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Korby Lenker’s first book features 27 stories culled from his 15 years as a solo touring indie artist. The stories are as colorful as his titles suggest-- “Rat’s Dude”, “Manboy and the Mafia Table”, “Catlady”-- and flourish under his descriptive, empathetic pen. From a romantic-encounter-turned-family-crisis, to a humorous eulogy for his recently deceased piano teacher, to an unlikely visit with a convicted felon in a California desert, he has distilled an unusual life into a few potent vignettes that you will read more than once.
Up to this point in his life, Korby has been a professional singer-songwriter, traveling around by himself, playing songs for small audiences, selling CDs out of a suitcase. Occasionally there have been moments where the light shined particularly bright, but mostly it’s just been him and a guitar, making music in living rooms and clubs and the occasional concert hall.
He has met a lot of people, most of whom leaned—like him—toward the fringe side of the social spectrum. He’s written some of them into stories—hunched over a laptop in the backseat of a touring van, or in the lobby of a Best Western, or on the cracked vinyl couch of a rock club’s green room, poking a keyboard with a pair of sweaty pointer fingers.
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Korby Lenker’s first book features 27 stories culled from his 15 years as a solo touring indie artist. The stories are as colorful as his titles suggest-- “Rat’s Dude”, “Manboy and the Mafia Table”, “Catlady”-- and flourish under his descriptive, empathetic pen. From a romantic-encounter-turned-family-crisis, to a humorous eulogy for his recently deceased piano teacher, to an unlikely visit with a convicted felon in a California desert, he has distilled an unusual life into a few potent vignettes that you will read more than once.
Up to this point in his life, Korby has been a professional singer-songwriter, traveling around by himself, playing songs for small audiences, selling CDs out of a suitcase. Occasionally there have been moments where the light shined particularly bright, but mostly it’s just been him and a guitar, making music in living rooms and clubs and the occasional concert hall.
He has met a lot of people, most of whom leaned—like him—toward the fringe side of the social spectrum. He’s written some of them into stories—hunched over a laptop in the backseat of a touring van, or in the lobby of a Best Western, or on the cracked vinyl couch of a rock club’s green room, poking a keyboard with a pair of sweaty pointer fingers.
Atsiliepimai