We’re now 40 days away from release of The Seventh Echo.
Starting Friday, I’ll be sharing a daily “Echo”—a brief photo/meme/glimpse into the world of The Seventh Echo. Some Echoes will feature intriguing lines from the novel. Others will offer quick behind-the-scenes stories, character insights, artwork, or little clues about what’s waiting inside the pages. I promise, no spoilers.
Follow along each day on my social media accounts as we count down to release day.
Upcoming Book Signing Events
I’m so happy to announce the first two book signing events for The Seventh Echo. I hope you plan on coming out and celebrating the new book with me!
Saturday, August 29 from 1-3 p.m. The Doylestown Bookshop – Local Author Expo Doylestown, Pennsylvania
Saturday, September 5 from 1-4 p.m. Barnes & Noble Book Signing Event Easton, Pennsylvania
I’ll be signing copies of the new novel, giving away a few fun extras exclusive to the signings, and everyone who attends will have the chance to add their signature to a giant The Seventh Echo cover poster.
If you’re looking for a slow-burn suspense novel that pulls you in and refuses to let go, The Seventh Echo is for you.
And if you’re excited about the book, one of the biggest (and easiest) ways you can help me spread the word is by sharing this post with friends and fellow readers.
Thank you so much for all of your support. I can’t wait for you to experience The Seventh Echo.
When I sat down to interview Mike Score of A Flock of Seagulls recently, I knew I was talking with one of the defining voices of the MTV generation. What I didn’t realize until afterward was that our conversation marked a personal writing milestone: my 100th interview for The Morning Call.
It’s a number I’m incredibly proud of—not because of the total itself, but because of everything those one hundred conversations represent.
As someone who grew up obsessed with music, I never imagined I’d someday have the opportunity to speak directly with the artists whose songs helped shape different chapters of my life. What began as an occasional assignment gradually became one of the most rewarding parts of my career as a journalist.
Over the years, those interviews have taken me across nearly every musical landscape imaginable. I’ve spoken with Rock and Roll Hall of Famers, Grammy Award winners, legendary singer-songwriters, virtuoso musicians, comedians, rising stars, and artists performing in intimate clubs as well as sold-out arenas. Every conversation has offered a different perspective—not just on music, but on creativity, perseverance, and the lives lived behind the spotlight.
One of the greatest surprises has been discovering how remarkably generous musicians are with their time and stories. Behind every platinum record or iconic hit song is a person who still remembers the uncertainty of getting started, the excitement of writing that breakthrough song, or the challenges of staying creative decades into a career.
Those are the stories I’ve always tried to tell.
Rather than simply asking about tour dates or new albums, I’ve enjoyed exploring the experiences that shaped the artists themselves. Sometimes that means discussing songwriting. Other times it leads to conversations about family, loss, inspiration, mental health, aging, or the changing music industry. Those unscripted moments often become the most memorable parts of an interview.
Reaching interview #100 with Mike Score feels especially fitting. A Flock of Seagulls helped define an era of music that still resonates with fans today, and speaking with Score reminded me why these conversations continue to matter. Music connects generations. Long after the charts have changed, the songs remain part of people’s lives.
Looking back, I’m grateful to The Morning Call for trusting me with these stories and allowing me the opportunity to meet so many fascinating people along the way. I’m equally thankful to the publicists, managers, record labels, venues, and artists who made each interview possible.
Most importantly, I’m grateful to the readers.
Whether you’ve read one interview or all one hundred, your enthusiasm for live music and the artists behind it has made this journey worthwhile. Every time someone tells me they discovered a new performer because of one of my stories, or attended a concert after reading an interview, I’m reminded why I continue doing this.
One hundred interviews may sound like a finish line, but it doesn’t feel that way.
It feels like another milestone in an ongoing conversation. There are still countless artists with stories waiting to be told, albums waiting to be discussed, and concerts waiting to be experienced. If these first one hundred interviews have taught me anything, it’s that every musician has a unique journey worth sharing.
Here’s to interview #101 —and whatever comes after that.
Thanks for reading, and thanks for coming along for the ride.
Few bands are as instantly recognizable as A Flock of Seagulls. From the futuristic hairstyles and fashion to timeless hits like “I Ran (So Far Away)” and “Space Age Love Song,” the Liverpool-born group became one of the defining acts of the MTV era.
More than four decades later, frontman Mike Score is still performing, writing new music and introducing audiences to songs that extend far beyond the band’s familiar catalog.
