The film came out a year after the Fillmores closed, had almost no impact, and neither did this boxed set of highlights, but oh how high those highlights are!
Actually, "Fillmore-The Last Days" was one of the few movies I walked in in the middle of, I'm like Alvy in "Annie Hall," I've got to see it from the beginning, otherwise I'm fearful I've missed something, but a concert movie?
Yup, I was worried about this in a concert movie too, but we had tickets for Newport Jazz back when it was in New York and this was the only way the timing worked, my friend Ronnie, who is no longer with us, convinced me.
And the flick shows Bill Graham in action, as well as...
IN A SILENT WAY
This is the definitive version. I know that's heretical, considering most people consider Miles Davis's iteration of the Joe Zawinul composition the one and only statement, but most of them have never heard this Santana take.
Yes, I heard Mr. Davis, opening for Laura Nyro at the Fillmore East, during the "Bitches Brew" tour, but I didn't get it.
This I get.
Hang in there. It's instrumental music. It changes tempos. It's best listening alone, as opposed to in a group, which is anathema to the millennials, but back then we were in it together, but at the gig mostly we mind-melded with the act. Check this out, you'll get hooked.
INCIDENT AT NESHABUR
What the hell, might as well feature this cut which originally appeared on the second Santana LP, "Abraxas." And that iteration is great, but there's even more energy in this live take.
POPPA CAN PLAY
Eventually Bill Champlin went to work with Chicago, and he's barely a footnote, and his original act, the Sons of Champlin, barely broke out of the Bay Area, but this is infectious. It's loose, at first it seems disconnected, but then you get it, the organ links it together.
You don't need to take some apple juice in the lobby to enjoy this, you'll find almost no one else knows it, but I keep singing it in my head decades later. Really.
HELLO FRIENDS
Lamb. Remember them? You remember, Barbara Mauritz? The albums on Warner Brothers? No?
Anyway, "Hello Friends" is middling, it's all about "Isn't It Just A Beautiful Day," which did not make the album cut, and is usually known as "River Boulevard," that's how it's credited on the initial Pointer Sisters album. Huh?
Now even the Pointer Sisters have been forgotten, other than a couple of hits, and the first LP had "Yes We Can Can," and they were overnight sensations and we rushed out to buy the record and discovered "River Boulevard." Which I knew in its previous incarnation from Lamb's 1971 LP "Bring Out The Sun," which has been rescued from the sands of time on iTunes, but has not yet migrated to Spotify.
Still, you can hear the live "Fillmore" version by going to YouTube. It comes after Lydia Pense and Cold Blood at 6:50: http://bit.ly/1vOqmno
The truth is I heard the original Lamb studio take on the radio once and never forgot it, kept singing it in my head. And I was stunned to find it on the Pointer Sisters' album, but my jaw dropped when I was sitting in the theatre and Lamb sang it live in its original arrangement.
Whew!
You won't get it, especially in an era where almost everything is at your fingertips. But to have it exhumed years later...
WHITE BIRD
Do kids know this? A stone cold smash from It's A Beautiful Day's first album that was ubiquitous back then. The band played my college way back when and my bud John found guitarist Hal Wagenet walking the streets of Middlebury and brought him back to his dorm room with his bottle of apricot brandy and we shot the breeze. And John kept the bottle...
FRESH AIR
From the Dino Valenti Quicksilver, this was their best cut, but really it's about the first three albums, without him.
This is a hit in any rendition, but I did not own "Just For Love," due to its unevenness, and therefore it was great to own this in the Fillmore boxed set.
BACK ON THE STREETS AGAIN
Tower of Power. Their performances were oftentimes better than their material, and this is not one of their best songs, but it's a killer live take.
BABY'S CALLIN' ME HOME
Could be the best track in the collection.
To the degree anybody remembers Boz Scaggs these days it's for his sleek Top Forty hits. This came before that, and this and "Loan Me A Dime" are the apotheosis of his canon.
Check it out, you'll be amazed.
No one does this anymore. Subtlety is taboo. But this is like a Sunday morning in bed with your loved one, very intimate.
HENRY
Talk about being forgotten...
If you owned a Grateful Dead album, you owned the initial New Riders of the Purple Sage LP, after all New Riders opened so many of the Dead's shows.
This is not as good as the studio take, and it's not my favorite song on their initial LP, but this tale of dope running is a classic, from back when everybody was hip and no one was coming up with a tech solution in their basement, back when computers were still the enemy.
