80s items, and mismatched furniture and crockery. It’s not out of place to open the cupboard and find souvenir mugs from ‘Vancouver Expo 86’, and drawers full of old holiday T shirts, shelves full of Dick Francis and Len Deighton thrillers. It’s all very charming and relaxing – you pull on one of those old T shirts and a pair of Bermuda shorts and your sandals and immediately feel at home.

  Toronto is hot and humid – we’re staying at Davisville, and our seven minute walk to the subway station leaves us both bathed in sweat. Thankfully the subway trains are air conditioned. We climb up above ground at Bloor and Yonge and the morning heat is like having a pre-heated electric blanket draped across your head and shoulders. Yonge – at 1,178 miles, the world’s longest street, is the central spine of the city, running up the middle of the grid. Every street that crosses Yonge goes west to east, so St. George Street East becomes St. George Street West, and so on. People talk about stores being on the south or north side of the street. I find this a little difficult to follow, but most Torontonians seem to instinctively know at any time where they are in relation to Lake Ontario, which forms the  southern limit of the city. I like this – the relationship of the city to a natural body of water.

  (on the train into Toronto, we pull alongside Lake Ontario, which is like staring at the ocean. It’s so vast you can’t see any end to the coastline to the east or west. The horizon is enormously wide and flat – like the Atlantic)

  I have no agenda at all for Toronto. I’m here to follow Andrea around as she reconnects with her past. She was a student here, and we visit the very pretty campus of the University of Toronto, where she and her brother Ian both studied. We also have plans to meet some of her friends for coffee. Some people that she hasn’t seen in fifteen years. Reunited thanks to the glories of Facebook. Strolling under the trees at Trinity college, I’m struck by how English it all looks. You can tell that they wanted to create their own little version of Oxford. And to be fair they have made a wonderful job of it. More interesting, though, is Massey College, a 70s style building that borrows from the zen stillness of oriental forms and works on clean, angular shapes with wide panes of glass overlooking water features and lawns.

  From there we walk on into downtown Toronto, and a familiar vista opens up of skyscrapers, designer label shopping, construction, endless traffic, honking cab drivers and thousands of pedestrians. It’s great to have the smell and racket of the city after two weeks in the woods and we soak up the coffee shops and the bustle.

  To be honest, our time here is brief (one and a half days), and with Andrea lined up for several meetings both informal and formal, we manage to stroll a little and relax. At one point, I instal myself in BMV Books on Bloor Street for an hour and a half while the old friends catch up on 15 years. It’s a heartache – they have some wonderful stuff at wonderful prices, but my suitcase is already so stuffed I know there’s no way I can make room for more.

  They’ll all have to wait for next time – maybe I’ll bring a book suitcase...

Monday night at the Tranzac

August 10 - I’m delighted to have a gig in Toronto, but I don’t think I’m being unfair to the Tranzac Club when I say that it could use a little makeover.

  The Tiki Room at the Tranzac (which stands for ‘Toronto Australia and New Zealand Club’) is painted a dull brown and dotted with incongruously gaily painted tables and chairs. It reminds me of one of those stuffy meeting rooms you see in British Legion clubs and parochial halls all over Ireland.

  Inside, the sweet-natured bundle of talent that is Kyp Harness (left) is tuning up. Kyp is one of the city’s remarkable writers (he’s Ron Sexsmith’s favourite songwriter). He has written some remarkable songs, providing material along the way for Blue Rodeo and picking up all kinds of nice comments from Daniel Lanois, Leonard Cohen and many others.

  Someone has kindly left out a PA system and two speakers for us, but there are no microphones, cables or mic stands. There’s a pull-down screen on the wall behind us which won’t pull back up. And there’s an ancient piano that even smells out of tune.

  We decide to perform completely unplugged. And that’s kind of nerve wracking. Onlookers never have any idea how much songwriters love to hide behind a mic stand.

  We’re strumming at the empty corners to see what the room sounds like and the first of the audience arrive. Billed as an ‘open mic’ night, there seem to be no other takers but me – and I’ve brought my own crowd, which consists of our hosts in the city, Pat Thompson and John Brewin. I realise it’s a little unfair to Kyp – there’s a large number of people in the room with Andrea connections who want to hear if her boyfriend is actually talented or not. I shake hands and assess them all for forgiveness potential.

