Chris Milam

Chris Milam is a friend of mine from Vanderbilt. Freshman year, we were lab partners in our loathed astronomy class and would occasionally attend Vandy basketball games together. Chris is originally from Memphis, and despite the fact that he adores the South (and has the same tolerance for northern climes as a hothouse orchid) he has moved to NYC recently to further his career as a singer/songwriter.

Chris was considerate enough to play a show at a venue on Columbia's main campus last night, which, from a commuter's perspective, was great for me. He's a very good performer. His real talent, though, lies in writing lyrics that are at once witty and profound, painstakingly crafted and spontaneous, and always real. I've always admired his way with words, but a few minutes in a coffeehouse with the average young male singer/songwriter makes him infinitely more appreciate-able. (See, Chris would probably never write a word like "appreciate-able. I told you he was good.) The guy that played before him last night was decent enough, but his songs were essentially strings of cliches set to music. I found I could predict his next line about 75% of the time based on the rhyme scheme. Chris's music is anything but predictable.

As a final thought, these are the kinds of things that happen in New York. People who have no real business crossing my path again for any logical reason are always visiting for the weekend, here for an interview, moving in, or whatever. Living in the city is expensive, but it's certainly saving me lots of plane tickets and tanks of gas: my visitors come to me.