Don t talk about love

The music of Welshman Martyn Joseph has been on the extreme periphery of my life over the years. Shorn of the studio gloss, these albums are forced to stand or fall on the basis of a powerful Springsteen-like voice, an acoustic guitar, and a batch of heartfelt songs. They succeed stunningly. Consider "The Good In Me Is Dead," written from the viewpoint of a young boy in war-torn Kosovo struggling to find something life-affirming amid the human wreckage. Listen to the litany of lost moments, connections almost made, important words never spoken on "Everything in Heaven," in which Joseph laments, "Everything in heaven comes apart.

It sounds like perhaps I had him tied up in a closet and he escaped… I was 13 he was
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