I met Boz in London where Glyn Johns was producing Boz’s second album. I remembered Boz tearing at his hair, a man almost finished recording his record, most of the tracks completed, without a single lyric written.
I remember Boz, a great cook, standing over a stove in Pacific Heights, San Francisco, pouring wine into lobster sauce, stirring, tasting. He would soon become the very elegant Boz.
For Boz’s album My Time I attempt to recreate a quality of portraiture common in the 15th century. The portrait I was thinking of – I had an example from the Tate Gallery in London – were head and shoulders, in a room with a window. Out the window would be a pastoral scene, but the spatial relationships were never quite right, as if the landscape was infinitely far away and somehow had been cut and pasted into the window. Because I was fascinated, I tried to recreate this, building a two-wall set and commissioning a painting of a moonlit landscape for out the window, an appeal to the romantic. (FROM AN AMERICAN STORY)
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