Steven Tyler is a rock star, James Taylor is a national treasure and Lady Gaga knows that fun is the one thing that money can't buy.
Yes, last night at the L.A. Convention Center baby boomers celebrated the life and work of Carole King while across town at the Beats party Gen X honored hip-hop of the nineties and youngsters were home taking selfies while tumbling, tweeting and instagramming, knowing that today you're the star.
But once upon a time we lay in darkened rooms with our transistors under our pillows believing we were best friends with the deejay and if we could only meet the makers of the mellifluous sound emanating from the tiny speaker, or single earbud, our lives would be complete.
And now, nearly sixty years on, our hair has fallen out, our bodies are lumpy, we settled for lives we could not foresee, but one thing is still constant, the tunes.
There's not a baby boomer alive who can't remember the earth moving in the spring of '71. Word of mouth was slower back then, all we had was the telephone and paper post, but Carole King went from unknown to everywhere, from the dorm room eventually to the radio, "Tapestry" was the soundtrack of our lives.
Credit the vision of Lou Adler, rising from the ashes of surf music and the harmonies of the Mamas & the Papas to deliver this music to the masses.
And stunningly, Lou and Carole are still here.
"I think I'm goin' back
To the things I learned so well in my youth"
My second rock single was "Loco-Motion." After "Monster Mash." I had no idea it was written by Carole King and her then husband Gerry Goffin, I thought Little Eva was the star.
The same way I thought Herman and his band of Hermits wrote "I'm Into Something Good."
And then, after exhausting Al Kooper's material, the biggest band in the land came back with "Hi-De-Ho." Yes, Blood, Sweat & Tears was embraced by both the hipsters and the cognoscenti, before they ran out of gas.
And this was the number Tyler sang with LeAnn Rimes. And the latter has the pipes, but Tyler's got the charisma. Sans Aerosmith Tyler was still a big star last night, because he realizes rock and roll is about grabbing the audience by the crotch and squeezing. To see him in action is to remind one that the lord of the thighs got our rocks off then, and still can. I've met plenty of rock stars, but the only one who lives up to the rep is Tyler. Who not only looks and acts the part, but radiates intelligence all the while. Whew!
And then came Lady Gaga. Who seems to realize her career is in limbo. That following up a mediocre album with a stiff was a mistake that could shorten her time in the spotlight. So rather than utilize this evening to enhance her career, she decided to use it as her own personal victory lap. So Gaga smiled as she pounded out "You've Got A Friend." Would she have gotten a standing ovation without her hits? Probably not. Because it's easier to sing than write. Still...Gaga delivered.
But not like James Taylor.
He hasn't had a hit in eons. But rather than stay home and lick his wounds and count his money, JT keeps working. Like his audience he's aged, and there wasn't a person in attendance who didn't testify as to his excellence.
He took us up on the roof. And reminded us of when soft, sensitive music ruled not only the bedroom, but the radio.
And then Carole took the stage. And the pipes are rusty, but the fingers still work. When she tickled the ivories on "Home Again" one was brought right back to the Kirshner cubicles, back before those writing songs believed their talent entitled them to fame, never mind riches, when they did it because they needed to, because they loved to play, when they were privileged just to stay away from mundane day jobs.
Everybody's an individual. The key is to find what you do best, to not follow the road plowed by others, but to go off on your own. I could have been blindfolded in the boonies and I'd still have been able to pick out Carole's playing within notes. The attack, the pull back.
And the show was closed with a rousing rendition of "Jazzman," with Tom Scott blowing so hard and so right that he lifted the roof right off the joint.
Yes, when the jazzman testifies, a faithless man believes.
Not everybody was great last night. The country singing segment was such a train-wreck you could only grin and bear it.
And other stars took the night to make it about themselves.
And others punched the clock.
But the true stars rose above.
Tyler blew us away and Taylor pulled at our heartstrings.
And there were execs in attendance who were aching to leave early and did.
And nobodies dressed in finery in the back enjoying their brush with fame, taking notes to dine out on for the following year, but knowing deep in their hearts that they'll be forever outsiders.
But at the heart of it all was music.
I'm stunned by this Grammy week. Because despite all the focus on the awards, music is living in L.A. in a way that demonstrates that the true American art form is what comes out of the speakers, not what you see on the screen.
Music makes you feel, it touches your heart.
It's there when you're happy, it's there when you're sad.
It never abandons you, it's only a click away.
And without it life would be so much less rich.
Jazzman, take my blues away...
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Saturday 25 January 2014
Rhinofy-The Rosanne Cash Album
I wanted to hate it on principle. Because she gets more press than I believe she deserves. So her father was Johnny Cash, so she's big on Twitter...
But if you remember the way it used to be when you put on a record in your own private world and no longer felt so alone, CHECK THIS OUT!
Credit her husband, producer John Leventhal, who worked his magic most famously on Shawn Colvin's debut, still my favorite album of the nineties, even though it was released at the tail end of 1989.
Start right at the beginning, with "A Feather's Not A Bird."
Now I'm gonna tell you, it's not about the lyrics. It's about the SOUND, like all great music. I'm not saying the words are bad or irrelevant, but first and foremost you've got to feel it, which I did, almost immediately.
It's the swampy sound.
You remember the swamp, right? Where there's no cell signal and you're living by your wits? That's how music used to be, before everybody was addicted to their mobile and kids called their parents multiple times a day and no one was ever alone. But that's what music is...a one on one experience, just you and what's coming in your ears...and this is so PLEASING!
I appreciate that it starts off with a guitar figure unrepresentative of what comes next, because it sounds like someone's tuning up, preparing, and then they lock onto the groove almost IMMEDIATELY!
Come on. You almost have a hard time not moving, grooving along to the sound. And it keeps getting better, with all the stringed instruments tweaking...and then the chorus is actually understated, like everything important, it's got an almost sexy feel, and the instruments coming out of it...just make you feel better and better.
And that's music. It's hard to explain. It's not about being in your face so much as sneaking up on you, entering your orifice when you least expect it and changing your life.
Yes, you can listen to the Top Forty hits and they'll change nothing. You can bump your ass, you can even sing along, but they're soulless. Like Katy Perry's "Roar"... Who wants to hear a woman/child talk about her power when the truth is that's not how life is at all, life is lonely, with more questions than answers, and we don't need music to make us either feel inferior or to charge us up but to...ride shotgun.
This is not supposed to happen. Everybody sitting on the sidelines bitching about the new era keeps stating you can't do this. That there's not enough money and streaming sound quality sucks and rather than marching forward they're giving up. And here's someone who hasn't had a hit for decades delivering something so right...
And you'll get it. Because they put the best track right up front.
And not every track is exquisite, but check out "The Long Way Home," which has got a feel that sounds like a combo of midsixties England and Tennessee and is so haunting. You're almost afraid to get out from under the covers. The music is almost scary, in that way the greatest stuff does, it touches your soul.
Everybody's swinging for the fences, nobody's bunting.
But you remember the bunt... The unexpected effort, which changes the whole game when it works.
Rosanne can sing, John and his cohorts can play. This is no indie effort that requires you to peer through a scrim to get. It's something if you've got a few lines in your face you're gonna completely understand, something you're gonna want to hear, especially when you're alone on a Sunday afternoon.
And I'll credit the press campaign for getting me to pay attention.
But I did not expect to get immediately hooked.
More like this please.
