Nothing To Get Hung About – A Dream

It is dark, yet I see the physical world as a collection of possible thoughts and ideas. For them to become real, I need to pinpoint them with a red laser dot that seems to emanate from what may be my third eye. I am getting used to moving this red dot across different physical objects. When I blink, the image in my mind switches to some aspect of the Beatles. This time it is the word Yesterday, and the song begins to play. The vision holds until I blink again and find myself back where I started.

I focus on another object. These objects seem solid yet fleeting, and I’m not sure the red dot itself is stable. I blink, and the album cover of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band appears. I keep my eyes open long enough to detect movement among the figures on the cover. Some of the heads seem to be whispering to one another. I blink inadvertently, and once again I’m back where I started.

None of this makes sense. I wonder what the Beatles have to do with the material world where I believe I am grounded. Or perhaps I’m not grounded at all, and both worlds are being manufactured entirely in my mind. The mystery frustrates me—until I wake up and write: 

You can think anything with your imagination—that’s a wonderful right. But there’s an inherent danger in mistaking what you think for what is true.

REFLECTION:

The dream shows how powerful imagination can be—and why that power needs to be handled carefully. In the dream, attention works like a laser pointer: whatever it focuses on turns into a whole experience. But none of these experiences last. Every time I blink, one world disappears and another takes its place. This shows how easy it is for the mind to create something that feels real even if it isn’t stable or true.

The Beatles appear, I think, because I’ve just finished reading John & Paul – A Love Story in Songs by Ian Leslie. It’s a reminder that the mind uses familiar and emotionally strong images when it builds meaning. Songs and album covers already carry memories and feelings, so they seem important right away. The whispering figures suggest thoughts talking to each other—ideas piling up without being checked against reality. The dream becomes frustrating to me when I realize that both the “real” world and the imagined one might be coming from the same place: the mind. My quote at the end, that appeared from my unconscious when I awoke, sums up the essence of the dream. Imagination is a wonderful freedom, but the danger is believing that just because something feels real in your mind, it must be true in the world.

In my dream, the Beatles songs and album covers feel completely real—I see them, hear them, and even notice the characters moving and whispering. That experience is real because it’s happening to me in the dream. But it isn’t true in the outside world—the Beatles aren’t actually appearing in the room, and a red laser isn’t really controlling reality. This dream shows how something can feel vivid and convincing while still being created by the mind. That’s the difference: the experience is real, but the idea that it represents what’s actually happening is not true.

December 29, 2025 – Those We Lost in 2025

As the year comes to a close, we take a moment to remember some of the musicians we lost in 2025—artists whose voices and instruments shaped the music we carry with us, often without realizing how deeply they’d settled in.

There were so many losses this year that I could have easily put together more than one show. The music you’ll hear tonight is a culling—not by importance or influence, but by resonance. These are the songs that stayed with me, the ones that surfaced when I sat quietly and listened back.

Today’s show isn’t meant to be comprehensive. It’s personal. This is dedicated to all the people we’ve lost in 2025.

We’re living through a time in this country marked by noise, confusion, and a kind of willful ignorance and cruelty that makes everything feel louder and harder than it needs to be. The challenges are real. The suffering is real. And some days it feels like we’re drifting further from one another instead of closer.

In moments like this, music doesn’t fix anything—but it reminds us that care, imagination, and human connection have always existed alongside the madness. These songs carry evidence of that.

The show ends with Brian Wilson performing “Love and Mercy.” As 2026 approaches I believe that choosing to practice love and mercy in the new year is a rational response to a complex, wounded world, because they reduce conflict, preserve human dignity, and create the conditions in which real understanding and change can still occur.

Happy New Year my friends.

Dave

December 8, 2025 -Greenwich Village Folk Scene – 1960’s – Part 1

Dear Friends,

A couple of weeks ago, I had the privilege of visiting my dear friend John Abramson in Boston to collaborate on a show. John and I had been friends for over fifty years, sharing countless moments and, always, a deep love of music. Growing up in Forest Hills, Queens gave John a direct line to both the Doo Wop tradition and the folk music of Greenwich Village in the 1960s, and he spent much of our friendship turning me on to both genres. His knowledge was encyclopedic, his passion endless. This show grew out of that collaboration.

Just a few days after we recorded it, John was hospitalized, gravely ill. He returned home on Friday to be with his wife and passed away on Saturday night. This show is dedicated to John— to our friendship, to our shared passion for all kinds of music, and to the love I carry for him.

