When I was in high school, I was fortunate enough to participate in a program that allowed seniors to intern full-time in the industry of their choice. The music business sounded pretty neat to the 17 year old me so I ended up at CBGB, mecca of underground rock. As interns, me and George got stuck with all of the shit work no one wanted to do, including listening to and reviewing box after box of horrible demo tapes, answering the phones, messengering, grocery shopping for the bar and adjacent CB’s pizzeria, run errands. The best part of the job was exposure to really cool adults, and face it, when you’re 17 and surrounded by people who talk to you, instead of at you, it’s hard not to impressed.

One of the cool people I met during my five months at CB’s, CB’s pizzeria and CB’s 313 Gallery (the folk-rocky/art gallery venue next door) was David Poe. He stage managed the Gallery and I went on errands with him a few times. He was sweet, tall, lanky, with stringy blond hair, and had a decidedly positive outlook. It might be because he had just moved from Dayton, OH and was less disillusioned than most of the grunge ilk at the club. He played solo guitar and performed at the Gallery from time to time, but I never got to go because, well, I was 17.

I never really thought about him that much, except to notice his name when skimming the CB’s listings, until the sales guy at Tower gave me a promo videotape. “David Poe!” I shrieked! Oh my god, David Poe is signed to Sony. Holy Shit. I quickly reasoned that he couldn’t be very good if they were giving away. The tape included snippets from his debut CD and student-film-eque scenes and it kicked ass! The other day, I got the CD, “David Poe,” in the mail. His music is acoustic guitar-based, but quite jazzy. His voice is both hushed and bruised. I really don’t want to like this music because I have an extreme distaste for sensitive singer/songwriters, but he won’t let me.

With songs that read like a diary, this is coffeehouse music that’s too stimulating for the coffeehouse. You’ll want to listen to “Telephone Song” in the dark before you foolishly call your ex. Imagery like “I’ve got a telephone telescope / I hear the look behind your eyes” stirs me in a way I’m kind of embarrassed to admit. I’m sick of guys singing about love that goes right. David sings about love that doesn’t go so well. He’s brooding, but not whiney.

With my limited music vocabulary, I would say his voice is most similar to Michael Penn, with Freedy Johnston’s poignancy. Others have likened him to Ron Sexsmith, Jeff Buckley, Elvis Costello and John Martyn. He’s been on tour with Tori Amos, Shawn Colvin, and The Jayhawks if that says anything about his style.

I also really like “Bloody” because it’s a cruel but regretful breakup song. He takes the cliche “if I saw you laying bloody in the street” and pushes it further to “if I saw you getting beaten up in the street I would stop them hurting you and I’d finish up the job with my own words.” It starts off trip-hoppy, with a far off sample a la Soul Coughing.

He takes a similar route with “Silver Eyelashes,” wishing harm upon a girlfriend who chose another over him. He tenderly sings menacing lyrics like “I hope you die slow on shiny lies he made you believe / and then he leaves and leaves and leaves / and you have nothing left to come back to me.”

The rest of the CD is music I’ll play drinking french roast and reading the New York Times on Sunday. “Moon” has shimmery reverb vox and shattering high hats. “Reunion,” with a banjo, is about a skeptic visit to a girlfriend’s enthusiastic family. (Why is it that banjos always remind me of chickens?) Blue Glass Fall is catchy, “getting drunk and leaving messages.” Apartment - bossa nova, jazzy, bass-y.