As A Flock of Seagulls prepares to return to the Sherman Theater in Stroudsburg Saturday as part of the “I Love the ’80s” tour, Score continues to look forward rather than back — a fitting approach for a musician whose career was built on imagining the future.
In my new interview, Score discusses the enduring appeal of ’80s music, the band’s rise to fame, and why he believes there’s still plenty of new music left to make.
Q: What can fans expect from your upcoming performance?
A: Of course, we’ll play the songs people know from the ’80s, but we’ll also play a few songs from our last album and some songs from different periods of the band’s history. As the show builds, fans start hearing more songs they know, and then at the end we do the big hits. Everyone goes away smiling.
Q: What do you think makes the music of the 1980s so timeless?
A: I think people were generally having a good time in the ’80s. It was a really exciting period because the kids had something that belonged to them. They had the music, the fashion, the hairstyles. I loved seeing kids come to shows with their hair styled like mine. Before that, you could grow your hair long, but you couldn’t really be “Seagulls stylish.” When we started out we decided we were going to be futuristic. We were going to wear the silver suits and do crazy things. When we got to America, the kids understood it immediately and wanted to be part of it.
Read the rest of my Morning Call interview with Mike Score by Clicking Here!
Dan Mercer has spent thirty years rebuilding broken places. As Director of Acquisitions and Development for a major logistics firm, he’s transformed abandoned factories, empty lots, and forgotten industrial sites into thriving developments. With retirement finally within reach, the redevelopment of the long-abandoned Iron Forge property should be one last routine project before he walks away for good.
Instead, it becomes a nightmare.
When Dan returns to the town he left behind decades ago, he finds himself drawn into a mystery surrounding the abandoned industrial site that once defined the community. Strange events begin to follow him. Official explanations stop making sense. And a seven-year-old boy starts appearing wherever the project takes him.
Watching. Waiting. Issuing warnings no one else can hear. The child bears an impossible resemblance to Dan himself.
At first, Dan dismisses the boy as a stress-induced hallucination brought on by work pressures, pending retirement, and the lingering scars of a painful divorce. But when the child begins revealing details no stranger could possibly know, Dan is forced to confront questions about the past he has spent a lifetime avoiding.
As construction plans move forward and long-buried truths begin to surface, Dan finds himself caught between powerful interests determined to keep the past hidden and a growing sense that something beneath Iron Forge refuses to stay buried. With time running out, he must uncover the truth before it disappears forever.
Part environmental thriller, part supernatural mystery, and part exploration of memory, guilt, and redemption, The Seventh Echo is a haunting suspense novel about the secrets we bury-and the echoes they leave behind.
Check out the official book trailer:
Book Signing Event!
Philadelphia area: I’ll be at the Doylestown Bookshop in Doylestown, PA on Saturday August 29th from 1-3 p.m. as part of a Local Author Expo. I’ll have copies of both “The Seventh Echo” and “Beyond What We Know” available. Each book comes with a custom bookmark and stickers. Plus, you’ll also have an opportunity to sign a huge poster of “The Seventh Echo.”
More information on events coming soon as well as the release of the E-book version of “The Seventh Echo.”
It’s coming! My brand new 360-page novel, “The Seventh Echo,” arrives later this summer. I’m so excited to unveil the first trailer for the new book.
Here is the synopsis:
“Some Truths Refuse To Stay Buried”
When Dan Mercer is assigned to oversee the redevelopment of the long-abandoned Iron Forge industrial site, it should be a routine final project. But beneath the surface, something is dreadfully wrong.
Toxic chemicals lie within the soil—unreported, spreading and dangerously unstable. The official records say the land is safe. Reality tells a different story.
And then there’s the boy. Seven years old. Watching from a distance no one else can see, who issues a dire warning:
You’re going to wake it up!
As Dan digs deeper into the contamination—and the corporate effort to conceal it—the past begins to resurface. A memory buried so deeply it was never meant to be found.
With construction set to begin and powerful forces closing in, Dan must uncover the truth before it’s sealed beneath concrete forever.
Part environmental thriller, part supernatural mystery, and part exploration of memory, guilt, and redemption, The Seventh Echo is a haunting suspense novel about the secrets we bury—and the echoes they leave behind.
Advance Reader Praise for “The Seventh Echo”:
“James Wood delivers a slow-burning suspense novel that quietly gets under your skin before tightening its grip. The ending is one you’ll be thinking about long after you close the book.”
“A genuine page-turner.”
“A chilling journey into supernatural suspense that builds patiently toward an unforgettable finale.”
