I miss Chris Stroffolino. I miss the turretgun piano, the Costello-y smoker's rasp, the unstanchable mania for all things musical-trivial, and of course, the poetry, which I see less often than I used to.Especially great then to see "Chris Stroffolino" perform at The Waypost in Portland last Tuesday. After a power romp through the Continuous Peasant catalog, he went out to smoke, find youth to jam with over the rest of his stay, and identify an audience worthy to receive arcana like whatever happened to the piano player for The Left Banke? (Turns out he had a minor hit in the '70s with a Hot Chocolate number.)
When the music talk reached Brennpunkt, Chris spied the piano, free at last, and banged out a half-hour sing-along to the remnants of the semi-circle like it was the Royal Albert Hall, if royal halls had sing-alongs. I miss Chris Stroffolino.
4 comments:
But did he monologue? Now, I'm a huge fan of Chris' poetry, and I like his music too, but when he's talking, and then talking some more, wow, he can go amazing places very fast--and even when he goes nowhere it can be stunning. Like a David Antin talk poem on speed.
Hi Mark,
amazing places were got to fast.
i wish he would come to ashland.
That's a great photo of Chris. And it's exactly how I remember him looking as he was pounding away on his keyboard in the room next to mine, years ago, in our apartment on 13th Street in Brooklyn.
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