Static From My Attic

The Light That Flailed

In the March issue of The Syncopated Times I devoted a portion of this space to discussing the immediate delight I experienced on installing a

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This Is All on Me

This is my Eighth Anniversary Issue of The Syncopated Times, and I suppose I should be eating cake or something. I find myself preoccupied with

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Truce or Consequences

It’s never not a chaotic month. I spent much of November arranging to have this paper mailed from a new post office. The Syracuse newspaper

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Leg Up

I enjoyed an unexpected vacation during the month of August—or I should say I enjoyed those aspects of it that were enjoyable. This brief sabbatical

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Emerging from the Woodshed

We often hear stories of various wunderkinder who, as soon as their pudgy toddler hands become articulated enough to thump keys on a keyboard, play

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How Much Do You Care?

If I’ve learned anything in the almost sixty-one years I’ve been on this planet—and it’s doubtful I have—it’s that I’m destined to be the guy

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Fanfare for the Maladroit

Artificial stupidity will never replace the real thing. This motto, of which I should commission an embroidered sampler, is brought home to me on a

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I am not a Robot 🤖

In the interval between publishing the previous issue and the current one, a little something called ChatGPT has come into being. It bids fair to

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Andy Senior about 1975

Andy Senior, Poet

For this month’s column, I cede the floor to Michael Steinman, who published the following kind commentary about me on his excellent site, jazzlives.wordpress.com. I

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Andy Senior and Russ Tarby

What Do I Owe You?

As I write this month’s column, it’s challenging to find words to express the depth of my gratitude. I am deeply thankful to all those

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Genre Fluid

Have I told you lately that contention makes me tired? Just when I think it’s possible to pause and enjoy a moment of relative serenity,

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Easter Eggs

I was lucky to grow up in a community that was ethnically (if not racially) diverse. Certain nationalities predominated, and in the cul-de-sac where I

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