  My friend Laura Adlers arrives – Laura (left) handles PR for a host of classical events in the city, and has kindly put the word out to a host of her friends. She has one in tow tonight – Phil, who I later find out is part of a punk trio that wear charity shop ‘dead guy suits’ on stage and call themselves The Parkdale Hookers. I like him already. (I checked out their website, and here’s how they describe themselves: ‘We can best be described as AntiGlam… We’re like a trio of accountants who figured out a way to make Marshall stacks tax deductible and went with it’.)

  Also here for the show is Joanne Sleightholm and her husband Blair – their daughter Madeleine is one of my songwriter friends from Nashville, but hails originally from Toronto. Isn’t it a small world? So small that, as we chat, we find out Madeleine needs a place to stay in Belfast in February of next year, so our spare room suddenly becomes her pad for the week.

  Kyp starts proceedings with the excellent ‘God’s Footstool’ and continues with a rash of great material – ‘Little Dog Song’, ‘Old Grey House’, ‘Chemical Valley’ and many more. Behind me, I can sense a lot of school reunion nerves in the room. People are dying to chat and connect after so many years apart.

  I don’t help by going on stage and stealing another forty minutes of their time, in what has now become stifling heat (when I sit down later, I find that I have sweat patches on the knees of my trousers, and that’s just weird).

  But the reaction is great – people seem to appreciate the stories and the extra context that I give with the song introductions, and the hit of the evening is undoubtedly the new song ‘East of Louise’, which also garnered a cheer at the Black Sheep. It’s great when songs from the NEXT album make an early connection like that.

  An unusual thing happens – a late arrival to the show brings a guitar with him. It’s Jowi Taylor, a friend of Pat and John’s, and in his case is the most amazing guitar I’ve ever seen. I could spend pages talking about this instrument, but here’s the short version: The guitar (called ‘Le Voyageur’) has been made from 64 individual pieces of Canadian history.

  From the beautiful book that documents the creation and celebration of the instrument: ‘Pierre Trudeau’s canoe paddle is in the tone bar, Paul Henderson’s hockey stick is part of the pickguard, and the sacred golden spruce of Haida Gwaii forms the soundboard. Even Maurice ‘Rocket’ Richard’s first Stanley Cup ring is in the Voyageur – a small piece of it adorns the 9^th fret.’ Jowi has taken the guitar all over Canada to bring it to the nation – his website and book Six String Nation give more details on the story at www.sixstringnation.com.

  Both Kyp and I take turns playing the instrument, which has also been played by everyone from Feist and Gordon Lightfoot to Ron Sexsmith, Justin Rutledge and The Wailin’ Jennys. And then everyone in the room wants a try, wants to get their picture taken with the guitar. And why not? It has everything built in there – even a piece of the floor from Jack London’s cabin, for crying out loud.

  As everyone lines up for pictures and a quick strum (see right, Jowi and I), I realise that friendship and a shared sense of pride and history have transformed this airless brown little room into a real space where hearts and minds meet. Thanks Jowi.

  After the show, we retire (Andrea, her friends and I) to the Futures Bakery on the corner, where she and they re-connect until the owners throw us out.

Leaving the Gatineau

August 9th - Leaving the Gatineau is the usual mix of emotions. It always feels like the right time to be leaving, because I’ve always made sure to prepare my heart for departure. But it always also feels like the time spent has been too short.

  We put our travelling clothes on and we pack our bags and we survey the emptied rooms and the beds that have been made and the floors that have been swept clean, the dishes washed and put away – and we soak up the hollow feeling of having never been there.

  We take a last walk down to the dock. The sky is heavy and grey. The rain is coming. But the river is still and slow and mighty. Again the feeling that we may not have actually been there. A canoe comes up the middle of the current, its occupant flailing away, to get home before the rain.

  And I say a deep and heartfelt farewell. My return to this place feels such a long way off – a year to be filled with activity and work. Our suitcases are in the car and Anna brings William out to say goodbye. He is asleep in her arms, midway through his afternoon nap, sucking on his thumb and regarding us blankly. His eyes are open but he is not yet awake.

  Earlier, he and his brother had watched as I left to start packing and had quizzed me:

  - Where are you going?

  - Back to Ireland.

  - When will you be back?

  - Next summer.

  - Is that after October?

  - Yes, but quite a bit later.

  - Is that a long time?

  - It’s... quite long… But not too long.

  - Not too long?

  - No, it won’t be too long.

  His huge blue eyes. Working out the enormous distances and the cycle of months and miles.

