Tom Guarriello, Ph.D.Psychologist. Founding Faculty, Masters in Branding Program School of Visual Arts. Co-host of BrandBox.Show podcast.

53rd & 3rd For The Geezerarts

29 Mar 2007 · 6 min

Watch on YouTube

5:44

The video presents an original song performed by two vocalists. Speaker A delivers the main verses, a stream‑of‑consciousness lyrical portrait of New York City that oscillates between affection and frustration. The lyrics juxtapose love for the city’s energy with criticism of its high cost of living, policing, political leadership, and the feeling of being trapped like a rat in a cage. Repetitive refrains (“New York, I love you, but you’re bringing me down”) underscore a conflicted emotional state, while lines about “filthy but fun” and “mild billionaire mayor” add social commentary. The piece ends with a reflective, almost philosophical exchange where Speaker B offers a cryptic, maternal‑like reassurance, questioning truth and rightness. Overall, the content reveals a personal, critical yet nostalgic perspective on urban life, expressed through poetic, repetitive lyricism and a conversational closing.

Chapters

New York, I love you, but you're bringing me down. New York, I love you, but you're bringing me down. Like a rat in a cage, pulling minimum wage. New York, I love you, but you're bringing me down. New York, you're safer and you're wasting my time. Our records all show you were filthy but fun, but they shuttered your store. When you open the doors to the cops who were bored once they'd run out of crime. New York, you're perfect, oh please don't change a thing. Your mild billionaire mayor's now convinced he's a king. So the boring collect— I mean all disrespect. In the neighborhood bars I'd once dreamt I would drink. New York, I love you, but you're freaking me out. There's a ton of the twist, but we're fresh out of shout. Like a death in the hall that you hear through your wall. New York, I love you, but you're freaking me out. New York, I love you, but you're bringing me down. New York, I love you, but you're bringing me down. Like a death of the heart. Jesus, where do I start? But you're still the one pool where I'd happily drown. And, oh, take me off your mailing list for kids who think it still exists. Yes, for those who think it still exists. Maybe I'm wrong, and maybe you're right. Right. Maybe I'm wrong and maybe you're right. Maybe you're right, maybe I'm wrong, and just maybe you're right. And— ah!
Maybe Mother told you true, and there'll always be somebody there for you and you'll never be alone. But maybe she's wrong and maybe I'm right. And just maybe she's wrong. Maybe she's wrong, and maybe I'm right. And if so, here's to her. Her song.