Spotify: http://spoti.fi/p6HcZ8
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But if you remember the way it used to be when you put on a record in your own private world and no longer felt so alone, CHECK THIS OUT!
Credit her husband, producer John Leventhal, who worked his magic most famously on Shawn Colvin's debut, still my favorite album of the nineties, even though it was released at the tail end of 1989.
Start right at the beginning, with "A Feather's Not A Bird."
Now I'm gonna tell you, it's not about the lyrics. It's about the SOUND, like all great music. I'm not saying the words are bad or irrelevant, but first and foremost you've got to feel it, which I did, almost immediately.
It's the swampy sound.
You remember the swamp, right? Where there's no cell signal and you're living by your wits? That's how music used to be, before everybody was addicted to their mobile and kids called their parents multiple times a day and no one was ever alone. But that's what music is...a one on one experience, just you and what's coming in your ears...and this is so PLEASING!
I appreciate that it starts off with a guitar figure unrepresentative of what comes next, because it sounds like someone's tuning up, preparing, and then they lock onto the groove almost IMMEDIATELY!
Come on. You almost have a hard time not moving, grooving along to the sound. And it keeps getting better, with all the stringed instruments tweaking...and then the chorus is actually understated, like everything important, it's got an almost sexy feel, and the instruments coming out of it...just make you feel better and better.
And that's music. It's hard to explain. It's not about being in your face so much as sneaking up on you, entering your orifice when you least expect it and changing your life.
Yes, you can listen to the Top Forty hits and they'll change nothing. You can bump your ass, you can even sing along, but they're soulless. Like Katy Perry's "Roar"... Who wants to hear a woman/child talk about her power when the truth is that's not how life is at all, life is lonely, with more questions than answers, and we don't need music to make us either feel inferior or to charge us up but to...ride shotgun.
This is not supposed to happen. Everybody sitting on the sidelines bitching about the new era keeps stating you can't do this. That there's not enough money and streaming sound quality sucks and rather than marching forward they're giving up. And here's someone who hasn't had a hit for decades delivering something so right...
And you'll get it. Because they put the best track right up front.
And not every track is exquisite, but check out "The Long Way Home," which has got a feel that sounds like a combo of midsixties England and Tennessee and is so haunting. You're almost afraid to get out from under the covers. The music is almost scary, in that way the greatest stuff does, it touches your soul.
Everybody's swinging for the fences, nobody's bunting.
But you remember the bunt... The unexpected effort, which changes the whole game when it works.
Rosanne can sing, John and his cohorts can play. This is no indie effort that requires you to peer through a scrim to get. It's something if you've got a few lines in your face you're gonna completely understand, something you're gonna want to hear, especially when you're alone on a Sunday afternoon.
And I'll credit the press campaign for getting me to pay attention.
But I did not expect to get immediately hooked.
More like this please.
Spotify: http://spoti.fi/p6HcZ8
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Friday 24 January 2014
Lunch At Barnett's
He gave himself seven months.
Not Steve Barnett, but Sam Smith. That's where I was, at Steve's house, at a small luncheon introducing Sam.
Sure, they played the music in the background, but I already had the album. I enjoyed talking to Rodney Jerkins.
What's strange about show business is everybody's two-dimensional until you meet them. Oh, you think you know them but you don't. Furthermore, who you think is a prick is not and vice versa.
So how much do I have in common with Mr. Jenkins?
Not much!
But it turns out he's from Atlantic City. And my family used to vacation in Ventnor. Furthermore, we're both transplants and laughing about it. I mean we're talking on the phone to our families on the east coast and they're complaining about the cold and it's eighty degrees out here and I'm reminded of nothing so much as Sam Kinison's routine about starving Africans. "Don't send food, send LUGGAGE! They've got to MOVE!"
As it is, many east coasters are moving to Florida, the state is bulging with those who used to come to CA, the nutjobs who believe if they just change their surroundings their lives will work. They stopped coming to California when the economy turned sour, when they realized Florida was so much closer, but now Governor Moonbeam has saved the state and California is burgeoning but most people are focused on the shenanigans in FLA. You know, where the Republicans are fighting the Democrats and under the rubric of "personal freedom" the whole state is in transition. Whereas in California, it's only Democrats, the grid has been unlocked and we're moving forward with electric cars, more money for schools and mistakes are being made, but once again, the west coast is the country's beacon. Not that it gets much press. Because the whole nation is controlled by the loonies who want more guns, fewer taxes and more "freedom" as they tell us how to live our lives.
That's right, I'm a LIBERAL! The whole damn state is liberal. And we're pulling away from the rest of you like Dave Edmunds crawling from the wreckage into a brand new car. We've got tech, and we've got music. We've got Capitol Records! The building may have been sold in an effort to ensure honchos got their bonuses, but there's a whole new team ensconced in the Tower, with Steve Barnett reporting to fellow left coast transplant Lucian Grainge. We live in a Universal world. And if you don't think that's true, tell me about Warner's market share and what septuagenarian Doug Morris's plan is for the future.
THERE IS NO PLAN!
It's business as usual. Spend and have hits.
And I'll agree, that's the essence, but it's the penumbra that'll kill you.
So Barnett makes a deal for Sam Smith, already signed to a Universal label in the U.K. And gets Rodney Jerkins to remix the single, adding some horns, some churchy elements.
And I find myself spending an hour in the hills, overlooking the Basin from downtown to the beach, having lunch outside on January 24th thinking there's no place I'd rather be.
And after Steve gives an introduction, I get into it with Mr. Smith.
He's been trying to make it since puberty. It's all he ever wanted. He went through nearly ten managers. Some have posted old tracks on iTunes today. And while he's scrubbing toilets at the bar, he's thinking if it doesn't happen in seven months, he's done.
But he finds a new manager. He gets hooked up with Disclosure. And these new people tell him...he can do it his way. Honesty rules.
It's so funny to encounter someone at the advent. Someone who's not American, who doesn't focus first and foremost on the trappings, but rather the music.
The project is gonna live or die on Sam Smith's talent. Remember that? When music wasn't made by committee?
Then again, everybody who remembers that era is much older than Sam Smith, who had no idea what "Tumbleweed Connection" was.
Kind of like my conversation with Peter Mensch last night. He was wondering why Q Prime doesn't get recognized for its achievements, why people don't consider it to be the best management company extant.
BECAUSE WE'RE SIXTY PETER! AND DEF LEPPARD WAS DECADES AGO!
I'm not saying that Q Prime hasn't done much since, they've done plenty, but although old men, and it is mostly men, run this business, it's driven by the efforts of youngsters, who grew up in a connected world and know the Beatles and the hits of yesteryear, but whose knowledge only goes so deep, because there isn't enough much time.
So Sam Smith is still wet behind the ears. He's only been to New York, L.A. and Las Vegas, the last of which did not fit his fancy. He's just starting to learn, he's just starting to be influenced.
And it's all about the influences. And the risks.
Yes, he was due in the studio the next day with Linda Perry and debated whether to stay out late and tie one on or to hunker down and go to bed early.
Sam did the former. And then wrote about it!
Because that's what we want. Honesty. Not contemplated, but as Bryan Adams used to put it, straight from the heart. Once you start to second guess yourself you're done. You've got to be willing to ride the razor's edge.
In other words, if you're not willing to fail, you're never going to win.
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Not Steve Barnett, but Sam Smith. That's where I was, at Steve's house, at a small luncheon introducing Sam.
Sure, they played the music in the background, but I already had the album. I enjoyed talking to Rodney Jerkins.
