This album now only is available for download since it is currently "Out Of Print". Written while walking the streets & the parks & the Cemetery of Saint Kilda in Melbourne, Australia this collection of songs took about a month to complete. It was recorded in my tiny bedroom apartment on out dated recording equipment. The total cost of making this album was less than 500 bucks. I mixed it at my friend Rick Lien's studio 13b in Poway, California late one night. My talented friend Heidi Barack painted the cover and did the artwork. I have added a bonus track "Anti War Demonstration Song" that was recorded by Jeff Berkley.
Once again our local Treasure — Master Minstrel of Melancholy,
Bard of Bitter Ballads, and Sultan of Sweet Sadness — gives us some new reasons to kill ourselves. If we’re pathologically impressionable, that is, or maybe a few mountain oysters short of a full scrote. But everyone else is pretty much in for the usual from Mr. Page: gorgeous melodies; superb musicianship, composition, and arrangement; and plenty of those deliciously plaintive contemplations of a narrator who’s had his genius ass kicked by love more times than he should want to waste time trying to remember. And yet, he still comes up for more — not because he’s a masochist but because he wants every bit of contact with Love he can luck into or arrange, since sooner or later Love will get tired and that’s the perfect time to knock some sense into the bitch.
Even the occasional clichéd phrase has been given a nice new set of clothes; the familiar yawning metaphor playfully bounces between several luxurious musical beds, perfect for pleasant dreams.
By now, Page’s lucky listeners have gotten used to his narrator’s pains. Nobody’s likely to abandon this bewildered pilgrim whose possibilities seem endlessly rewarding even as they break your heart.
The hidden audio-bio track was a sweet idea, Gregoire, but your own voice would have been a natural. Yo man, dude.
Music lovers, get this puppy today. Glory be, we hear an angel sing and play; yes, we’ll always believe.
And how! And in sum: another lugubrious stunner from the Maestro.