He adored New York City. He idolised it all out of proportion ... Uh, no. Make that he romanticised it all out of proportion. To him no matter what the season, this was a town that always existed in black and white and pulsated to the great tunes of George Gershwin.
I don't know who wrote the description of this song, but it definitely compelled me to consider what he's saying a little more. I love NYC, but perhaps what I really love is this idea of New York that in reality doesn't exist.