I hate Stanley Clark, but I have to admit he's playing Jazz whether I like it or not.

All blues singers are great liars.

Sometimes I think nothing is simple but the feeling of pain.

Or like in the early 70's when we had the reaction against acid rock and all the fuzz tone, and feedback, and the noise. And you had James Taylor and everyone went acoustic and that.

I'll probably never produce a masterpiece, but so what? I feel I have a Sound aborning, which is my own, and that Sound if erratic is still my greatest pride, because I would rather write like a dancer shaking my ass to boogaloo inside my head, and perhaps reach only readers who like to use books to shake their asses, than to be or write for the man cloistered in a closet somewhere reading Aeschylus while this stupefying world careens crazily past his waxy windows toward its last raving sooty feedback pirouette.

The ultimate sin of any performer is contempt for the audience.

Music, you know, true music not just rock 'n' roll, chooses you.