Andrea and I go off to the station and in time, up the railway tracks out of Ottawa and towards Toronto. Outside, huge flat tracts of land roll past, with smalltown level crossings and forests and barns. Some lights coming up in houses way out in the country. Finally Lake Ontario, which may as well be the ocean, the horizon is so flat and wide.

  And I start to fall asleep too, as the train rocks me gently – a book open on my lap and a 'Toy Story 3' temporary tattoo already fading beneath the sleeve of my shirt.

Bring it on down to my house

The first time I met Warren Major, I had just come off stage after the first half of my first-ever Canadian gig, at the Black Sheep in Wakefield, Quebec.

  Andrea had wangled a show for me at the famous roadhouse. I was already nervous, but the nerves got worse when she invited a host of her relatives and friends. Then her mother invited a host of her friends. I was a wreck by the time I struck the first note.

  But by interval time I had settled – the Black Sheep is a wonderful venue, with a great sound system and a superb atmosphere. As always, once I found my range and my sound, I was happy. I was a man at work. The material was going over quite well and I was beginning to think maybe I had given Andrea and her clan something to be proud of. I mean, the only thing worse than enduring the performance of your relative’s talentless partners is... being the one who issued the invitations and is now seeing the look of dread on their faces.

 I was feeling pretty smug, and headed for the bar, when this athletic-looking guy came up beside me and asked: ‘Have you played “Electricity” yet?’

  I say ‘athletic-looking’. He was white-haired and lean, wearing shorts and a sports shirt and a pair of crocs. He was also, bizarrely, soaked from head to toe - and actually dripping onto the floor. I looked at him for a second.

  ‘Er... no.’ I said, eventually.

  ‘Have you done “Cousins at Funerals”?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. But I was so delighted that someone had actually checked me out on MySpace prior to the gig that I offered to play it again for him - since he had arrived slightly late, and apparently via the river.

  Thus began a friendship with Warren and his wife Marilyn, who have become two very dear friends in the Gatineau/Wakefield area. Over the last four years they have come along to all the shows, told their friends to come along, attempted to get other showcase opportunities for me in the area, and turned loads of people onto my music. Along the way we have finished off many a bottle of wine and shared many a musical crush – we’re constantly loaning CDs and swapping paperback recommendations.

  Marilyn and Warren run their own business and they own a beautiful farmhouse home (see above) – built in the 19th centuryand packed with fabulous art and furniture. It has that glorious ‘winding’ feel, where rooms open off other rooms and have back staircases and windows that look into other rooms.

  This year, they threw their doors and property open, and hosted a house concert on their front lawn, featuring yours truly and Wakefield-based author and songwriter Phil Jenkins. ‘Warrenstock’ was a definite cut above what songwriters have come to think of as ‘house concerts’. These events usually entail a dozen to twenty people in a large living room. The visitors have been asked to make a contribution to help pay the musician, and everyone brings a bottle of wine and hopefully buys an album or two before departing.

  This was different - Warren and Marilyn staged the concert on the porch of their home, with guests (almost forty of them) bringing their chairs and some refreshments and making themselves comfortable on the lawn as the sun started to set. Marilyn lit candles all around the porch and provided some snacks and we were all set.

  Phil is a very talented man – he’s the author of a wonderful book called An Acre of Time that deals with the history one of Ottawa’s most famous districts. He’s also a journalist, freelancing with a number of publications including the Ottawa Citizen, and he’s a terrific songwriter. He has a country song called ‘I’m Drinking About It’ that has ‘HIT’ written all over it, and which makes me jealous every time he sings it. He also has a pastiche of The Boxer that is a delight, and some jazzy love songs that are a treat.

  The evening was one of the highlights of my trip, and some of those present (Andrea and her sister in law Anna) got to watch proceedings from a hammock in the garden. As night fell, we played out into the dark, illuminated by the glimmer of candles, with the sound of the crickets as a background. At one point, Phil finished one his songs exactly to coincide with the far-off sound of a train, And as Paul Simon once said, ‘everybody loves the sound of a train in the distance’.

  Warren had asked if we could play a Dylan song each. My selection was ‘Born in Time’ from the recent Tell Tale Signs collection. Out it went, into the vastness of the Quebec night, littered with stars and the transient glow of passing cars on the distant road. A magical, magical evening – an experience that will live with me forever. And one that will change my definition of ‘house concert’ from now on.

Oh, Canada...