What's strange about show business is everybody's two-dimensional until you meet them. Oh, you think you know them but you don't. Furthermore, who you think is a prick is not and vice versa.
So how much do I have in common with Mr. Jenkins?
Not much!
But it turns out he's from Atlantic City. And my family used to vacation in Ventnor. Furthermore, we're both transplants and laughing about it. I mean we're talking on the phone to our families on the east coast and they're complaining about the cold and it's eighty degrees out here and I'm reminded of nothing so much as Sam Kinison's routine about starving Africans. "Don't send food, send LUGGAGE! They've got to MOVE!"
As it is, many east coasters are moving to Florida, the state is bulging with those who used to come to CA, the nutjobs who believe if they just change their surroundings their lives will work. They stopped coming to California when the economy turned sour, when they realized Florida was so much closer, but now Governor Moonbeam has saved the state and California is burgeoning but most people are focused on the shenanigans in FLA. You know, where the Republicans are fighting the Democrats and under the rubric of "personal freedom" the whole state is in transition. Whereas in California, it's only Democrats, the grid has been unlocked and we're moving forward with electric cars, more money for schools and mistakes are being made, but once again, the west coast is the country's beacon. Not that it gets much press. Because the whole nation is controlled by the loonies who want more guns, fewer taxes and more "freedom" as they tell us how to live our lives.
That's right, I'm a LIBERAL! The whole damn state is liberal. And we're pulling away from the rest of you like Dave Edmunds crawling from the wreckage into a brand new car. We've got tech, and we've got music. We've got Capitol Records! The building may have been sold in an effort to ensure honchos got their bonuses, but there's a whole new team ensconced in the Tower, with Steve Barnett reporting to fellow left coast transplant Lucian Grainge. We live in a Universal world. And if you don't think that's true, tell me about Warner's market share and what septuagenarian Doug Morris's plan is for the future.
THERE IS NO PLAN!
It's business as usual. Spend and have hits.
And I'll agree, that's the essence, but it's the penumbra that'll kill you.
So Barnett makes a deal for Sam Smith, already signed to a Universal label in the U.K. And gets Rodney Jerkins to remix the single, adding some horns, some churchy elements.
And I find myself spending an hour in the hills, overlooking the Basin from downtown to the beach, having lunch outside on January 24th thinking there's no place I'd rather be.
And after Steve gives an introduction, I get into it with Mr. Smith.
He's been trying to make it since puberty. It's all he ever wanted. He went through nearly ten managers. Some have posted old tracks on iTunes today. And while he's scrubbing toilets at the bar, he's thinking if it doesn't happen in seven months, he's done.
But he finds a new manager. He gets hooked up with Disclosure. And these new people tell him...he can do it his way. Honesty rules.
It's so funny to encounter someone at the advent. Someone who's not American, who doesn't focus first and foremost on the trappings, but rather the music.
The project is gonna live or die on Sam Smith's talent. Remember that? When music wasn't made by committee?
Then again, everybody who remembers that era is much older than Sam Smith, who had no idea what "Tumbleweed Connection" was.
Kind of like my conversation with Peter Mensch last night. He was wondering why Q Prime doesn't get recognized for its achievements, why people don't consider it to be the best management company extant.
BECAUSE WE'RE SIXTY PETER! AND DEF LEPPARD WAS DECADES AGO!
I'm not saying that Q Prime hasn't done much since, they've done plenty, but although old men, and it is mostly men, run this business, it's driven by the efforts of youngsters, who grew up in a connected world and know the Beatles and the hits of yesteryear, but whose knowledge only goes so deep, because there isn't enough much time.
So Sam Smith is still wet behind the ears. He's only been to New York, L.A. and Las Vegas, the last of which did not fit his fancy. He's just starting to learn, he's just starting to be influenced.
And it's all about the influences. And the risks.
Yes, he was due in the studio the next day with Linda Perry and debated whether to stay out late and tie one on or to hunker down and go to bed early.
Sam did the former. And then wrote about it!
Because that's what we want. Honesty. Not contemplated, but as Bryan Adams used to put it, straight from the heart. Once you start to second guess yourself you're done. You've got to be willing to ride the razor's edge.
In other words, if you're not willing to fail, you're never going to win.
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Thursday 23 January 2014
Bieber Blows It
Too much, too soon.
We expected him to be a decrepit has-been in middle age, addicted to his drugs and his faded fame, but we didn't expect him to flame out quite this quickly.
Blame us. The music industry. We preyed on this naif and wanted to believe we could profit yet not be responsible.
But you can't have it both ways.
Kind of like Kurt Cobain. The cash cow should have been taken off the road. But who's gonna do that?
Kind of like Chuck Lorre and Charlie Sheen. Portrayed as an impetuous dictator, at this late date who do you believe was at fault? Lorre was willing to walk from his star, music business people are not.
Scooter could have fired Bieber, but then how would he get all that Wall Street money?
Even worse, what if Justin Bieber had run over some innocent bystander in his Lamborghini? Never mind kill a passenger.
That's entirely possible, just ask Vince Neil. But that was back before everybody had a cell phone camera and privacy was out the window, before we knew everything about you and your fame was based on YouTube views as opposed to the machinations of power brokers.
Then there are the tattoos. What I find funny about ink is you do it to rebel, to establish your personal identity. But if this is so, why don't you leave yourself clean?
But that's America, where everybody's a follower, gossip rules and the real powers are never outed.
Come on.
There was the fiction that Justin Bieber was talented, that he was gonna last forever.
But even I didn't think he'd crash and burn this fast, it's just too much of a cliche. It's like Amy Winehouse dancing to her death. You can't save some people, but do you have to lionize them?
At least Amy Winehouse had talent. But Bieber is a flash in the pan receptacle of all that's wrong with the younger generation and the Internet hustlers, where a beautiful body and an airy head are trumped up while those who gain an education or drop out and learn how to code run circles around the entertainment idiots.
Sure, rock stars have been O.D.'ing since the term was coined.
But at least those people stood for something, even if their deaths were useless. What does a "musician" stand for today?
What we've got here is a nitwit from north of the border believing he's got urban cred and living like a renegade who's above the law. If we put it in a movie it wouldn't sell, because everybody would say it's too cliche.
But the cliche is the music industry wants to milk these people while accepting no responsibility. Everybody's an independent contractor but they don't get to own their albums. Does the label insist their charges have health care, open IRAs? Of course not. The acts are fungible entities here today and gone tomorrow and the laugh is on us, because we keep buying the product again and again and again.
Justin Bieber is no better than the housemates from "The Jersey Shore." He can sing a bit, but he's famous first and foremost for his exposure. And as he grows up, he's no longer cute and we don't want to pay attention.
Isn't it funny that Scooter calls his operation "Schoolboy Records."
Lou Pearlman made his acts famous too, but you never saw Justin Timberlake getting arrested.
But this is the way we like it.
In an era where all the movies feature comic book heroes, we're addicted to the real life flick, wherein a nobody from Canada gains overnight stardom and self-destructs.
And they remake the film for every generation.
That's right, Justin Bieber is no different from New Kids On The Block.
But now we're all watching the movie 24/7 on the Internet.
What's next, ten or twenty or a hundred bucks a year to watch the travails of a wannabe?
Oh, that's right. We call that "The Voice." Or "American Idol."
Pray for Justin Bieber.
He needs it.