Watch for more updates soon, including the official release date, pre-order and book signing events.
Jupiter Jetson never expected to become one of the most recognizable labor advocates in the adult industry. Known for her beauty and work as a legal sex worker at one of Nevada’s famous brothels, Jetson recently found herself thrust into the national spotlight after helping organize what supporters describe as the first successful brothel-worker unionization effort in U.S. history.
The movement began late last year, after workers at Sheri’s Ranch were presented with new contracts that, according to Jetson, sought sweeping control over performers’ names, images, likenesses, and intellectual property in perpetuity. What started as concerns over contract language quickly evolved into a broader conversation about labor rights, worker protections, and the growing role of artificial intelligence in creative industries.
Now serving as Chief Steward of United Brothel Workers, Jetson has become one of the leading voices in a labor dispute that extends far beyond Nevada’s brothel industry.
In our new interview, she discusses the origins of the union effort, the challenges workers have faced, and why she believes the fight has implications for workers across countless professions.
How did this unionization effort begin?
Jupiter Jetson: There was a very specific ignition point. In December of 2025 management at Sheri’s Ranch introduced new contracts with the expectation that we’d receive them when we arrived and sign them immediately. We weren’t even given advance copies.
Thankfully, I had a friend working that week who sent me photos of the contract. When I reviewed it, I was shocked. Within the first few pages, the contract claimed ownership of our name, image, likeness, durable power of attorney, and intellectual property—past, present, and future.
I immediately sent it to an attorney, who confirmed that I was reading it correctly. In some ways, they told me it was even worse than I realized.
What happened after that?
Jupiter Jetson: We had a small Discord group where workers mostly shared practical things—rides to the airport, lost phone chargers, things like that. I posted the contract and my attorney’s analysis. Almost immediately, everyone started contacting other workers. Within days, nearly every working woman at the ranch had joined the discussion. We first tried addressing management directly through emails and requests for clarification but got little to no response. Eventually, we sought legal assistance and were connected with organizers from the Communications Workers of America.
They looked at our situation and told us something important: if we weren’t truly being treated as independent contractors, then we had the right to organize as employees. Within 24 hours, we had a simple majority of workers signing union authorization cards. Within 48 hours, we had a supermajority.
You were subsequently fired. Do you believe it was connected to the organizing effort?
Jupiter Jetson: Absolutely. I had no disciplinary record. In fact, the last time I had worked there, management had asked me to pose on behalf of the ranch for Esquire. Then, shortly after helping collect union authorization cards I was terminated. Several other women involved in the organizing effort were also fired. At this point, roughly ten percent of the workforce has been terminated.
Many people might assume this dispute centers solely on the nature of sex work itself. But that isn’t really the case, is it?
Jupiter Jetson: Not at all. The issue that galvanized everyone was intellectual property and ownership rights. People hear “brothel union” and assume we’re talking about sexual services or negotiating activities. The reality is that this started because workers wanted to maintain ownership of their names, likenesses, creative work, and future careers. The AI component is especially important. Under the contract language, workers could potentially be duplicated in media they never consented to. That’s a concern that extends far beyond our industry.
So this stretches far beyond being a courtesan?
Jupiter Jetson:Exactly. This is a worker issue. We’re seeing companies attempt to claim ownership over people’s identities, creativity, and labor in ways that would have been unimaginable a decade ago. That’s why I think this story has resonated outside our industry. Historically, sex workers often become the test case for larger social and labor issues. I’m hopeful that if we succeed, it can create momentum for workers in many other fields.
What has this experience been like for you personally?
Jupiter Jetson: Surreal. I’ve always believed in labor rights and worker solidarity, but actually finding myself in this position is something entirely different. Sometimes I still can’t believe we did this. I’ll see someone I’ve never met carrying a United Brothel Workers mug, and it hits me all over again. It’s exciting and emotional. It’s also deeply humbling.
The funniest part is that I now have a Wikipedia page, and somehow I’m becoming known more for labor rights advocacy than anything else I’ve done in my career. I never would have predicted that.
Looking ahead, what comes next?
Jupiter Jetson: First and foremost, I’m always going to be a harlot but beyond that I’m continuing this fight. We’ve been told there’s a strong possibility I could eventually be reinstated to my position, and if that happens, I absolutely intend to return to the Ranch.
I’m also continuing to write. I’ve been working on a book for some time, and this entire experience has given the project a completely new dimension. It was originally intended to be part memoir and part guide based on my experiences in the industry. Now it also includes this labor movement and everything that’s happened over the past several months.
