5 entries.
wrote on July 19, 2025
at
4:43 pm
Jason was my first guitar hero. I met him when I was sixteen on the Lower East Side. I was playing at Folk City and then The Fort - in its many locations - Sophies(?) and hanging out in the park. I was trying to figure out how to play a Zeppelin song and at the time guys didn;t waste time showing girls how to play LZ songs. They said, "Why don't you just sing?" Jason took the time. He actually spent more time than anyone should showing me things on guitar and listening to my guitar dreams and talking music. I ended up with a huge crush on him. Whenever I cam back from traveling, he was one of the first people I wanted to track down. He was the first person I wanted to play new songs for or cassettes of my bands, He was so, so kind to me. I had a huge crush on him and didn't hide it. One night I drunkenly made it awkward. He turned me down by saying, "You're young. Don't worry. When you're 25 all the guys will be after you and you won't have any interest in us," then smiled the way he smiled and walked me home. I mention this to say that he was a true gentleman at a time when I was a true mess of a teenager. I loved that he read my first novel just like I loved when he listened to my cassettes. He was NYC to me. He is still my guitar hero.
wrote on July 2, 2025
at
2:09 am
A Poem for Jason
I thought of you today, and looked you up on the internet.
We were not friends, just acquaintances,
But we had once worked together,
A quarter century before, for a few months on some music.
And thinking today of that music,
I thought of you, and looked you up,
To see what you might be doing now.
And what I found was a notice of a service for you,
You had died, and a memorial was scheduled,
At a garden in the neighborhood where we both had lived.
And though we were not friends,
Your death has struck me deeply.
You were a symbol of a world I once knew,
And once lived in with hope and energy,
Full of plans and projects.
And that is how I had met you,
You worked on one of my projects,
As a recording engineer and guitarist.
And you did a wonderful job,
Your playing sometimes beautiful, sometimes raw,
Always perfectly in tune with the song.
It was an album of my songs we had done,
And you were proud of it, happy with it,
And asked me, when we would meet by chance,
If anything had come of it.
Nothing had, I was never a good salesman for myself.
And that was a disappointment to us both,
But more so you than me I suspected,
Because I never expected anything to come of what I did.
But you had hopes, more hope in me than I had.
And as the years went by, and I ran into you,
I would ask after your young family,
Because you were always happy to speak of it,
But we had stopped speaking of music.
And now you are gone.
And you were a symbol of a world that still existed for me,
That existed within you, embodied in you,
A world I could still return to and be happy in.
For as long as you were still there it was still there.
Now that world is gone, with you,
And that corner of hope, that lived in me because of you,
That has gone too, with your death.
And it has left a great emptiness in me,
A small part of the great emptiness your death has left in the world.
I thought of you today, and looked you up on the internet.
We were not friends, just acquaintances,
But we had once worked together,
A quarter century before, for a few months on some music.
And thinking today of that music,
I thought of you, and looked you up,
To see what you might be doing now.
And what I found was a notice of a service for you,
You had died, and a memorial was scheduled,
At a garden in the neighborhood where we both had lived.
And though we were not friends,
Your death has struck me deeply.
You were a symbol of a world I once knew,
And once lived in with hope and energy,
Full of plans and projects.
And that is how I had met you,
You worked on one of my projects,
As a recording engineer and guitarist.
And you did a wonderful job,
Your playing sometimes beautiful, sometimes raw,
Always perfectly in tune with the song.
It was an album of my songs we had done,
And you were proud of it, happy with it,
And asked me, when we would meet by chance,
If anything had come of it.
Nothing had, I was never a good salesman for myself.
And that was a disappointment to us both,
But more so you than me I suspected,
Because I never expected anything to come of what I did.
But you had hopes, more hope in me than I had.
And as the years went by, and I ran into you,
I would ask after your young family,
Because you were always happy to speak of it,
But we had stopped speaking of music.
And now you are gone.
And you were a symbol of a world that still existed for me,
That existed within you, embodied in you,
A world I could still return to and be happy in.
For as long as you were still there it was still there.
Now that world is gone, with you,
And that corner of hope, that lived in me because of you,
That has gone too, with your death.
