I recently paid too much money to be tortured by a woman with four songs and three guitars. Three of the four (songs, that is) were rambling, mediocre trash about the death of her child. I got less sympathetic by the minute. She finished by saying that she had written these and countless others as a personal, private effort to exorcise her grief BUT she had now decided to put out a complete CD of the dirges. A pile of sophomoric, self indulgent trash.

A few weeks later, I was treated to another pile of tripe that a singer at a coffee house had written at the birth of his son. He immediately followed it with another about his daughter's birth and included a tribute to his father in the same song. Wore me out. But given that it was an open mike he had the right to sing whatever he chose. He also had my respect at even attempting to write a song - a skill which evades me.

On the other hand, I have recently discovered (would have known sooner had I read the liner notes) that several songs I thought were traditional had been written by Gordon Bok and Dave Mallet recounting their personal experiences. No doubt, my recent move to the beautiful state of Maine colors my thinking.

And finally (sorry, I am going on) I was privileged to hear Jeri's song written as an exercise for a songwriting workshop. A simple but brilliant account of a long drive alone. No navel gazing; no trite pulls at the heart strings. But when it was over there more than a few "wow"s.