There's a strange thing about having songwriters as longtime friends. On the one hand there are years when you're mates getting in the same scrapes; they're smoking your weed and you're drinking their riders; you're all fitfully growing up, not yet getting old.
On the other, if they're good, they're creating art that reaches you emotionally, pieces of music that create a meter for your own life. There's actually nothing commensurate you can give back.
I've been thinking about that in a week that has provided two powerful sets of stories: the local premiere of The Chills: The Triumph and…