CASEY JONES
And speaking of the Dead...
They were always rough live, and they're rough here, but it's most definitely them, their sound chugging along like the train in this song.
And there's a Hot Tuna number and some Elvin Bishop work and if you weren't there, you'll find yourself scratching your head. This was back when there were no hard drives, never mind tapes, and live was a unique experience and we didn't go to hear the radio hits, there usually were none, but to revel in the group's oeuvre.
Chances are if you were alive back then, you've never heard this stuff, the collection was overpriced with bad buzz. But picking through you'll find some stuff that'll make you smile.
It was a glorious era. With Fillmores on each coast, tickets three, four and five dollars, with triple-headers and the ability to get in if you paid attention.
The shows I saw at the Fillmore East were some of the best I've ever attended.
Does this boxed set capture the venue and the era?
Far from perfectly, but you can hear the essence.
And that's what we were all concerned with, the essence.
Spotify link: http://spoti.fi/1mPPRiJ
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Friday 29 August 2014
Thursday 28 August 2014
I Gotta Try
So I got up early to battle the traffic to Thousand Oaks, to see the hip doctor.
Actually, he's not a hip doctor, he's a physiatrist. I went to the hip doctor, he said I don't need a replacement.
And I flew out west, but got fearful about my return back east, traffic was backed up for miles where the 101 merged into the 405. How was I gonna get back home?
And with Howard on vacation, I've been listening to NPR. And I learned that heroin deaths are spiking in NYC. And at first it made no sense to me, but then I realized that so many have given up hope. They don't see opportunity but darkness, and they slip under the spell of opiates. How very sad.
And I was shocked to find out that I'm much more screwed up than I thought. Some bursitis, a labrum tear, a collapsed disk and tendon tears.
Surgery is out of the question, the labrum is not that bad, I don't have a hitch in my gait. And the bursitis is not bugging me. As for the collapsed disk...welcome to my world, that's why I go to physical therapy every week, keeping disaster at bay, but I was shocked to see the picture, all black, no disk.
But the doctor said he was all about treating the pain. And the pain is on the outside of the hip. With those tendon tears. And the preferred method of treatment is PRP, Platelet Rich Plasma, which to make a long story short is about spinning your own blood and reinjecting it, and it'd be almost a surefire success in my case, but I'm not a candidate.
I'm contemplating the cost, I'm thinking about the ten days of inactivity. But when the physiatrist finds out I've got CML leukemia he takes the option off the table, saying it can bring the cancer back, he wouldn't do it.
And I can get a steroid shot, but that just treats the pain, or I can get Traumeel injections and pinpricks, which might have to be done multiple times, but are de rigueur in Europe, but now I'm depressed, because I can't get the one thing that works.
I took PCH back. The waves were big. But I did not play the radio, I was in shock. They say you can't be afraid to get better, afraid to see the doctor and find out what is going on and what can be done. But now what? Am I ever gonna recover? Is the pain ever gonna go away? I mean it's been improving, which is a good sign, but...
And just now I'm driving west on Ocean Park Boulevard, and this Michael McDonald song goes through my brain.
He was one of the biggest stars in the world, back in 1979, his hits on the Doobie Brothers' "Minute By Minute" album were ubiquitous.
And then he cut a solo album, with another huge hit, "I Keep Forgettin'", and this..."I Gotta Try," cowritten with Kenny Loggins, but McDonald's version came out first, and it's superior.
"Maybe it's true what they say about it
Maybe we can't make the ends meet"
Life is hard. There's nothing worse than being unable to pay the bills. And in that case, blind optimism does not help.
"Maybe we'll all have to do without it
Maybe this world's just incomplete"
That's what they don't tell you growing up, that sometimes it doesn't work out, sometimes there are just loose ends, sometimes the sand runs out of the hourglass long before you're ready, before it's clear who won or lost.
"Still we all look for the truth in our lives
Searching from different sides"
Truth. It's the opposite of delusion. It's not only facing facts, but looking for them. Sure, the internet can screw your mind up royally, but you can also learn so much.
"So hard living in a desperate world
But we all do the best that we can"
And boy are things desperate. There's no respite. From Syria to Ukraine to Ferguson trouble is happening every day. It's tempting to throw your arms in the air. But the truth is we've got to soldier on, it's in our DNA.
"Some people see a change
Some will remain the same"
Yup, you can put your best foot forward and still nothing happens. There isn't always light at the end of the tunnel. But sometimes there is.