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We expected him to be a decrepit has-been in middle age, addicted to his drugs and his faded fame, but we didn't expect him to flame out quite this quickly.
Blame us. The music industry. We preyed on this naif and wanted to believe we could profit yet not be responsible.
But you can't have it both ways.
Kind of like Kurt Cobain. The cash cow should have been taken off the road. But who's gonna do that?
Kind of like Chuck Lorre and Charlie Sheen. Portrayed as an impetuous dictator, at this late date who do you believe was at fault? Lorre was willing to walk from his star, music business people are not.
Scooter could have fired Bieber, but then how would he get all that Wall Street money?
Even worse, what if Justin Bieber had run over some innocent bystander in his Lamborghini? Never mind kill a passenger.
That's entirely possible, just ask Vince Neil. But that was back before everybody had a cell phone camera and privacy was out the window, before we knew everything about you and your fame was based on YouTube views as opposed to the machinations of power brokers.
Then there are the tattoos. What I find funny about ink is you do it to rebel, to establish your personal identity. But if this is so, why don't you leave yourself clean?
But that's America, where everybody's a follower, gossip rules and the real powers are never outed.
Come on.
There was the fiction that Justin Bieber was talented, that he was gonna last forever.
But even I didn't think he'd crash and burn this fast, it's just too much of a cliche. It's like Amy Winehouse dancing to her death. You can't save some people, but do you have to lionize them?
At least Amy Winehouse had talent. But Bieber is a flash in the pan receptacle of all that's wrong with the younger generation and the Internet hustlers, where a beautiful body and an airy head are trumped up while those who gain an education or drop out and learn how to code run circles around the entertainment idiots.
Sure, rock stars have been O.D.'ing since the term was coined.
But at least those people stood for something, even if their deaths were useless. What does a "musician" stand for today?
What we've got here is a nitwit from north of the border believing he's got urban cred and living like a renegade who's above the law. If we put it in a movie it wouldn't sell, because everybody would say it's too cliche.
But the cliche is the music industry wants to milk these people while accepting no responsibility. Everybody's an independent contractor but they don't get to own their albums. Does the label insist their charges have health care, open IRAs? Of course not. The acts are fungible entities here today and gone tomorrow and the laugh is on us, because we keep buying the product again and again and again.
Justin Bieber is no better than the housemates from "The Jersey Shore." He can sing a bit, but he's famous first and foremost for his exposure. And as he grows up, he's no longer cute and we don't want to pay attention.
Isn't it funny that Scooter calls his operation "Schoolboy Records."
Lou Pearlman made his acts famous too, but you never saw Justin Timberlake getting arrested.
But this is the way we like it.
In an era where all the movies feature comic book heroes, we're addicted to the real life flick, wherein a nobody from Canada gains overnight stardom and self-destructs.
And they remake the film for every generation.
That's right, Justin Bieber is no different from New Kids On The Block.
But now we're all watching the movie 24/7 on the Internet.
What's next, ten or twenty or a hundred bucks a year to watch the travails of a wannabe?
Oh, that's right. We call that "The Voice." Or "American Idol."
Pray for Justin Bieber.
He needs it.
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Me On AXS TV
Who's gonna win the Grammy?
I don't give a shit.
To think that the Grammys mean anything is to misunderstand the impact of the show. Your appearance could impact your career, a victory is barely more than meaningless. Come on, who won last year? The year before?
So I don't get caught up in the Grammy run-up. It's manufactured hype for an organization that needs to sell a TV show and a media that fawns over everything involving personalities/stars, and moves on the very next day.
And while I'm at it, why is LL Cool J the host? The faded rapper has the stage presence of a gnat and the charisma of a doorknob. Couldn't they get someone with a personality, like Kevin Hart? Who could at least crack a few jokes between making fun of the lines he must read from the teleprompter?
But that's what the Grammys are all about, playing it safe. If risk was involved, they'd be hosted by Katt Williams and there'd be GoPros backstage documenting the acts shooting up.
Furthermore, only with hindsight can we see what matters. Tom Waits matters more than almost everybody who won in his heyday of the mid to late seventies, and he's still making notable music today. Then again, unlike everybody else from his generation, never mind those wet behind the ears, he's not on the endorsement/sponsorship gravy train, begging corporations to sell out. Yes, they should have a trade show astride the awards show, wherein the acts flog themselves to the highest bidder.
But if Mark Cuban asks me to appear on his network...I'm gonna. Because this is a relationship business and Mark returns e-mails in a minute and is always lifting rocks to see what's next. Imagine if he ran the Grammys, the man who gave the middle finger to the NBA...
So I drive downtown, get in the makeup chair and when the camera starts to roll, I'm a bloviating fool. I'm second-guessing the situation, trying to figure out who will win while stating who should.
But on the end of the dais is a guy from Pittsburgh who couldn't be less rock and roll if he got a neck tattoo, and by the end of the program he'd convinced me he was right.
This was John Dick. Of CivicScience. A polling firm.
And he wasn't borderline autistic, like Nate Silver. He radiated no nerd cred. And he kept talking about the numbers to the point where I had to get into it with him, WHO CARES WHAT THE PUBLIC HAS TO SAY!
And then Mr. Dick explained his methodology.
He trolls for people on PerezHilton. He gets them to answer the question of the day, and then places a cookie on their computer, tracking them as they move about the web. Sounds scary, doesn't it? Welcome to the twenty first century!
But what Mr. Dick and his team of Carnegie Mellon technicians is looking for is...the ability of those he tracks to get it right. That's the science. And last year he predicted five out of the six big Grammy winners. He was eighty percent at the Oscars. And before Nate Silver and the 2012 election, I'd pooh-pooh Mr. Dick and his numbers, but the geeks have inherited the earth and gut reactions might feel good, but can be totally wrong.
Don't get me wrong, the gut is key to art. And research will tell you where you've been as opposed to where you're going. But if you want to play the game as opposed to just pontificating, today you have to look at the numbers.
It got to the point where I was less interested in what I had to say than Mr. Dick's conclusions.
And here they are:
Best New Artist: Macklemore & Ryan Lewis
Best Pop Duo/Group Performance: "Blurred Lines"
Best Rap Album: Macklemore & Ryan Lewis
Best Rock Album: Kings Of Leon
Best Country Album: Taylor Swift
Song of the Year: "Royals"
Record of the Year: "Royals"
Album of the Year: Macklemore & Ryan Lewis
Now if "Royals" wins, I'll be thrilled. Kind of like when "Annie Hall" won Best Picture, Lorde DESERVES IT!
But now I'm speaking from personal opinion, and emotion. Science?
There are rules as to who can vote for what.
But while I'm busy handicapping, Mr. Dick is being cold and calculating. And if you're interested in who's gonna win, and as I stated above, I'm not, then...what he says counts.
We'll see on Sunday night.
I disagreed with so many of his predictions. But the more he delineated his methodology, the more I became convinced. Because unlike so many Americans, never mind people in the music business, I believe in science. And data.
And so does Mark Cuban.
That's right, while the rest of the Grammy penumbra is just regurgitating the inane hype, Mr. Cuban decided to go left field, to produce a whole show demonstrating that data delivers.
And if it does...
Expect this to become a big part of the story next year.
Neil Portnow will wake up and embrace it. If he's smart. Because we're more interested in the line than who's really gonna win.
So we see the wheel turn once again. We see those who are educated and willing to take risks employing a new perspective and triumphing.