Before we wrap up, I want to bring up something you told me during our first interview several years ago about your life, because it seems incredibly relevant. At the time, I asked you what the biggest lesson you had learned about yourself, and your answer was: “The biggest thing I’ve learned that carries across all industries is the importance of knowing your worth.”
Jupiter Jetson: That’s incredible! It’s basically a union slogan. The awareness we’ve raised has already made a difference. I’ve heard from workers in other parts of the industry who are now having conversations about organizing and advocating for themselves. That alone makes this worth it.
What’s funny is people keep telling me that this whole movement fits perfectly with who I’ve always been. I still find it surprising, but maybe they’re right. Even if the outcome remains uncertain, the conversations are already happening—and that’s something nobody can take away from us.
To learn more about United Brothel Workers and follow the unionization effort, visit:
I’m writing the date down because it’s one of those moments I don’t want to forget.
I’d spent the entire day working in the yard, doing everything possible to make it look respectable for another week. The truth is, no matter how much you mow, edge, trim, or pull weeds, nature always wins. At best, you earn yourself three or four days before the battle begins again.
As twilight settled over the neighborhood, I pushed my green John Deere mower back into its usual spot in the garage. Grass clippings that had clung stubbornly to the underside all afternoon now dropped onto the concrete floor in soft green clumps.
Normally, I would have swept them up, but not tonight. I was tired, sore, and in no mood for one more chore. The clippings could wait until morning.
Despite the exhaustion, there was a deep satisfaction that came from the day’s labor. The scent of cut grass, gasoline, and sweat lingered in the warm air—a mixture that always smelled like accomplishment.
I went inside, grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, and stepped onto the patio to admire my handiwork.
The first swallow washed away some of the day’s fatigue. Tomorrow would bring sore muscles and a touch too much sun, but that was tomorrow’s problem. For now, all I wanted was a quiet evening, a warm breeze, and the simple pleasure of sitting still.
That’s when I saw them.
The first lightning bugs of the year.
Some people call them fireflies. Entomologists might know them by their scientific names. Around here, though, they’ve always been lightning bugs.
And in my opinion, they’re the most magical insect on Earth.
There are certain things that announce the changing of the seasons. Falling leaves tell us autumn has arrived. The first snowfall whispers that winter is coming. Crocuses pushing through the soil remind us that spring has returned.
But lightning bugs are different.
The first one of the year feels less like a sign and more like a reunion.
Like seeing an old childhood friend after months of being apart.
A friend arriving with the wonderful news: Summer is finally here.
Long before I became familiar with lawn mowers and property taxes, my summer evenings were spent chasing these tiny lanterns through the dark.
Nothing compared to those summer nights as a child.
We’d spend all day swimming, riding bikes, and running through the neighborhood with our friends. Then, as dusk settled in and the air cooled, we’d race across our backyards to see who could catch the most lightning bugs.
Even now, I can still picture it. Me running barefoot through the grass in a pair of shorts and a tank top. Chlorine drying on my skin after a day at the pool. Honeysuckle drifting through the evening air.
School was still months away, and the first yellow bus of autumn existed somewhere in a distant future that didn’t matter yet.
The world felt endless. The possibilities felt endless. It was freedom in its purest form.
There was always a sense of wonder after catching one.
You’d slowly open your cupped hands and watch the tiny creature blink inside the darkness. Then it would crawl up the tip of your finger, pause for a moment as if gathering itself, and suddenly spread its wings and disappear back into the night.
Sometimes my friends and I would poke air holes into an empty mayonnaise jar and fill the bottom with fresh grass. One by one, we’d place our glowing treasures inside until the jar shimmered like a tiny lantern.
We’d carry it proudly through the yard as if we were explorers setting out on some great adventure.
Of course, we never kept them long. Once they grew sluggish from captivity, we’d unscrew the lid and release them back into the summer darkness, where they belonged.
But the best part of all came during what I called the magic hour. Usually around nine o’clock.
The sky would be nearly black by then, and the yard would erupt into a dazzling storm of flashing lights. Hundreds of tiny beacons drifted through the darkness, blinking in silent rhythm.
And then you’d spot him.
Granddaddy.
At least that’s what I called him.
He always seemed brighter than the others. Bigger, too.
Granddaddy was the undisputed king of lightning bugs, and catching him was nearly impossible.
Every time you got close, he’d rise just out of reach.
If you stretched your arm higher, he’d drift a little farther upward.