"Some see the road as clear
Some say the end is here"
Which one is it? Upbeat ignorance or depressed honesty?
"They say it's a hopeless fight, well I say I gotta try"
Ain't that the truth. That's when you know you're keeping the heroin at bay, when that spark ignites and gets you going once again. And for me that spark is music. There are a zillion songs in my brain and I never know when one will pop up and rescue me.
Michael McDonald's never reached that peak again, not even close, but you can see him on the road this summer.
I've tolerated the pain for two and a half years, I've skied, I can soldier on. This might be as good as it's gonna get. The future path is blurry. But driving along Ocean Park Boulevard during the twilight hour I realized one thing...I GOTTA TRY!
And I will!
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Actually, he's not a hip doctor, he's a physiatrist. I went to the hip doctor, he said I don't need a replacement.
And I flew out west, but got fearful about my return back east, traffic was backed up for miles where the 101 merged into the 405. How was I gonna get back home?
And with Howard on vacation, I've been listening to NPR. And I learned that heroin deaths are spiking in NYC. And at first it made no sense to me, but then I realized that so many have given up hope. They don't see opportunity but darkness, and they slip under the spell of opiates. How very sad.
And I was shocked to find out that I'm much more screwed up than I thought. Some bursitis, a labrum tear, a collapsed disk and tendon tears.
Surgery is out of the question, the labrum is not that bad, I don't have a hitch in my gait. And the bursitis is not bugging me. As for the collapsed disk...welcome to my world, that's why I go to physical therapy every week, keeping disaster at bay, but I was shocked to see the picture, all black, no disk.
But the doctor said he was all about treating the pain. And the pain is on the outside of the hip. With those tendon tears. And the preferred method of treatment is PRP, Platelet Rich Plasma, which to make a long story short is about spinning your own blood and reinjecting it, and it'd be almost a surefire success in my case, but I'm not a candidate.
I'm contemplating the cost, I'm thinking about the ten days of inactivity. But when the physiatrist finds out I've got CML leukemia he takes the option off the table, saying it can bring the cancer back, he wouldn't do it.
And I can get a steroid shot, but that just treats the pain, or I can get Traumeel injections and pinpricks, which might have to be done multiple times, but are de rigueur in Europe, but now I'm depressed, because I can't get the one thing that works.
I took PCH back. The waves were big. But I did not play the radio, I was in shock. They say you can't be afraid to get better, afraid to see the doctor and find out what is going on and what can be done. But now what? Am I ever gonna recover? Is the pain ever gonna go away? I mean it's been improving, which is a good sign, but...
And just now I'm driving west on Ocean Park Boulevard, and this Michael McDonald song goes through my brain.
He was one of the biggest stars in the world, back in 1979, his hits on the Doobie Brothers' "Minute By Minute" album were ubiquitous.
And then he cut a solo album, with another huge hit, "I Keep Forgettin'", and this..."I Gotta Try," cowritten with Kenny Loggins, but McDonald's version came out first, and it's superior.
"Maybe it's true what they say about it
Maybe we can't make the ends meet"
Life is hard. There's nothing worse than being unable to pay the bills. And in that case, blind optimism does not help.
"Maybe we'll all have to do without it
Maybe this world's just incomplete"
That's what they don't tell you growing up, that sometimes it doesn't work out, sometimes there are just loose ends, sometimes the sand runs out of the hourglass long before you're ready, before it's clear who won or lost.
"Still we all look for the truth in our lives
Searching from different sides"
Truth. It's the opposite of delusion. It's not only facing facts, but looking for them. Sure, the internet can screw your mind up royally, but you can also learn so much.
"So hard living in a desperate world
But we all do the best that we can"
And boy are things desperate. There's no respite. From Syria to Ukraine to Ferguson trouble is happening every day. It's tempting to throw your arms in the air. But the truth is we've got to soldier on, it's in our DNA.
"Some people see a change
Some will remain the same"
Yup, you can put your best foot forward and still nothing happens. There isn't always light at the end of the tunnel. But sometimes there is.
"Some see the road as clear
Some say the end is here"
Which one is it? Upbeat ignorance or depressed honesty?
"They say it's a hopeless fight, well I say I gotta try"
Ain't that the truth. That's when you know you're keeping the heroin at bay, when that spark ignites and gets you going once again. And for me that spark is music. There are a zillion songs in my brain and I never know when one will pop up and rescue me.