And you've got people like me speaking from the gut, wondering...am I wrong?
P.S. Here are a couple of clips. My makeup makes me look like I'm from Mars, having been too heavily irradiated by the sun. And I don't think I give a revelatory performance, but if you want to see me in action, here I am:
"Who Should Win the GRAMMY for Best Rap Album of the Year?": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4L55UMeRFr4
"Who Should Win the GRAMMY for Best Country Album?": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEUOfVveY10
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I don't give a shit.
To think that the Grammys mean anything is to misunderstand the impact of the show. Your appearance could impact your career, a victory is barely more than meaningless. Come on, who won last year? The year before?
So I don't get caught up in the Grammy run-up. It's manufactured hype for an organization that needs to sell a TV show and a media that fawns over everything involving personalities/stars, and moves on the very next day.
And while I'm at it, why is LL Cool J the host? The faded rapper has the stage presence of a gnat and the charisma of a doorknob. Couldn't they get someone with a personality, like Kevin Hart? Who could at least crack a few jokes between making fun of the lines he must read from the teleprompter?
But that's what the Grammys are all about, playing it safe. If risk was involved, they'd be hosted by Katt Williams and there'd be GoPros backstage documenting the acts shooting up.
Furthermore, only with hindsight can we see what matters. Tom Waits matters more than almost everybody who won in his heyday of the mid to late seventies, and he's still making notable music today. Then again, unlike everybody else from his generation, never mind those wet behind the ears, he's not on the endorsement/sponsorship gravy train, begging corporations to sell out. Yes, they should have a trade show astride the awards show, wherein the acts flog themselves to the highest bidder.
But if Mark Cuban asks me to appear on his network...I'm gonna. Because this is a relationship business and Mark returns e-mails in a minute and is always lifting rocks to see what's next. Imagine if he ran the Grammys, the man who gave the middle finger to the NBA...
So I drive downtown, get in the makeup chair and when the camera starts to roll, I'm a bloviating fool. I'm second-guessing the situation, trying to figure out who will win while stating who should.
But on the end of the dais is a guy from Pittsburgh who couldn't be less rock and roll if he got a neck tattoo, and by the end of the program he'd convinced me he was right.
This was John Dick. Of CivicScience. A polling firm.
And he wasn't borderline autistic, like Nate Silver. He radiated no nerd cred. And he kept talking about the numbers to the point where I had to get into it with him, WHO CARES WHAT THE PUBLIC HAS TO SAY!
And then Mr. Dick explained his methodology.
He trolls for people on PerezHilton. He gets them to answer the question of the day, and then places a cookie on their computer, tracking them as they move about the web. Sounds scary, doesn't it? Welcome to the twenty first century!
But what Mr. Dick and his team of Carnegie Mellon technicians is looking for is...the ability of those he tracks to get it right. That's the science. And last year he predicted five out of the six big Grammy winners. He was eighty percent at the Oscars. And before Nate Silver and the 2012 election, I'd pooh-pooh Mr. Dick and his numbers, but the geeks have inherited the earth and gut reactions might feel good, but can be totally wrong.
Don't get me wrong, the gut is key to art. And research will tell you where you've been as opposed to where you're going. But if you want to play the game as opposed to just pontificating, today you have to look at the numbers.
It got to the point where I was less interested in what I had to say than Mr. Dick's conclusions.
And here they are:
Best New Artist: Macklemore & Ryan Lewis
Best Pop Duo/Group Performance: "Blurred Lines"
Best Rap Album: Macklemore & Ryan Lewis
Best Rock Album: Kings Of Leon
Best Country Album: Taylor Swift
Song of the Year: "Royals"
Record of the Year: "Royals"
Album of the Year: Macklemore & Ryan Lewis
Now if "Royals" wins, I'll be thrilled. Kind of like when "Annie Hall" won Best Picture, Lorde DESERVES IT!
But now I'm speaking from personal opinion, and emotion. Science?
There are rules as to who can vote for what.
But while I'm busy handicapping, Mr. Dick is being cold and calculating. And if you're interested in who's gonna win, and as I stated above, I'm not, then...what he says counts.
We'll see on Sunday night.
I disagreed with so many of his predictions. But the more he delineated his methodology, the more I became convinced. Because unlike so many Americans, never mind people in the music business, I believe in science. And data.
And so does Mark Cuban.
That's right, while the rest of the Grammy penumbra is just regurgitating the inane hype, Mr. Cuban decided to go left field, to produce a whole show demonstrating that data delivers.
And if it does...
Expect this to become a big part of the story next year.
Neil Portnow will wake up and embrace it. If he's smart. Because we're more interested in the line than who's really gonna win.
So we see the wheel turn once again. We see those who are educated and willing to take risks employing a new perspective and triumphing.
And you've got people like me speaking from the gut, wondering...am I wrong?
P.S. Here are a couple of clips. My makeup makes me look like I'm from Mars, having been too heavily irradiated by the sun. And I don't think I give a revelatory performance, but if you want to see me in action, here I am:
"Who Should Win the GRAMMY for Best Rap Album of the Year?": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4L55UMeRFr4
"Who Should Win the GRAMMY for Best Country Album?": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cEUOfVveY10
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Wednesday 22 January 2014
Sam Smith
Today I went where music lives.
Downstairs they were rehearsing.
Upstairs I was listening to Sam Smith.
In the studio my buds Luke, Frampton and Don Was, supported by Kenny Aronoff, Greg Phillinganes and a compliment of keyboardists and backup singers, were preparing for Ringo. Who entered at the appointed time, skinny and short-haired and it may be fifty years on, but he's still a BEATLE!
They were doing "Photograph." It sounded every bit as good as the record.
And upstairs I was reminded of the power of music, why it keeps drawing me back, like "Godfather III," why you read this godforsaken newsletter. I heard Sam Smith's debut album. Ten tracks, only one longer than four minutes, four not even breaking three, it's everything America is not.
You know America. A desperate land where it's everybody for himself, where the pop artists tell us how much better and more fabulous than us they are and we're peppered with inane ditties imploring us to get up our gumption and do...what?
The human condition is on life support here. We live in a land where money is king and most people don't have it. And when you're in these straits, the only thing that soothes the soul is music.
You remember music, right?
Stuff like "Tumbleweed Connection," which had no hits but sounds every bit as good today as it did in 1971. And today, just like back then, the best music still comes from England. Where there never was an American Dream and it's less about getting ahead and more about evidencing who you truly are.
In England they follow the pop charts the way we follow the antics of Mark Zuckerberg and Jack Dorsey. Everybody knows the hit acts, and everybody's got an opinion. And they're all clueless as to what's going on over here, across the pond.
They think it's democratic, kind of like Radio 1, wherein the best of the best is all spun in one place.
But the truth is Top Forty isn't broad at all. And has recently expanded beyond its urban boundaries, but is still looking for instant, not Sam Smith.
But the people?
Sam Smith is exactly what we're looking for.
He looks like us! Everybody singing in America is beautiful, whether by birth or plastic surgery.
Whereas music was never about the image, but the sound, it's what goes in your ears that counts.
Imagine if Susan Boyle was three-dimensional, that she knew how to write as well as sing.
Now you're getting the idea of Sam Smith.
Oh, he's had a bit of success. With Disclosure and Naughty Boy.
But nobody but a hipster knows this in America.
But hipsters are gonna spread the word on Sam Smith's album "In The Lonely Hour," because the peaks are so damn high!
