On a cold rainy night, we met in Cafe Dante, a small West Village coffee shop, one of his favorite haunts, for an interview. It was time to complete our picture of the whole man. I finally paid closer attention to his writing and was stunned at itsĮloquence. Like many others, I heard Paul’s big voice and my attention span stopped there. He played numerous showcases for Acoustic Live and took out ads with us for new CD releases.

On any one of my frequent runs to a store outside, to re-stock the snack bar, if he was playing, I could hear him from down the street.Īfter the demise of the Cafe, through the efforts of Acoustic Live to promote under-the-radar talent, we kept in touch with Paul.

His guitar chops were average for that crowd, but he was/is a gifted, powerful tenor. One person I never followed was Paul Sachs. When I saw the name of a player who was on the light side in the talent department, I’d put my name down after him/her, figuring they’d make my meager ability look better. I’d set out the sign-up sheet on the snack bar and watch it fill up. Still holding onto dreams of being a performing songwriter, I would occasionally play my own set. For a couple of years, this author was the volunteer manager/host.

They’d walk up the cobble-stoned street to the Fast Folk Cafe for open mic night. On Tuesday nights in the mid-90’s a host of aspiring singer/songwriters rode the New York City subway rails to N.

Let me watch the best man holiday