If you crept toward him quietly, he’d somehow know.
Looking back, I’m convinced he understood exactly how tall his pursuers were.
“This kid is four-foot-eight,” he seemed to say. “I’d better hover at six-foot-five.”
But on those rare occasions when someone actually managed to catch Granddaddy, there was no question who had won the evening.
For a few glorious minutes, they were the champion of summer.
Back in 2026, I finished my beer and looked across the yard. The flashes were multiplying now.
Dozens. Then hundreds. The same living constellation I remembered from childhood.
For a moment, fifty years disappeared.
I wasn’t thinking about work. I wasn’t thinking about mowing the lawn. I wasn’t thinking about responsibilities, bills, deadlines, or anything else adulthood had placed on my shoulders.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him.
Granddaddy.
Hovering just above my head.
Without thinking, I stood and reached for him. He responded exactly as I remembered.
The moment my hand moved, he rose higher into the air, stopping just beyond my grasp.
Some things, apparently, never change.
I sat back down and laughed.
The lightning bugs continued their dance across the yard while memories of those carefree summer nights drifted through my mind.
And I found myself wondering how anyone could choose to spend an evening staring at a television or a phone screen during a time like this.
Especially when there is so much magic waiting in our own backyards.
What follows is a new short story. Would love to hear your comments.
Not Ready
It was a dark, overcast afternoon in mid-July when I pulled into the small parking lot.
Much like my mood, the sky had been sulking all morning. Heavy gray clouds hung low overhead, threatening rain for hours before finally giving in with scattered showers and distant rolls of thunder.
Another burst had just passed as I shifted into park and killed the engine.
For a moment, I sat there in silence, watching the last thin streams of water slide down the windshield. Tiny rivulets merged together, slipping past the resting wiper blades.
I watched them disappear into the growing puddles below and wondered what it might be like to simply let go.
I glanced up at the sign mounted on the building’s façade.
Yes. This was the place.
The structure sat on the far side of town, an anonymous block of concrete that looked like it might once have been a small warehouse. Most people would drive right past it without giving it a second thought. But I knew what it was.
Or more accurately, I knew what waited inside.
That knowledge settled over me like a weight.
I had already promised myself I wasn’t buying anything today. I was only here to browse. Maybe ask a few questions. Maybe take a brochure home and leave it unopened on the kitchen counter for six months.
The truth is, I could have learned everything online in less than ten minutes, but that wasn’t the point. I needed to stand here. I needed to see it for myself.
Mostly, I needed proof that I could.
A large man stood outside the entrance smoking a cigarette. He looked to be in his mid-sixties, with weathered features and salt-and-pepper hair. A bright yellow construction vest hung loosely from his shoulders.
The rain didn’t seem to bother him.
He drew deeply from the cigarette and exhaled toward the sky, the smoke joining the dark clouds above.
Those things will kill you, I thought.
The irony wasn’t lost on me.
A few moments later, a delivery driver approached carrying a long cardboard box. He handled it carefully, as though dropping it wasn’t an option.
The older man dropped his cigarette, crushed it beneath his boot, and held the door open for him.
The driver smiled.
The older man smiled back.
Then both disappeared inside.
Through the glass, I caught a glimpse of wooden stocks hanging on a wall before the door swung shut again.
I sat there for several minutes after that, replaying the simple exchange.
It felt like I was stalling. Maybe I was.
My thoughts drifted to the cemetery a few blocks away.
My grandfather is buried there. It struck me that nearly forty years had passed since they lowered him into the ground.
I remembered the old .22 rifle he kept locked in the hall closet. He’d taught me how to handle it when I was twelve.
“Always respect what it can do,” he’d told me.
Back then, I thought he was talking about the rifle.
“Where does the time go?” I whispered aloud.
Rain tapped softly against the roof.
I thought about my grandfather resting nearby in a place where pain no longer touched him. A place where he could no longer speak, yet somehow always seemed capable of listening.
I remembered something I’d read years ago in high school—a story, maybe a poem. I couldn’t recall the details. Only the image of a smile slowly leaving someone’s eyes.
The memory brushed against me like a cold hand. My heart skipped.
Outside, the rain began falling harder.
I looked up at the sign again through the distorted curtain of water.
The answer came immediately. Not today.
My hand moved almost on its own, turning the key in the ignition. Smooth jazz filled the cabin.
The windshield wipers sprang to life, sweeping away the rain with steady determination. They were doing exactly what they had been designed to do.
Me? I wasn’t so sure.
I shifted into drive and pulled out of the lot.
