There is something unsettling about a newspaper owner suggesting that reporters spice up their articles 'with a little skin.' But that was the theme of a song penned by James L. Dolan, the chief executive of Cablevision and Newsday's owner, about a rival tabloid he said manufactures sensationalist front-page news. If you don't know him -- and you probably do if you are a fan of the Knicks, the Rangers, the Rockettes or Madison Square Garden, all of which the Dolan family controls -- he is more famous for his rancorous relationship with the news media than for his songwriting flair. He is irked by sportswriters' criticism of his losing teams, and bristles at what is written about his corporate brawling, which included a tempestuous quarrel with Mayor Michael R. Bloomberg in 2004 over a proposed West Side stadium. More recently a Village Voice blogger made an indelicate reference to Dolan's penis when writing about Cablevision's acquisition of a small website. The remark cost the Voice an estimated $1 million in advertising after Dolan canceled ads and urged others to do so, according to the Voice's website. When asked if he thought his response was particularly harsh, Dolan was unapologetic. Such encounters are why he rarely speaks to reporters, he explained at a recent rehearsal for his country blues band, JD & The Straight Shot, and chooses 'to let my music speak for me.' Not surprisingly, he sings a lot about being wronged. The Daily News, the tabloid he has tangled with most, took a drubbing in 'Daily News Blues.' So did Eliot Spitzer, the former governor, whom he wrote was caught 'sinning like the sinners' in the unsubtly titled 'Fall From Grace.' Even animals can't escape Dolan's fury. In 2005, he recorded 'Gonna Kill That Dog,' a jazzy ditty about an annoying hound that won't quit barking. 'With my music there is no doubt who sang it and who wrote it,' he said. 'It's personal.' Who knew there was a Jimmy in the house? But about 10 years ago, the son of the Cablevision founder, Charles F. Dolan, began playing guitar and singing with a small group of employees he worked with at Madison Square Garden. Now, with a professional backup ensemble and the indie debut of his third album this month (meaning, he paid for it himself), Dolan is playing warm-up for the Eagles and the Dixie Chicks on an eight-city concert sweep. It is not easy to score a spot on such a tour. But Dolan's good friend is Irving Azoff, the concert promoter and longtime music manager, who helped put the Eagles show together. Friendship only goes so far, though. Dolan said he played for a nominal fee last week at the new Meadowlands Stadium in East Rutherford, N.J. His warm-up set was so early it was almost cold: he was given 45 minutes onstage at about 4:45 p.m. Dolan is compact, seemingly shorter than his 5 feet 7 inches, with slim hips and a helmet of half-moon curls. At rehearsal he wore a black shirt and blue jeans and looked less the part of media scion than a protagonist from a Billy Joel anthem. Dolan, like the singer, was raised on Long Island, born in Massapequa in 1955. But unlike the working-class Eddies Joel croons about, Dolan's father is a billionaire who indulged his son's youthful pursuits -- sailing and music -- before his son joined the family business in 1979. Dolan never abandoned his passions. He bought the property next door to his Oyster Bay house and built a music studio. He carries a notepad in his briefcase to jot down lyrics. It is the quiet of writing he covets, much like the calm of a glassy sea. When asked about how this contrasted with his reputation for belligerent outbursts, he replied, 'I've heard it before.' Music is an escape, he said. 'I draw pictures in my mind.' A question one may ask, though, is what is Dolan escaping from? 'Daily News Blues' is an unflattering portrait of the manipulative way he believes tabloids operate. 'It's all about spin,' he wrote in the song. (A Daily News spokesman, Robert Leonard, said the newspaper declined to comment.) But as an owner of Newsday, which Cablevision bought in 2008, Dolan too has been accused of meddling with news coverage. He does not censor reporters, he said, but did request the staff members 'not launch personal attacks at individuals.' His song, 'Rise With the Tide,' Dolan recalled, was inspired by an article from the mid-2000s when a writer called him 'a member of the lucky sperm club,' a cutting remark meant to imply he owed his status to his father's success. (His memory is mostly right: it was The New York Post that described him in 2002 as one of 'the lucky gene club.') The censure was wounding and the moniker stuck. 'I sort of realized that it was something a lot of people thought,' Dolan said. But, he added, 'as much as I don't like it, there is some truth to it. 'I am very lucky: I was born to a dad who was an entrepreneur.' That, he added, has 'given me advantages no one else had.' It was an unexpected moment of self-awareness ('My place in this world doesn't make sense,' he sings) and almost poignant. Much like when he talks about 'My Last Chance,' an ode to his second wife, Kristin, whom he married in 2002. (He has six children.) 'I was sure I was not going to be married again,' he said. 'I was not successful at it.' But for every hint of sweet in his lyrics, there is also bitter peel. 'What?' Dolan barked at a publicist who was observing him at a rehearsal. The publicist, Jesse Derris, had gestured at him to quit talking. 'What are you doing?' Derris asked him. 'I'm telling a story,' Dolan replied. He turned to me, agitated. 'Do you want to hear a story?' I nodded. This one was about Spitzer. In March 2008, the two met to discuss moving the Garden to the site of the Farley Post Office nearby. The plan, talked about for years, ran into opposition from preservationists and Dolan wanted out. Spitzer was upset with the decision. 'He was tough,' Dolan said. A week later the governor was ensnared in a prostitution scandal and resigned. Spitzer was gone, but the sting of the encounter remained with Dolan. He jotted down his feelings in 'Fall From Grace.' The tone is mocking, almost spiteful, as he repeats the phrase 'smiling at your fall from grace' seven times. 'There were a lot of people who saw him take his fall and, instead of saying, 'How terrible,' they smiled because he had done things,' Dolan said. 'So the song is about that moment.' I called Spitzer and asked if he knew the song. He did not. He was silent while I read the lyrics 'caught with your socks on in a hotel room' and 'laughing at what you've become' out loud. He said he had heard worse. 'I always admired the multiple layers of Jim's personality,' said Spitzer, who declined to discuss the private meeting. 'I applaud his creativity.' 