Michael McDonald's never reached that peak again, not even close, but you can see him on the road this summer.
I've tolerated the pain for two and a half years, I've skied, I can soldier on. This might be as good as it's gonna get. The future path is blurry. But driving along Ocean Park Boulevard during the twilight hour I realized one thing...I GOTTA TRY!
And I will!
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Ed Sheeran At Staples
It wasn't your father's arena show.
You remember the baby boomers, the ones lamenting that today's music sucks? They weren't in attendance. Nor were their children. I'd put the average attendee at a bit over 16, the children of Generation X, who might be aware of Led Zeppelin and Fleetwood Mac but don't even remember when MTV played videos, never mind when Michael Jackson thrilled the world.
This business might be run by old men, but youngsters are running away with it.
Yes, Louis Messina might be the promoter, but there was no one Louie's age in the building. Then again, Louie's loaded, but he's still living the rock and roll lifestyle, burning the candle on both ends, sitting in the bus strategizing with Ed into the wee hours.
That's how Louie got Ed's tour. He opened for Taylor Swift. And the audience is the same, and they behave the same, and if you've never been you'll be shocked, THEY KNOW EVERY WORD!
And they sing along as if they were carefree in nursery school, unburdened by financial challenges, embracing the art of someone who does it himself. Yup, Ed Sheeran might sing about the A team, but artistically it's just him. Yup, Ed Sheeran played Staples ALONE!
Forget calculating the bottom line, with no hotel rooms or salaries for any performers but him, it's astounding that Ed could keep the assembled multitude in thrall with just his voice and his guitar. And they were on the edge of their seats, when they were not standing. And singing.
This is not how we used to do it. Baby boomers worshipped the acts. They sat in rapt attention. If they sang at all, it was only for the hit. And as the years passed, people only wanted to hear the hit. That's the bane of the Top Forty artist, once you get beyond the hits...there's no depth, there's no fandom.
But Ed Sheeran's fans were rabid. They knew EVERYTHING! In other words, whether they bought them or streamed them, Ed's fans played the albums and learned them by heart, because they spoke to their heart, they were necessary items, riding shotgun on the highway of life.
Proving if you're a superstar, and Ed is, at least amongst his demo, fans want to dig deep. Feel free to put out a lot of material. Even albums.
But if you're not...
Go to a classic rock show and if the act deigns to play something new the audience starts to chitchat and goes to the bathroom en masse. But the young 'uns want to go deep. A show is not a hard drive experience replicating the hits, it's something unique. Ed was nothing if not alive. How he does it, I have no idea, he must not come down for HOURS!
It's a funny world we live in, everybody's yelling for attention and after the initial burst of noise they instantly fall off the radar screen. This gives one the impression that nothing lasts, and if you don't overhype you've got no chance.
But that is not true. Ed Sheeran isn't Ariana Grande, he's not flavor of the moment. And although there was a burst of publicity when his album came out, that's died out, plowed under by the endless tsunami of new releases fighting for attention. So a follower of the media would get the impression that he's not happening.
But that would be untrue.
The truth is no matter how big you become today, it's about playing to your core, no matter how large that might be. Playing to the media is a fool's errand. Because the media is in a different game, selling clicks, whereas when music is done right it's not about trickery, but honesty, to the point where you don't want to go somewhere else, but stay right here, basking in your favorite.
In other words, the country is not in the throes of Sheeranmania, but it could not have been more palpable inside Staples Center last night.
And these people are not only fans of Ed, but others. During the encores Ed said he was going to play a cover of a song he wish he wrote. This is time for a Motown number, right? Or some classic rock chestnut. Instead he played Snow Patrol's "Chasing Cars" and Gary Lightbody came out to sing along. Would you recognize "Chasing Cars"? Do you have any idea what Gary Lightbody looks like?
I doubt it.
But you should have heard the whoop of recognition when Mr. Lightbody took the stage.
Because it's not your father's music business anymore. The younger generation, who never knew CDs, who never knew MTV, who never knew any of the classic rock constructs, are embracing a whole slew of new acts that speak to them about their personal experiences, and they identify. And that's what built this city known as rock and roll...the honesty, the identification. Yes, it's got to be catchy, it's got to grab you immediately, but it's got to SAY SOMETHING! And the true stars say and perform it in a way everybody else does not. You can buy insurance from Max Martin and Dr. Luke but it's like Jennifer Grey getting a nose job, you might now look sleek, but you've lost your identity, you're unrecognizable.
