I may have been hung-over. Again. At least that’s what I put it down to. I was in New York, playing at Writers in the Round at the Village Green – an honourable and respected gig. I had been co-writing songs with the master of open tuning and the uncannily easy-sounding pop song (the kind that was unfeasibly hard to write), Jules Shear. He had written for artists who were, no doubt, the reason why I made music in the first place. He wrote ‘All Through the Night’ for Cyndi Lauper and ‘If She Knew What She Wants’ for The Bangles. They were just two from his list that impressed my socks off.
All class and no fluff. A spartan craftsman.
I felt both awed and inadequate at the privilege of sharing a songwriting credit with an artist of his calibre.
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