12.21 — Happy Birthday, Frank

80 candles… (just set the cake on fire at this point).

Oh, Frank, if you could only see us now. I can't imagine how our current age of absurdity could be distilled and articulated: as an expletive-riddled satire, or as depressing instrumental requiem? Either way, we could certainly use your wisdom.

Happy Birthday, Frank.

Letters From A Tapehead


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