Thanks for listening,

Dave

Snakebit

It was the night after Depth Charge Challenge—
left him on his knees,
riding the porcelain chariot,
begging for mercy.
Tonight he was taking it easy.

His crew was copacetic—
Mingo’s facial wounds,
another casualty of the Challenge,
were healing fine,
superficial, leaving no scars.
And Toons was stringing together
three weeks of medicated calm,
staying straight
with Diet Pepsi and maraschino cherries,
working the Karaoke machine
like a gearhead in overdrive.
That gave Benny the freedom
to shift his attention to Savannah.

Available again,
and sadly celibate,
Benny had a crush brewing
on the new waitress at the Mumbling Walrus.

He’d never known a Southern gal—
that’s how she described herself—
and was captivated by Savannah:
the slow syrup of her Georgia roots,
the country twang in her hello,
the way she put herself together—
just enough makeup to suggest
she was from somewhere else—
red cowboy boots with tooled eagle wings,
a perky denim blouse, a pleated skirt
that skimmed her dimpled, almost-zaftig knees,
the tattooed snake coiled
around her inoculation scar,
her proper manners and flirtatious ways.
Damn, what’s not to like?

Savannah made Benny feel
like he was the most important guy at the bar,
that his order carried
the weight of global significance.

Benny was smitten.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her—
tracked her as she waited tables,
taking trips to the sandbox
(her word for the ladies’ room),

Benny was smitten.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her—
tracked her as she waited tables,
taking trips to the sandbox
(her word for the ladies’ room),
while he rehearsed the courage to say anything
besides Pabst Blue Ribbon.

When he lost sight of her,
he drank faster—
hoping she’d circle back,
talk sweet, and bring him
another beer.

It never crossed Benny’s mind
that her warmth was the job,
not the girl,
that she was working for tips.

But Toons knew—
hell, everybody in the place knew—
and feeling sorry for his buddy,
he climbed on stage
to make a point,
dedicating the next song to Benny.

He shook that wild red mane,
face twisted in the blues
of unrequited love,
and spat out the lyrics:

Oh what’s love got to do, got to do with it
What’s love but a second-hand emotion
What’s love got to do, got to do with it
Who needs a heart
When a heart can be broken.

The chorus hit again,
and Benny felt his name inside the words.
He knew then he was snakebit—
made a hasty exit,
leaving a handful of crumpled bills
on the table.

Out in the parking lot,
he could still hear Toons
howling through the chorus—
a voice cracked but faithful
to the last note.

Benny stood under the buzzing light,
a gentle shower blurring the neon sign,
thinking maybe love
was just another song
someone else had to sing.

Quebec City, Canada

November 3, 2025 – Piano Circus

You can also stream this show anytime at:

Dear Friends,

This week  Next To Silence enters the mesmerizing world of Piano Circus — six pianists seated around a circle of grand pianos, where rhythm becomes landscape, repetition turns to revelation, and minimalism meets maximal energy.

Piano Circus was founded in 1989 by six British pianists — Chris Fitkin, Timothy Seddon, Max Richter, John Metcalfe, Kate Halsall, and Joby Talbot — who came together to perform Steve Reich’s Six Pianos. The group emerged from London’s vibrant contemporary music scene, blending classical discipline with minimalist experimentation, and quickly became known for their daring six-piano arrangements and collaborations with composers across the UK, Europe, and the US.

Playlist for the week of November 3, 2025:

00:00:00  Chris Fitkin; Piano Circus — Sextet

00:09::48 Steve Reich; Piano Circus — Six Pianos

00:34:29 Kevin Volans; Piano Circus — Kneeling Dance

00:43:03 Timothy Paul Seddon; Piano Circus — 16

00:47:43 Robert Moran; Piano Circus — Three Dances: Lithuanian Spin

00:53:18 Graham Fitkin; Piano Circus — Log

01:13:28 Terry Riley; Piano Circus — In C

Next To Silence streams live at:

1700AM and on the web at PeaksIslandRadio.com

On:

Mondays Fridays @7:00PM

Tuesdays @Noon

You can stream past shows at any time.

Go to PeaksIslandRadio.com

Click on Schedule. Open NEXT TO SILENCE

And you will find a treasure trove of great music.

As always, any suggestions are welcome.

Thanks for listening,

Dave