I didn’t look back. Instead, I took the long way home, following the road that passed the cemetery.
I didn’t stop. I simply glanced toward the section where my grandfather’s headstone stood.
The weather wasn’t right for a visit, but that didn’t matter. This wasn’t about saying hello. It was about hearing one last piece of advice.
And somehow, from a place beyond words, I felt like he understood.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel and continued driving.
With a career that spans more than five decades, Kansas has secured its place as one of the most enduring and influential acts in American rock history.
Since their formation as a garage band in Topeka in the early 1970s, Kansas has sold more than 30 million albums worldwide and produced a catalog of songs that remain staples of classic rock radio and pop culture alike. Anthems such as “Carry on Wayward Son,” “Dust in the Wind,” “Fight Fire with Fire” and “Point of Know Return” continue to resonate with generations of fans.
The band’s remarkable documentary, 2015’s “Miracles Out of Nowhere,” chronicles the band’s rise from the Midwest bar circuit to international fame. Even after decades on the road and in the studio, Kansas continues to push forward creatively. Their 2020 studio release, The Absence of Presence, debuted at No. 10 on the Billboard charts, ushering in a new era in the band’s legacy.
On Friday, Kansas returns to the Lehigh Valley for a performance at Wind Creek Event Center in Bethlehem, for a show that promises familiar favorites, deep cuts, and the musical virtuosity that’s defined Kansas for more than half a century.
I recently spoke with Kansas keyboardist Tom Brislin about the band’s return to the region and how the band continues to keep its music alive for longtime fans while inspiring a new generation of listeners.
Q: How did you become a member of Kansas?
A: A few of the members of the band were familiar with me through my work with Yes and a few of the other 70s rock acts I had played with. In 2018 I was working with a group called The Sea Within and we were label mates of Kansas. So it was also our label that brought me to their attention, and when they needed someone they gave me a call.
Q: What was it like for you to be asked to join such a legendary band and did you feel you were ready for such an endeavor?
A: It was really unexpected, as have all the calls I’ve gotten through the year have been. I was fortunate that one of the first big calls I received was from Meat Loaf back when I was 24-years-old. That was the one that really set me on a path of playing big stages. He really took me under his wing and helped me become calibrated to that type of touring and work. I’ve taken my music seriously ever since.
Read the rest of my Morning Call interview with Tom Brislin by Clicking Here.
With a career spanning more than four decades, Jeff Foxworthy has firmly established himself as one of the most recognizable and successful comedians of all time.
The Georgia-born funnyman is the biggest-selling comedy recording artist of all time, a best-selling author and television host, whose easygoing style and sharp observational wit have made him a household name. Offstage, Foxworthy is also an avid outdoorsman who enjoys spending time in nature when he isn’t touring the country making audiences laugh.
Foxworthy first rocketed to fame in the early ’90s with his popular “You might be a redneck if” one-liners — a series of rapid-fire jokes that affectionately poked fun at everyday Southern culture. The bit quickly became a pop-culture phenomenon, spawning bestselling comedy albums, books and calendars. Now, Foxworthy is bringing his familiar down-to-earth humor back to the stand-up stage when he returns to the historic State Theatre in Easton on Thursday.
Ahead of his upcoming performance, I spoke with Jeff Foxworthy about the enduring popularity of his comedy, memorable moments and why audiences continue to connect with humor that finds the funny in ordinary life.
Q: How would you describe your style? Is there a way you can put into words what your comedy is all about?
A: Like most comics, when I started out I remember looking at billboards or watching commercials and thinking, “What can I talk about?” I learned early on that there’s a commonality we as human beings have where we’re all doing the same goofy stuff in life. I always trusted that. I’ve been doing this for 42 years but if you go back in time the first material I did was about dating, then it was about being a newlywed, then about having kids, then having teenagers. If you go listen to an old CD or watch a special I did, it’s almost like a snapshot of what was going on in my life that year. I can’t imagine doing anything else. I’m still fascinated by it after 42 years.
Q: What are fans in store for during your State Theatre performance?
A: It’s a new season of life for me. You always hear comedians talk about the bad parts about getting older. I thought I’m going to approach it different and talk about all of the great things about getting older. It’s a fun template to turn upside down. As you get older you don’t have to worry about the cops showing up if you’re having a party. If there’s flashing lights in my driveway it’s usually an ambulance telling you not to play Twister with people in their 80s [laughs].
You can read the rest of my Morning Call interview by Clicking Here.
go.Jimmy.go 