We're having a ball in the Gatineau woods, as always - meeting some old friends and enjoying a wonderful show at the Black Sheep Inn (here's a pic of me with the Black Sheep proprietor, the hard-working Mr. Paul Symes). I tried out some of the new songs on the Black Sheep audience and they went down a treat. Ive been working hard on some new tunes, and getting a few half-finished things tied up, and generally making plans for being back in the studio later in the year.

Two of our best friends in the area, Warren and Marilyn Major, have organised a house concert for this Friday, at their beautiful 200-year-old farmhouse down in Chelsea, so that should be a lot of fun. We'll take some pictures. I'll be joined in song by Phil Jenkins, a talened writer and journalist who also has some great stories and songs.

Apart from that, it's been fun and games with the nephews, lots of swimming and paperbacks and some barbecue action. Bliss. I took my wristwatch off on the day I arrived and I haven't seen it since. For those of you who are friends on Facebook, there are a few extra pictures posted up there, too...

30 days, 30 albums - the complete list

For those of you who have been on this journey with me, I thought it would be nice to post the full list of the 30 albums from the last 30 days. These are NOT in order of preference, and are by no means my ’30 Favourite Albums’ – although some of them undoubtedly are. But it’s been a lot of fun looking along the shelves and pulling out 30 belters and giving them a spin again. I hope you’ve enjoyed it too, and once again thanks for all the comments and connections.

The Band – Northern Lights, Southern Cross

Elbow – The Seldom Seen Kid

NRBQ – Diggin’ Uncle Q

Ron Sexsmith – Ron Sexsmith

Bill Withers – Live at Carnegie Hall

Randy Newman – Land of Dreams

Joni Mitchell - Hejira

Neil Young – Comes a Time

Wilco – Being There

Paul Simon – There Goes Rhymin’ Simon

The Hold Steady – Boys and Girls in America

The Beatles – Abbey Road

Ry Cooder – Bop Til You Drop

John Prine – The Missing Years

Neko Case – Fox Confessor Brings the Flood

John Hiatt – Riding with the King

Little Feat – Waiting for Columbus

Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong – Ella and Louis

Tom Waits - Swordfishtrombones

The Blue Nile - Hats

Jackson Browne – Running on Empty

Arvo Part – Te Deum

Bob Dylan – Highway 61 Revisited

Steely Dan - Aja

Kris Kristofferson – Me and Bobby McGee

Bruce Springsteen – Darkness on the Edge of Town

Marvin Gaye – What’s Going On

Van Morrison – Beautiful Vision

Ian Dury – New Boots and Panties

James Taylor – Mud Slide Slim and the Blue Horizon

30 days, 30 albums (last one)... The Band - Northern Lights Southern Cross

Well, here's the last of the thirty - this has been a lot of fun, and of course coming to the end of the 30 only serves to throw up another 30 that could have been featured. Thanks a million to all of you who have followed the list and left comments - it's been great fun. To recap, I'll publish the full list here tomorrow.

To finish (in no particular order) I'm featuring a late album by The Band that I love because it has my two favourite Band tracks on it - It Makes No Difference, and Robbie Robertson's masterpiece Acadian Driftwood. A masterpiece song that no-one else could have done justice to - the sound of these voices and this bunch of musicians on that piece of writing is the pinnacle of their already remarkable achievement. Big Pink and The Band also have super moments on them, but this is a personal favourite.

Thanks again - and keep in touch!

30 days, 30 albums... Elbow - The Seldom Seen Kid

I admit I'm a late convert to Elbow, being transfixed one night in my car hearing One Day Like This for the first time, and being completely hooked as a result. They have single-handedly reaffirmed my faith in good pop songwriting and the virtues of the long haul. They're a band who never gave up, and who worked tirelessly to make it happen. This album is a triumphant blast of hooks, atmosphere and some of the finest lyrics of the last ten years. Who else could start an album with the lines: 'How dare the premier ignore my invitation? He'll have to go... So too the bunch he luncheons with, that's second on my list of Things to Do. At the top is stopping by your place of work, and acting like I haven't dreamed of you and I and marriage in an orange grove.' I love them from the brain and the heart.

