One night only…

Please note that this post will remain at the top of my blog until the show. Scroll down for more recent posts.

For one night only – Sunday, September 22 – you (yes, you) can experience a show that is a little different from other shows you’ve seen. I hope you will come to the Kraine Theater at 85 East 4th Street in Manhattan and witness Mr. Mike’s Mostly Musical Mashup.

Get your tickets here.

I will be performing original songs written from the 1980s to this year, including ones originally recorded with Late Model Humans, and performed at CBGBs, the Bitter End, and Kenny’s Castaways. In addition to the songs there will be instrumental pieces, original poetry, visual art, and a few surprises.

I hope you can join me on September 22, as we find out together just what Mr. Mike’s Mostly Musical Mashup is all about.

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The Mr. Mike VIP Experience

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Do you think you are a Very Important Person? If you have enough disposable income, we’ll pretend to think so too!

For a limited time, we here at Mr. Mike’s Mostly Musical Mashup are offering a rare glimpse behind the scenes of a real live rock show.

For the insane price of $998.97, you get:

  • Meet & greet with Mr. Mike himself, or an incredibly life-like cardboard cut-out, or a green screen where we can superimpose his image.

  • Individual photo opportunity with Mr. Mike. We guarantee that his hands will be kept in view of cameras at all times, with none of the grabbing and groping you get at many of these events. You may feel free to grab and grope Mr. Mike. He enjoys that kind of thing.

  • Mr. Mike will sign any piece of memorabilia you bring, from CDs to Mike Power Atomic Man action figures. Please do not ask him to sign any body parts. We are still in litigation over the last Meet & Greet.

  • Commemorative VIP doohickey of some sort. We are still working on this part.

Get your tickets here

Enter the code MRMIKEVIP when ordering your tickets to take advantage of this once-or-twice-or-however-many-times-we-can-get-away-with-in-a-lifetime offer.

See you at the show!

DISCLAIMER: Anyone attempting to enter a code, redeem a golden ticket, or wander backstage at any time before, during, or after the show, will be handed over to the proper authorities for psychological evaluation.

The Way I Came In

I’m going out the way I came in:
Naked, bald, and screaming

I will sink like everyone else
Into the quicksand of lost dreams
And fading, faulty memories

I’m going down the way I came up
With the weight of the world pushing in
Pushing me, always, forward
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Lucky Man

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Illustration by Michele Marconi

 

Are you what is called a lucky man? Well, you are sad every day. Each day has its great grief or its little care. Yesterday you were trembling for the health of one who is dear to you, today you fear for your own; tomorrow it will be an anxiety about money, the next day the slanders of a calumniator, the day after the misfortune of a friend; then the weather, then something broken or lost, then a pleasure for which you are reproached by your conscience or your vertebral column; another time, the course of public affairs. Not to mention heartaches. And so on. One cloud is dissipated, another gathers. Hardly one day in a hundred of unbroken joy and sunshine. And you are of that small number who are lucky! As for other men, stagnant night is upon them.  

Victor Hugo

He had white horses
And ladies by the score
All dressed in satin
And waiting by the door

What a lucky man he was

White lace and feathers
They made up his bed
A gold covered mattress
On which he was laid

What a lucky man he was

He went to fight wars
For his country and his king
Of his honor and his glory
The people would sing

What a lucky man he was

A bullet had found him
His blood ran as he cried
No money could save him
So he laid down and he died

What a lucky man he was

The Path

There is a path inside my heart
that leads to you
A path of sand for naked feet
to sink into

I walk the path while the sun comes
Out of the sea
And follow footprints that can only
Come from you

I walk the path on a cold night
without a star
I reach into the emptiness
and touch you there

A soft wind blows the sand around
and hides our tracks
So no one knows that we were here,
just you and me
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This Foreign Land

This foreign land I once called home is
calling me back again
now that the hours have rolled around and
the hands on the clock point back to the start

I hear the old language,
cracked in some places, broken in others,
but familiar enough to be recognized
still telling the old stories
and laughing at the old jokes
Still singing the lyrics of a melody I
thought I had lost forever, saying

Welcome home
my son and my daughter
old man and pet
make yourself comfortable
Welcome home

chair

This Night

This night

That is so much like all the others except
For the way the wind whispers
And the way the trees tell
All the stories that they have been hiding
And the secrets that slipped through their snares

This night
That is not like the others at all
Because nothing is standing between us
No secrets or lies
No breath and no touch
No word and no person
No time

This night