230 78th Street

This week, my brother posted a relic from the early ’90s: a video of our band playing a song I wrote called 230 78th Street. We were performing at the National Guard Armory in Philadelphia, and the song was named after the address of a beach house I rented with friends in Sea Isle City, NJ. I only spent one summer there, but it was one of those summers you never forget. (Yes, I even looked it up on Google Maps—the house is still there.)

Back then, I was juggling a full-time job at Sears (do any of them still exist?), jazz guitar courses at community college, and band life. My co-worker invited me in on the rental, and I jumped at it. It didn’t cost much because a bunch of us split the place. It turned into the kind of summer you know, even as it’s happening, that you’ll carry with you for the rest of your life.

Every part of my life was fodder for a new song. I was either chasing love or chasing the next song, and usually they were one and the same. But this song wasn’t about a person—it was about a feeling. A love song to freedom, to friendship, to the beach. To the sheer joy of escaping real life and living in this perfect little bubble for a few months.

We played NBA Jam on the NES until the early hours, inhaled cheesesteaks on the porch, and laughed endlessly about the pizza steak so drenched in sauce we renamed it the “blood steak.” And there was always music. I had my acoustic guitar, and it didn’t take much convincing for me to pull it out. Nights often ended with a crowd on the porch, everyone belting out songs together. “More Than Words” by Extreme was the anthem, and when the line “DON’T EVER LET ME GO!” came up, we practically shook the block with our voices.

We even had the cops called on us. More than once. One officer showed up, smiled, and said, “I’m not here to criticize—you guys sound great. But the neighbors don’t agree.” That still makes me laugh.

If we’re being real, the so-called romance I wrote about probably looked like something else entirely to the outsider. That summer was a blur of empty bottles and bad decisions. We weren’t living in a beach house—we were squatting in a monument to hangovers. The place reeked of stale beer and regret, with pizza boxes stacked like architecture and ashtrays overflowing like volcanic craters. We lived like animals, drunk almost every night, half-conscious in a sea of cigarette smoke and spilled liquor. Looking back, it wasn’t romance—it was a frat house without the college, without the rules, without the Greek letters, just pure chaos disguised as freedom. The only reason it felt magical was because we were too wasted to know better.

Musically, 230 78th Street marked a turning point for me. My jazz studies were seeping into my songwriting—fingerpicked melodies, unexpected chords, a rhythm with a breezy island feel thanks to our drummer’s percussion. I’d love to record it properly one day, though recording has always been my least favorite part of music. Writing and performing lit me up. Recording felt like homework.

If I ever do revisit it, I’d refine the lyrics. They’re close—maybe 80% there—but I rushed a lot of songs back then so we could get them into live sets. That urgency gave them energy, but sometimes at the expense of polish. With this one, I think there’s more beauty to unlock.

So that’s the story of 230 78th Street: one summer, one house, one song. Proof that even the simplest moments—a porch, a guitar, a group of friends—can become something unforgettable.

Here’s the video. I’m the one wearing the pink t-shirt that reads PSYCHO. Enjoy.

230 78th Street

Out on the porch every day
Until the sun’s swallowed by the bay
Then we’ll head out and have some fun
Until the ocean sends up the sun

So much joy. It’s beyond belief
A utopia down by the beach
All your pain is washed away
All you need is to come down for a day

And we’ll take you
Where we roam
Into our heaven
Into our home

at 230 78th Street

Well we’ve been through some bad times
We’ve been through a lot
But those memories just fade away
And the new ones take their spot

Playing our songs
Just singing along
It’s a sea of harmony

No words can express
That feeling inside
Take a break from life
And stop on by

And we’ll take you
Down by the beach
Into our heaven
Where we will meet

at 230 78th Street

Sunday came
I took a walk
A tear came to my eye

Cause Summer’s gone
Its time is up
Yeah, we all must say goodbye

Winter’s chilling grip
Pulls me in
But I know I’ll get away

I’ll pull the blankets up over me
And wait until the month of May

Then I’ll head down
Where we roam
Into our heaven
Into our home

at 230 78th Street