Reading Begets Reading.

Indeed, There Is A Moment On The First Cd - The Electrifying Opening To "i Got Loaded," Which Sounds Like An R&b Standard But Isn't - When You Might Find Yourself Asking Whether Anyone Who Has Ever Been Smitten By Pop Music Can Fail To Have His Heart Stopped By The Chords, The Swing, And, Once Again, Steve Berlin's Wonderfully Greasy Sax.

Have You Got Any Soul?" A Woman Asks The Next Afternoon. That Depends, I Feel Like Saying; Some Days Yes, Some Days No. A Few Days Ago I Was Right Out; Now I've Got Loads, Too Much, More Than I Can Handle. I Wish I Could Spread It A Bit More Evenly, I Want To Tell Her, Get A Better Balance, But I Can't Seem To Get It Sorted. I Can See She Wouldn't Be Interested In My Internal Stock Control Problems Though, So I Simply Point To Where I Keep The Soul I Have, Right By The Exit, Just Next To The Blues.

You Know That Things Aren't Going Well For You When You Can't Even Tell People The Simplest Fact About Your Life, Just Because They'll Presume You're Asking Them To Feel Sorry For You.

Self-pity Is An Ignoble Emotion, But We All Feel It, And The Orthodox Critical Line That It Represents Some Kind Of Artistic Flaw Is Dubious, A Form Of Emotional Correctness.

You're Not Allowed To Say Anything About Books Because They're Books, And Books Are, You Know, God.