30 days, 30 albums... NRBQ - Diggin' Uncle Q

You might never have heard of them, but the New Rhythm and Blues Quartet have been rocking for over 30 years - a seriously talented bunch of players, they seem to mix blues, rockabilly, country, bebop, the Beatles, the Lovin' Spoonful and Louis Prima into every song. Elvis Costello has described them as 'the best band in America'. Wonderful harmonies, bizarre little instrumentals and wild solos abound on every disc. There are half a dozen album gems in their back catalogue. This was my first introduction to the band - a blistering live set that captures everything great about the band. My tip - try to stick with the long mid-career NRBQ material that features guitarist Big Al Anderson. He's a one-man riot on a Telecaster with a foghorn voice. Albums to catch - At Yankee Stadium, Grooves in Orbit, Tiddlywinks and Ridin' In My Car.

30 days, 30 albums... Ron Sexsmith - Ron Sexsmith

Ron Sexsmith is one of the most consistent songwriters of his generation - ten or eleven albums in, he's still wonderful. I choose this one because it was the first exposure to his trademarks - the slightly wobbly pitching, the left-of-centre songwriting vewpoints and the wonderful arrangements and subject material. It also contains some of his finest work, including (I think) his finest song, Speaking with the Angel. Delicious.

30 days, 30 albums... Bill Withers - Live at Carnegie Hall

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – Bill Withers if the Morgan Freeman of soul. He has such enormous integrity and has soul right to his bones. I think this is his finest hour – a dazzling concert in which he starts with a little uncertainty and ends up with the audience singing and clapping along with his every line, raising the rafters. The playing is wonderful too – funky and restrained, with a few tasteful string and horn overdubs. And there is some fantastic between-song patter, too, including a wonderful introduction to Grandma’s Hands. Unmissable. Every home should have one.

30 days, 30 albums... Randy Newman - Land of Dreams

Randy Newman fans will always single out the classic mid-period albums like Good Old Boys, Little Criminals and Sail Away. But to me, Land of Dreams is a lot more fun. You have the utterly brilliant autobiographical opening trilogy, ‘Dixie Flyer’, ‘New Orleans Wins the War’ and ‘Four Eyes’, and you have the spellbinding ‘I Just Want You to Hurt Like I Do’, and in between it sounds like he’s having loads of fun, with songs produced by Jeff Lynne, among others. ‘Falling in Love’ is delicious pop, and ‘Something Special’ is a gorgeous arrangement. Still sharp, still cynical and very funny – but this is a polished gem that remains one of the most entertaining moments in a glorious career.

30 days, 30 albums... Joni Mitchell - Hejira

One of the most sparse, restless and beautiful albums of the 70s, and possibly a career high for Ms Mitchell. I love Blue and I adore Court and Spark, but this album and The Hissing of Summer Lawns seem to mark the arrival of a mature artist with something serious to say beyond love and the storms of the heart. Based around the theme of travelling and rootlessness, this also has some amazing musical performances from Larry Carlton and most notably bass genius Jaco Pastorius. Lyrically, it’s as sharp as she’s ever been, particularly on 'Song for Sharon' and the beautiful 'Amelia'. It’s simply stunning – and features a beautiful portrait double exposure on the cover.

30 days, 30 albums... Neil Young - Comes a Time

I figure there’s no way to single out a Neil Young album – there are so many different styles from all of the many different lives that he has led, where do you start? And there are so many that I either haven’t listened to in years or haven’t heard yet. So this is a personal choice – I know it’s a lightweight compared to some of his major works, but it was the first NY album that I bought. I remember saving my pocket money and buying it from Dempsey’s Record Shop on the Promenade in Portstewart. And when I listen to opening chords of ‘Going Back’, I’m still transported back to that dreamy adolescent summer: ‘I feel like going back, back where there’s nowhere to stay…’. It just sounded wonderful to me then – all those lush acoustic guitars and that unmistakeable, unforgettable voice. But for the Neil Young purists, I also love Rust Never Sleeps, Freedom, Tonight’s the Night and of course, After the Gold Rush.

30 days, 30 albums... Wilco - Being There

I remember buying this purely on the strengths of the reviews without ever having heard a track – and it turned out to be as good as everyone said. Many of the songs on this double album feel unfinished, and yet it’s glorious from start to finish, laced with melancholy and charm. The playing is gorgeous, and the sound seemed to define what ‘Americana’ meant for a long time – the sound of yearning steel guitars, heartbroken pianos and weary, sad vocals, the whole thing recorded in brown and dusty rooms on old instruments.