There's no "Rolling In The Deep," but the album has even more soul than "21."
Start with "Leave Your Lover."
Where Sam breathlessly implores his love to leave him for...me. If you haven't felt this emotion, you've lost your genitalia. This is music! Evidencing the human condition, the pain.
You can do nothing but stare at the speakers. You want to jump in, bond with this joyous noise, you want to leave your life, leave it for Sam Smith.
And then there's "Stay With Me." Which builds to a chorus so powerful that if Sam Smith appeared on Sunday night's Grammy show he'd become a star overnight. Because we all want that gospel feeling, we wall want to believe, in the power of the individual, of the voice.
So, the album is not coming out for months.
They're gonna dribble out some tracks.
But I'm telling you now, Sam Smith is America's 2014 breakout star. He's the one everybody's gonna be talking about. Because he's bringing us back to where we once belonged, and have been longing to return to seemingly forever.
Rebirth is inevitable. It's begun in the U.K. Eventually it will spread to the U.S. Because some people just can't play the bankrupt formula game.
Thank god.
"Stay With Me": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YxSZMvcle5s
This is live from the Mercury Lounge. It doesn't quite have the power of the recorded track, but you can see and hear the magic. You know when someone has the talent. Put this chorus in a TV show, a hit movie and everybody will know it.
"Leave Your Lover": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KhxTLIFXfW8
This is another audience video. Once again, it contains the essence, but the recorded track has an additional layer of magic. You're gonna want to be in attendance the next time he sings this stuff live.
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Downstairs they were rehearsing.
Upstairs I was listening to Sam Smith.
In the studio my buds Luke, Frampton and Don Was, supported by Kenny Aronoff, Greg Phillinganes and a compliment of keyboardists and backup singers, were preparing for Ringo. Who entered at the appointed time, skinny and short-haired and it may be fifty years on, but he's still a BEATLE!
They were doing "Photograph." It sounded every bit as good as the record.
And upstairs I was reminded of the power of music, why it keeps drawing me back, like "Godfather III," why you read this godforsaken newsletter. I heard Sam Smith's debut album. Ten tracks, only one longer than four minutes, four not even breaking three, it's everything America is not.
You know America. A desperate land where it's everybody for himself, where the pop artists tell us how much better and more fabulous than us they are and we're peppered with inane ditties imploring us to get up our gumption and do...what?
The human condition is on life support here. We live in a land where money is king and most people don't have it. And when you're in these straits, the only thing that soothes the soul is music.
You remember music, right?
Stuff like "Tumbleweed Connection," which had no hits but sounds every bit as good today as it did in 1971. And today, just like back then, the best music still comes from England. Where there never was an American Dream and it's less about getting ahead and more about evidencing who you truly are.
In England they follow the pop charts the way we follow the antics of Mark Zuckerberg and Jack Dorsey. Everybody knows the hit acts, and everybody's got an opinion. And they're all clueless as to what's going on over here, across the pond.
They think it's democratic, kind of like Radio 1, wherein the best of the best is all spun in one place.
But the truth is Top Forty isn't broad at all. And has recently expanded beyond its urban boundaries, but is still looking for instant, not Sam Smith.
But the people?
Sam Smith is exactly what we're looking for.
He looks like us! Everybody singing in America is beautiful, whether by birth or plastic surgery.
Whereas music was never about the image, but the sound, it's what goes in your ears that counts.
Imagine if Susan Boyle was three-dimensional, that she knew how to write as well as sing.
Now you're getting the idea of Sam Smith.
Oh, he's had a bit of success. With Disclosure and Naughty Boy.
But nobody but a hipster knows this in America.
But hipsters are gonna spread the word on Sam Smith's album "In The Lonely Hour," because the peaks are so damn high!
There's no "Rolling In The Deep," but the album has even more soul than "21."
Start with "Leave Your Lover."
Where Sam breathlessly implores his love to leave him for...me. If you haven't felt this emotion, you've lost your genitalia. This is music! Evidencing the human condition, the pain.
You can do nothing but stare at the speakers. You want to jump in, bond with this joyous noise, you want to leave your life, leave it for Sam Smith.
And then there's "Stay With Me." Which builds to a chorus so powerful that if Sam Smith appeared on Sunday night's Grammy show he'd become a star overnight. Because we all want that gospel feeling, we wall want to believe, in the power of the individual, of the voice.
So, the album is not coming out for months.
They're gonna dribble out some tracks.
But I'm telling you now, Sam Smith is America's 2014 breakout star. He's the one everybody's gonna be talking about. Because he's bringing us back to where we once belonged, and have been longing to return to seemingly forever.
Rebirth is inevitable. It's begun in the U.K. Eventually it will spread to the U.S. Because some people just can't play the bankrupt formula game.
Thank god.
"Stay With Me": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YxSZMvcle5s
This is live from the Mercury Lounge. It doesn't quite have the power of the recorded track, but you can see and hear the magic. You know when someone has the talent. Put this chorus in a TV show, a hit movie and everybody will know it.
"Leave Your Lover": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KhxTLIFXfW8
This is another audience video. Once again, it contains the essence, but the recorded track has an additional layer of magic. You're gonna want to be in attendance the next time he sings this stuff live.
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Tuesday 21 January 2014
The Most Important Thing You Will Read All Day
"Why Bitcoin Matters": http://dealbook.nytimes.com/2014/01/21/why-bitcoin-matters/
I like smart people. I like to learn something.
Which is why I don't watch TV singing competitions, where no one goes on to glory and it's only about the ratings and I'm more interested in seeing "Shark Tank."
That's today's world. Used to be everybody wanted to be a musician and have a hit record, today everybody wants to be an entrepreneur and go on "Shark Tank" and get an investment.
But they're oftentimes so uninformed, they can't possibly be successful. But unlike in music, the sharks tell the truth.
Kinda like the balloon guy last Friday night. A shark asked..."How can I make money on this?"
That's what people don't understand about music. I only want to sign it if I can make money. If I can't, I'm not interested. I don't care how good a salesman you are, how long you've "practiced."
That was one of the great things said last week. That the balloon man was a great SALESMAN, but he hadn't proven he was a great MANAGER! That if he wanted to grow his business he had to hire other salesmen.
And that his franchising idea was bogus.
I've been to a million music conferences, no one ever tells the wannabe the truth, because it might hurt their feelings.
But smart people never take their eye from the prize, they know it's not about feelings, but winning.
Kinda like my friend Shak. You don't know his name, that's not why he's in the game. I got to know him because he was one of the original investors in Spotify, we hadn't seen each other in a while and a few months ago we got together and Shak told me he'd started a publication, Coindesk.
Huh?
Not another Bitcoin story! I'd already had it with the Winklevosses, and this was months before the hype became deafening.
And Shak was taken aback. Because he didn't think he'd have to convince me. That I understood.
But I didn't.
But rather than change the subject, I had Shak explain.
And I got it.
But no one in the media gets it. They're too busy speaking of the seesawing value.
But today on the "New York Times" site Marc Andreesen lays out an explanation that will have your eyes bugging out. Not only does he answer all your questions, he illustrates opportunities. Not only is a digital currency coming, he believes it's too late to stop the Bitcoin train. Kind of like Spotify has such a big lead that despite its imperfections...it probably can't be beaten.
But this is why tech has become so exciting.