And it has left a great emptiness in me,
A small part of the great emptiness your death has left in the world.
wrote on June 29, 2025
at
7:53 pm
Jason travelled to England to give me away at my wedding. I had hired a small (old guy) band to play standards. I really wanted Standards - not Tie a Yellow Ribbon Around the Old Oak Tree. When the band started playing TaYRAtOOT, I stopped them - they started playing worse and worse songs. I finally complained to Jason who picked up his guitar and sorted them out - leading them in the best ska version of “I’m getting married in the morning’ ever played..
wrote on June 26, 2025
at
4:42 am
R.I.P. Jason Goodrow.
I first saw you on the scene at CB's and elsewhere circa 1987 or '88, playing for and filling in with a dizzying array of bands. You'd show up slick, low key and professional. Black dress shirt, black slacks, black shoes polished to a shine. Long chaotic hair with that small weird off center bald spot, omnipresent smile and guitar licks that could sink a battleship. You got along with everyone and you never seemed to stop, and I wanted so much to talk to you, to get to know you, but as soon as you'd finished your set, unless you were playing for multiple bands that night, you packed up your gear and you were OUT.
When Iconicide were slated to play the Tompkins Square Park Mini Riot Anniversary in 2007, a mutual friend I no longer speak to reached out and brought you in. After 20 years I'd known your face but not your name, so when I put 2+2 together boy was I stoked that not only was I in touch with you but you were *in* my band!
That show got rained out but we kept in touch. And you were always there in a pinch, to round out a lineup or save one from falling apart. Once at Otto's half of us were unable to make it, and you jumped right in completely cold. You even played bass for our Hip Hop alter egos Dabumrushkrew in Brownsville once, at a gig that ended up paying $400.
Offstage you were just as solid, and I knew wherever I ran into you I'd never feel like a fish out of water, cause you had lived through and seen everything I had on the L.E.S. and more. Last few times I saw you and we talked up a storm you looked like you had lost weight, and I figured maybe something was up, but I didn't want to pry.
When my drummer Mario died of cancer people said I changed, that I became more quiet. I told them that's cause someone I could talk to about anything had just passed away.
Dammit man, it's happened again.
Rest In Peace.
I first saw you on the scene at CB's and elsewhere circa 1987 or '88, playing for and filling in with a dizzying array of bands. You'd show up slick, low key and professional. Black dress shirt, black slacks, black shoes polished to a shine. Long chaotic hair with that small weird off center bald spot, omnipresent smile and guitar licks that could sink a battleship. You got along with everyone and you never seemed to stop, and I wanted so much to talk to you, to get to know you, but as soon as you'd finished your set, unless you were playing for multiple bands that night, you packed up your gear and you were OUT.
When Iconicide were slated to play the Tompkins Square Park Mini Riot Anniversary in 2007, a mutual friend I no longer speak to reached out and brought you in. After 20 years I'd known your face but not your name, so when I put 2+2 together boy was I stoked that not only was I in touch with you but you were *in* my band!
That show got rained out but we kept in touch. And you were always there in a pinch, to round out a lineup or save one from falling apart. Once at Otto's half of us were unable to make it, and you jumped right in completely cold. You even played bass for our Hip Hop alter egos Dabumrushkrew in Brownsville once, at a gig that ended up paying $400.
Offstage you were just as solid, and I knew wherever I ran into you I'd never feel like a fish out of water, cause you had lived through and seen everything I had on the L.E.S. and more. Last few times I saw you and we talked up a storm you looked like you had lost weight, and I figured maybe something was up, but I didn't want to pry.
When my drummer Mario died of cancer people said I changed, that I became more quiet. I told them that's cause someone I could talk to about anything had just passed away.
Dammit man, it's happened again.
Rest In Peace.
wrote on June 25, 2025
at
7:11 pm
Jason and I were always 'formal' with each-other - probably due to our parents not really 'parenting' us. We used to shake hands and not really look each other in the eye - but always knew we would do anything for each other. When my bicycle was stolen (I was in Jr High and Jason in Berkeley High) Jason returned 2 days later with a black eye and my bike. He never told me what happened.
He will be forever missed.
He will be forever missed.