I'm burnt well out. I'm writing the great american novel. I'm a singer in the band. I'm trying to do everything. I can't. Every moment of my waking time could be spent doing what I would call work. I've been sleeping little and seeing the world through lover's eyes, fresh and confused.
This article is awesome. Too bad it's from the W$J. Oh well!
Much in the way Elvis fans travel to Graceland, Mr. Gould's admirers make pilgrimages to Ottawa from as far away as Japan to commune with the Gould artifacts on public display, which include his Steinway piano and the battered wooden chair he used instead of a piano stool for all his concerts and recording sessions. "People cry when they see the piano," says Richard Green, interim director of the music section at the Library and Archives. "They love to touch it." Aficionados also visit Toronto to see the red-brick house where the pianist lived as a child and to eat the Hungarian soup he favored at a diner called Fran's.