But it wasn't only today's article, at the beginning of the month Andreesen went on record in the "Wall Street Journal" that there is no tech bubble:
"Andreessen: Bubble Believers 'Don't Know What They're Talking About'": http://on.wsj.com/1dtzDtk
And granted, Andreesen's a VC. He's got $50 million invested in Bitcoin ventures.
But this willingness to go on the record is akin to Michael Rapino and Lucian Grainge writing essays explaining why they're not only bullish on touring and recording but telling us where it's all gonna go.
But that's not the music business. Where acts still won't go to all-in ticketing and would rather have Ticketmaster take the heat for charges and drive the public to scalpers rather than charge appropriately or employ paperless ticketing. Hell, I got e-mail today from someone bitching that there was a $20 service charge on top of a $27 ticket to see the Head and the Heart at the Wiltern. He's busy blaming Ticketmaster. But if you think a six piece band can tour for $27 a ticket, you know nothing about economics. It's all a scam/sham, to get you to hate Ticketmaster and love the band. That extra $20...it's promoter profit! All the rest of the cash is going to the band!
But nobody in the music business wants to either speak the truth or live in the present.
They're talking about gamification in the office environment and we don't even have gamification in the concert world!
Don't know what I'm talking about?
Then read Farhad Manjoo's article:
"High Definition: The 'Gamification' of the Office": http://on.wsj.com/1dJCNpo
Don't know Manjoo?
He's a star. He left Slate for the WSJ and last week jumped to the NYT.
And he's much more of a big deal than anybody making music. Because he wrote every day, at least at the WSJ. And he's analyzing the issues.
I ask you, does your kid want to be on "Shark Tank" or "The Voice"?
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I like smart people. I like to learn something.
Which is why I don't watch TV singing competitions, where no one goes on to glory and it's only about the ratings and I'm more interested in seeing "Shark Tank."
That's today's world. Used to be everybody wanted to be a musician and have a hit record, today everybody wants to be an entrepreneur and go on "Shark Tank" and get an investment.
But they're oftentimes so uninformed, they can't possibly be successful. But unlike in music, the sharks tell the truth.
Kinda like the balloon guy last Friday night. A shark asked..."How can I make money on this?"
That's what people don't understand about music. I only want to sign it if I can make money. If I can't, I'm not interested. I don't care how good a salesman you are, how long you've "practiced."
That was one of the great things said last week. That the balloon man was a great SALESMAN, but he hadn't proven he was a great MANAGER! That if he wanted to grow his business he had to hire other salesmen.
And that his franchising idea was bogus.
I've been to a million music conferences, no one ever tells the wannabe the truth, because it might hurt their feelings.
But smart people never take their eye from the prize, they know it's not about feelings, but winning.
Kinda like my friend Shak. You don't know his name, that's not why he's in the game. I got to know him because he was one of the original investors in Spotify, we hadn't seen each other in a while and a few months ago we got together and Shak told me he'd started a publication, Coindesk.
Huh?
Not another Bitcoin story! I'd already had it with the Winklevosses, and this was months before the hype became deafening.
And Shak was taken aback. Because he didn't think he'd have to convince me. That I understood.
But I didn't.
But rather than change the subject, I had Shak explain.
And I got it.
But no one in the media gets it. They're too busy speaking of the seesawing value.
But today on the "New York Times" site Marc Andreesen lays out an explanation that will have your eyes bugging out. Not only does he answer all your questions, he illustrates opportunities. Not only is a digital currency coming, he believes it's too late to stop the Bitcoin train. Kind of like Spotify has such a big lead that despite its imperfections...it probably can't be beaten.
But this is why tech has become so exciting.
But it wasn't only today's article, at the beginning of the month Andreesen went on record in the "Wall Street Journal" that there is no tech bubble:
"Andreessen: Bubble Believers 'Don't Know What They're Talking About'": http://on.wsj.com/1dtzDtk
And granted, Andreesen's a VC. He's got $50 million invested in Bitcoin ventures.
But this willingness to go on the record is akin to Michael Rapino and Lucian Grainge writing essays explaining why they're not only bullish on touring and recording but telling us where it's all gonna go.
But that's not the music business. Where acts still won't go to all-in ticketing and would rather have Ticketmaster take the heat for charges and drive the public to scalpers rather than charge appropriately or employ paperless ticketing. Hell, I got e-mail today from someone bitching that there was a $20 service charge on top of a $27 ticket to see the Head and the Heart at the Wiltern. He's busy blaming Ticketmaster. But if you think a six piece band can tour for $27 a ticket, you know nothing about economics. It's all a scam/sham, to get you to hate Ticketmaster and love the band. That extra $20...it's promoter profit! All the rest of the cash is going to the band!
But nobody in the music business wants to either speak the truth or live in the present.
They're talking about gamification in the office environment and we don't even have gamification in the concert world!
Don't know what I'm talking about?
Then read Farhad Manjoo's article:
"High Definition: The 'Gamification' of the Office": http://on.wsj.com/1dJCNpo
Don't know Manjoo?
He's a star. He left Slate for the WSJ and last week jumped to the NYT.
And he's much more of a big deal than anybody making music. Because he wrote every day, at least at the WSJ. And he's analyzing the issues.
I ask you, does your kid want to be on "Shark Tank" or "The Voice"?
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Sunday 19 January 2014
Leftovers
Why does some food taste better the next day?
Pizza, Chinese, the sandwich I just ate... Days later, after marinating in their own juices, what might have been "eh" the first time around is positively delicious later.
My mother was not a good cook. I'm not saying she had no admirable features. She was a culture vulture, still is, where do you think I got it? She was a fan of Jolly Green Giant and Birdseye, you remember, those boil-in bags from the sixties, with the butter and the "freshness" that was one of the breakthroughs, like Pop-Tarts and Tang? Maybe not. We live in a health era right now, wherein if it's been pulled from the ground far away and flash frozen, we don't want it.
So, because she was so busy reading and watching, we frequently went out. Furthermore, my father was a gourmand. He was vastly overweight until he became ill and got what he referenced as a "gastric resection" which I didn't realize was a gastric bypass, i.e. weight loss surgery, until last year when my sister told me. Ah, the secrets that still emanate from the dead. Did you read that story in today's "New York Times"? (http://nyti.ms/1aBYPtK)
So every Sunday night we'd go out for dinner. Sometimes fancy, sometimes holes in the wall, and that's where I got my sense of adventure. Where we ate was just as important as what we saw. Lifestyle was everything to my dad.
Which is how Felice and I found ourselves downtown yesterday, eating at the Nickel Diner.
That was not our first destination. But we pulled up to the Eastside Market Italian Deli and found out it was already closed.
But employing the genius map app we found destination number two, because if you can understand downtown L.A. you live there, and nobody does other than the unbelievably poor and the unbelievably rich.
We found these places via Triple-D, otherwise known as Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives. And Guy Fieri's restaurant may have been panned by the "New York Times" but he's a personal hero, because I too know the satisfaction of biting into something that's a ten on its own level. Yes, the food might not work at Per Se, but in the greasy spoon, the ultimate fry, the ultimate chocolate chip cookie, that's what I live for.
The Italian delicacies at the Eastside Market had pictures to die for. They looked like the grinders I grew up with in Bridgeport, a cornucopia of Italian delicacies.
As for the Nickel Diner... It was all about the bacon doughnut, the dessert.
But what to eat first?
