When I came to California, it was the mecca of the world. Every young person on the planet wanted to be here.
What I do is unusual: chordal movements that have never been used before, changing keys and modalities mid-song.
The considerations of a corporation, especially now, have nothing to do with art or music.
Paul Simon started piling up a lot of words, more than the bar could handle, and I stopped!
Not to dismiss Gershwin, but Gershwin is the chip; Ellington was the block.
My name had gone stale, and no matter how progressive I got, it was my time to die.
I sang in art school, just to get money to smoke.
People used to say nobody can sing my songs but me, they’re too personal.
A few drinks later you’re not so choosy when the closing lights strip off the shadows on this strange new flesh you’ve found.
They used to laugh at me when I refused to ride on all those double decker buses, all because there was no driver on the top.
Innocence is drowned in anarchy. The best lack conviction given time to think, and the worst are full of passion without mercy.
Elusive dreams and vague desires fanned to fiery needs by deadly deeds of falling empires.
We’re captive on the carousel of time, we can’t return we can only look behind.
The Hollywood sirens are shrieking, while down some search lit alley runs some lost belief.
Woke up, it was a Chelsea morning, and the first thing that I knew there was milk and toast and honey and a bowl of oranges, too.
Bows and flows of angel hair and ice cream castles in the air and feather canyons everywhere, I’ve looked at clouds that way.
Everybody’s saying hell’s the hippest way to go. Well, I don’t think so, but I’m gonna take a look around it though.
Because Elvis gave ’em cars, you think I’m cheap.
Acid, booze, and ass, needles, guns, and grass, lots of laughs.
He’s swept with the broom of contempt and the rooms have an empty ring.