30 days, 30 albums... Paul Simon - There Goes Rhymin' Simon

Paul Simon was the first songwriter I ever heard who made me want to be a songwriter. I just loved what he did with lyrics and chords to express feeling and opinion, and I’m still an enormous fan. Of all the wonderful albums he has recorded, to me this one seems to marry his intellect with music in an irresistible way. There’s some wonderful playing, with much of the album recorded down in Muscle Shoals Alabama and featuring some of the grooviest, most wonderful players of the time. And it’s got some of the best songs he ever wrote on it: ‘Take Me To The Mardi Gras’, ‘Kodachrome’, ‘Loves Me Like a Rock’, ‘Something So Right’ and the masterpiece ‘American Tune’, all of it loaded with warmth, soul and intellect.

30 days, 30 albums... The Hold Steady - Boys and Girls in America

Think AC/DC with Douglas Coupland writing the lyrics. A perfect distillation of angsty teen to twenties American culture, it’s sharp and loaded with killer choruses. Big guitars, big themes, namechecks for Kerouac and John Berryman, it’s kind of nerdy but very cool. Also highly recommended – Stay Positive, the album the band were promoting when they visited the Odyssey in Belfast last year to support Counting Crows. The opening set by The Hold Steady (songs about hoodrats getting arrested and self-harming cheerleaders getting nailed against dumpsters behind bars) was an experience that left the Diet Coke-slurping Crows fans slightly befuddled.

A letter from Paris

Paris is always a delicious assault on the senses – it comes in through the eyes, the mouth, the nose, the ears in a swoon of language, scents, music and light like no other city. And the result – if you’re in receiving mode – is one of intoxication.

On the first evening’s ride into the city on the Metro, I stood shoulder to shoulder with stylish homeward-bound commuters, wilting in the underground heat. As they came and went at the various stops, I picked up wafts of sweat and stale perfume after a long day’s work. The next morning, I walked past a bakery and caught the scent of fresh bread and coffee as sunshine bounced off the windscreens of the passing cars.

Our morning view for a few daysWe spent three days in the city, strolling through the 14^th arrondisement and sleeping on a futon in the book-lined third floor apartment of our dear friend Stephanie Schwerter. We woke up with creaking joints in the morning and opened her shutters - looking straight up the tall canyon of the street to see a narrow corridor of spring sky.

The 14^th is very pleasant and very Parisian – old six-storey apartment buildings with little balconies and shuttered windows, behind which lie high ceilings, ancient plumbing, tiny elevators and spiral staircases. Outside, lots of neighbours on bicycles and scrawny, elegant old ladies walking their dogs. On the street corners of the Rue Raymond Losserand, lots of boulangeries, restaurants and cafes.

All hail the delicious Boursault...Unforgettable are the fresh baguette and the slather of Boursault cheese with fresh apples and strong coffee. It puts the usual morning muesli & banana combo slightly to shame, but then that’s what a holiday is all about.

Andrea & Stephanie...Andrea and I had barely seen each other in the three weeks preceding – each of us seemed to be getting up early or coming back late, distracted by guests and workshops and schedules. So we decided to be really relaxed and leave the tourist traps behind. In fairness, we did visit the Tuileries and Les Jardins du Palais Royal, but most of the time, we walked out for a croissant and a coffee and just window-shopped or sat on a bench in the sunshine.

Our highlights: Dinner in Vins des Pyrenees, a fantastic little restaurant in le Marais, just two doors up from where Jim Morrison died.

* The Cimetiere du Montparnasse, where Samuel Beckett is buried – as well as de Maupassant, Susan Sontag, Jean Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir and many others. Fantastic tombs with ornate doors and elaborate gravestones, traversed by wide, leafy avenues.

* Sitting in another little bistro near Stephanie’s apartment, L’Auriel, watching the buses go by with their greenish interior light as old gents walked their little dogs and night fell over the rooftops.

* The winding medieval streets of the Marais, with vintage scooters and stylish, narrow young Parisians in well-cut clothes.

* On the stroll in the MaraisCoffee and macaroons in an expensive little café in the gardens of the Palais Royal – and the young guy at the next table who had a very happy golden retriever that he referred to as ‘Ernest’.

* A visit to the studio of Eugene Delacroix, which proved to be slightly disappointing – his most famous picture, ‘Liberty Leading the People’, is not here, and the work on display didn’t set us on fire. There’s a delicious little courtyard garden at the rear of his house, though, where the sunshine comes down through the trees and makes you feel kind of blessed.

* St. Germain-des-Pres – the shadowy interior lit by shafts of sunlight through the stained glass windows, dappling the tiles. We lit a candle to St. Antoine and offered up a prayer for good fortune, to whoever might be listening out there…