I had a steak sandwich, with roasted peppers, pickled onions, mozzarella and dijon sauce... The problem with mainstream food is it's underseasoned. But go to the one of a kind place and they know how to spice it up. The steak sandwich was gooey and tasty, but the steak was not first rate, not tough, but not tender, unlike the dry aged wagyu ribeye I had at Flame in Vail where the bread was substandard but the steak was savory.
But really, it's all about the desserts at the Nickel. But by time we were ready the bacon doughnuts were gone!
So we settled for the chocolate potato chip cake. With peanut butter. And frosting. Salty and crunchy. That's the new thing, have you had salted caramel ice cream yet?
But overall, I would not give the Nickel Diner a thumbs-up.
No, that's wrong, I'd definitely give it a thumbs-up, I just wouldn't say it requires a special trip.
Until today. When I just removed the remnants of my steak sandwich from the fridge.
I have a hard time stopping. I eat what you serve. There are starving children in Europe, you know that right? My parents actually said that. And if you put something on your plate and didn't eat it you'd hear about it for weeks thereafter, that's the kind of guy my dad was, you obeyed the rules. I still do. Too often to my detriment.
But Felice's family was different. She can stop. And she did. So she was left with half a burger and I was left with...half a steak sandwich that I did not eat, realizing I could no longer taste it, why continue?
But as I'm watching the game right now, feeling guilty, because after all the NFL is just modern gladiators, much more dangerous than that TV show with that appellation, Felice entered the bedroom with a smile on her face and started to testify how good her half of hamburger was today.
Which reminded me... My steak sandwich!
Some people would heat it up. But somehow that ruins the effect. If you're not willing to endure the pasty, crunchy, past its peak crust of day old pizza, you're not a connoisseur. All stuck together it's something different. Yes, I don't want to separate out the flavors, I want them all together. That's what a day or two in the fridge will do. Sure, the bread is soggy, but now it's infused with flavors absent previously.
And I take one bite... DELICIOUS! BETTER THAN IT WAS ORIGINALLY!
And I'm wondering what's happening scientifically, but I'll leave that to Nathan Myhrvold. All I know is I'm sitting at the kitchen table reminiscing about pizza in college, Chinese food in Vail, and how when I dig into the carton and extract the remnants of what once was I'm exquisitely happy.
Nickel Diner: http://www.nickeldiner.com
Eastside Market Italian Deli: http://esmdeli.com
Nickel Diner pics: http://bit.ly/1ahXPAp
Eastside Market Italian Deli pics: http://bit.ly/1ahXKwu
P.S. What I hate about modern media is content providers' adherence to old business models, as in I was choosing a destination but all Triple-D episodes had been scrubbed from YouTube, so I'd be forced to sit in front of the Food Channel night after night to be edified. Why not make everything available and monetize it?
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Pizza, Chinese, the sandwich I just ate... Days later, after marinating in their own juices, what might have been "eh" the first time around is positively delicious later.
My mother was not a good cook. I'm not saying she had no admirable features. She was a culture vulture, still is, where do you think I got it? She was a fan of Jolly Green Giant and Birdseye, you remember, those boil-in bags from the sixties, with the butter and the "freshness" that was one of the breakthroughs, like Pop-Tarts and Tang? Maybe not. We live in a health era right now, wherein if it's been pulled from the ground far away and flash frozen, we don't want it.
So, because she was so busy reading and watching, we frequently went out. Furthermore, my father was a gourmand. He was vastly overweight until he became ill and got what he referenced as a "gastric resection" which I didn't realize was a gastric bypass, i.e. weight loss surgery, until last year when my sister told me. Ah, the secrets that still emanate from the dead. Did you read that story in today's "New York Times"? (http://nyti.ms/1aBYPtK)
So every Sunday night we'd go out for dinner. Sometimes fancy, sometimes holes in the wall, and that's where I got my sense of adventure. Where we ate was just as important as what we saw. Lifestyle was everything to my dad.
Which is how Felice and I found ourselves downtown yesterday, eating at the Nickel Diner.
That was not our first destination. But we pulled up to the Eastside Market Italian Deli and found out it was already closed.
But employing the genius map app we found destination number two, because if you can understand downtown L.A. you live there, and nobody does other than the unbelievably poor and the unbelievably rich.
We found these places via Triple-D, otherwise known as Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives. And Guy Fieri's restaurant may have been panned by the "New York Times" but he's a personal hero, because I too know the satisfaction of biting into something that's a ten on its own level. Yes, the food might not work at Per Se, but in the greasy spoon, the ultimate fry, the ultimate chocolate chip cookie, that's what I live for.
The Italian delicacies at the Eastside Market had pictures to die for. They looked like the grinders I grew up with in Bridgeport, a cornucopia of Italian delicacies.
As for the Nickel Diner... It was all about the bacon doughnut, the dessert.
But what to eat first?
I had a steak sandwich, with roasted peppers, pickled onions, mozzarella and dijon sauce... The problem with mainstream food is it's underseasoned. But go to the one of a kind place and they know how to spice it up. The steak sandwich was gooey and tasty, but the steak was not first rate, not tough, but not tender, unlike the dry aged wagyu ribeye I had at Flame in Vail where the bread was substandard but the steak was savory.
But really, it's all about the desserts at the Nickel. But by time we were ready the bacon doughnuts were gone!
So we settled for the chocolate potato chip cake. With peanut butter. And frosting. Salty and crunchy. That's the new thing, have you had salted caramel ice cream yet?
But overall, I would not give the Nickel Diner a thumbs-up.
No, that's wrong, I'd definitely give it a thumbs-up, I just wouldn't say it requires a special trip.
Until today. When I just removed the remnants of my steak sandwich from the fridge.
I have a hard time stopping. I eat what you serve. There are starving children in Europe, you know that right? My parents actually said that. And if you put something on your plate and didn't eat it you'd hear about it for weeks thereafter, that's the kind of guy my dad was, you obeyed the rules. I still do. Too often to my detriment.
But Felice's family was different. She can stop. And she did. So she was left with half a burger and I was left with...half a steak sandwich that I did not eat, realizing I could no longer taste it, why continue?
But as I'm watching the game right now, feeling guilty, because after all the NFL is just modern gladiators, much more dangerous than that TV show with that appellation, Felice entered the bedroom with a smile on her face and started to testify how good her half of hamburger was today.
Which reminded me... My steak sandwich!
Some people would heat it up. But somehow that ruins the effect. If you're not willing to endure the pasty, crunchy, past its peak crust of day old pizza, you're not a connoisseur. All stuck together it's something different. Yes, I don't want to separate out the flavors, I want them all together. That's what a day or two in the fridge will do. Sure, the bread is soggy, but now it's infused with flavors absent previously.
And I take one bite... DELICIOUS! BETTER THAN IT WAS ORIGINALLY!
And I'm wondering what's happening scientifically, but I'll leave that to Nathan Myhrvold. All I know is I'm sitting at the kitchen table reminiscing about pizza in college, Chinese food in Vail, and how when I dig into the carton and extract the remnants of what once was I'm exquisitely happy.
Nickel Diner: http://www.nickeldiner.com
Eastside Market Italian Deli: http://esmdeli.com
Nickel Diner pics: http://bit.ly/1ahXPAp
Eastside Market Italian Deli pics: http://bit.ly/1ahXKwu
P.S. What I hate about modern media is content providers' adherence to old business models, as in I was choosing a destination but all Triple-D episodes had been scrubbed from YouTube, so I'd be forced to sit in front of the Food Channel night after night to be edified. Why not make everything available and monetize it?
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