ABSTRACT
I first read David Amram’s autobiography Vibrations in 1987 when I was seventeen, having found it by chance in the library while looking for books about Bob Dylan and James Dean. And even though I had no ambition of becoming a composer or a musician like David happened to be, I was completely and utterly in love with New York City in the late 1950s and its impossibly romantic bohemian scene. Vibrations (and David’s life in those years) was set right in the middle of it.
