Thursday, October 12, 2017

That's a Surfboard Not a Yacht, or: Born Sixty-Two Years Ago




The traditional Jane Siberry birthday paragraph:
Egoslavian Holy Day! Jane Siberry is sixty-two today. Her music is inextricably woven into my memories of my first years with Earthgirl, the concerts, especially ones at Goucher College in Towson and in Gaston Hall (Hamster was there) one hundred yards from my cubicle at Georgetown (when she sang an ethereal Calling All Angels even though she'd shifted by then into her one album incarnation as a jazz chanteuse, before the one album incarnation into a kid's song writer, before she decided she didn't want to be Jane Siberry anymore and reinvented herself as Issa, whose music and art I respect but don't love, and who then changed back to Jane Siberry - I can see how Issa in this day and age is a bad tag - whose current music and art I respect but don't love). When we visit the marina in Deale, the first place we shared, my brain's radio plays Jane Siberry, when I drive by the house in Glen Echo we lived in next my brain's radio plays Jane Siberry.



 





    *




     

     
    *