So I'm here to report from the front lines of the music business that we're experiencing a rebirth, that everything's healthy, because you can't keep the younger generation down. You need no degree to make music, you only need to be on the planet to experience life, and if you can fuse music and lyrics to tell your story you can gain a huge fan base that rains down dough.
What could be better?
P.S. Louie only represents one new act a time, he builds and promotes it around the country. Each of his acts has a team. From Taylor Swift to Eric Church to Kenny Chesney to Ed Sheeran. Because despite consolidation music remains a personal service business. And one man on a mission can achieve more than any faceless edifice.
P.P.S. In case you're unfamiliar with Ed Sheeran's music, here's a playlist for you to check out: http://spoti.fi/1zMYZdG
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You remember the baby boomers, the ones lamenting that today's music sucks? They weren't in attendance. Nor were their children. I'd put the average attendee at a bit over 16, the children of Generation X, who might be aware of Led Zeppelin and Fleetwood Mac but don't even remember when MTV played videos, never mind when Michael Jackson thrilled the world.
This business might be run by old men, but youngsters are running away with it.
Yes, Louis Messina might be the promoter, but there was no one Louie's age in the building. Then again, Louie's loaded, but he's still living the rock and roll lifestyle, burning the candle on both ends, sitting in the bus strategizing with Ed into the wee hours.
That's how Louie got Ed's tour. He opened for Taylor Swift. And the audience is the same, and they behave the same, and if you've never been you'll be shocked, THEY KNOW EVERY WORD!
And they sing along as if they were carefree in nursery school, unburdened by financial challenges, embracing the art of someone who does it himself. Yup, Ed Sheeran might sing about the A team, but artistically it's just him. Yup, Ed Sheeran played Staples ALONE!
Forget calculating the bottom line, with no hotel rooms or salaries for any performers but him, it's astounding that Ed could keep the assembled multitude in thrall with just his voice and his guitar. And they were on the edge of their seats, when they were not standing. And singing.
This is not how we used to do it. Baby boomers worshipped the acts. They sat in rapt attention. If they sang at all, it was only for the hit. And as the years passed, people only wanted to hear the hit. That's the bane of the Top Forty artist, once you get beyond the hits...there's no depth, there's no fandom.
But Ed Sheeran's fans were rabid. They knew EVERYTHING! In other words, whether they bought them or streamed them, Ed's fans played the albums and learned them by heart, because they spoke to their heart, they were necessary items, riding shotgun on the highway of life.
Proving if you're a superstar, and Ed is, at least amongst his demo, fans want to dig deep. Feel free to put out a lot of material. Even albums.
But if you're not...
Go to a classic rock show and if the act deigns to play something new the audience starts to chitchat and goes to the bathroom en masse. But the young 'uns want to go deep. A show is not a hard drive experience replicating the hits, it's something unique. Ed was nothing if not alive. How he does it, I have no idea, he must not come down for HOURS!
It's a funny world we live in, everybody's yelling for attention and after the initial burst of noise they instantly fall off the radar screen. This gives one the impression that nothing lasts, and if you don't overhype you've got no chance.
But that is not true. Ed Sheeran isn't Ariana Grande, he's not flavor of the moment. And although there was a burst of publicity when his album came out, that's died out, plowed under by the endless tsunami of new releases fighting for attention. So a follower of the media would get the impression that he's not happening.
But that would be untrue.
The truth is no matter how big you become today, it's about playing to your core, no matter how large that might be. Playing to the media is a fool's errand. Because the media is in a different game, selling clicks, whereas when music is done right it's not about trickery, but honesty, to the point where you don't want to go somewhere else, but stay right here, basking in your favorite.
In other words, the country is not in the throes of Sheeranmania, but it could not have been more palpable inside Staples Center last night.
And these people are not only fans of Ed, but others. During the encores Ed said he was going to play a cover of a song he wish he wrote. This is time for a Motown number, right? Or some classic rock chestnut. Instead he played Snow Patrol's "Chasing Cars" and Gary Lightbody came out to sing along. Would you recognize "Chasing Cars"? Do you have any idea what Gary Lightbody looks like?
I doubt it.
But you should have heard the whoop of recognition when Mr. Lightbody took the stage.
Because it's not your father's music business anymore. The younger generation, who never knew CDs, who never knew MTV, who never knew any of the classic rock constructs, are embracing a whole slew of new acts that speak to them about their personal experiences, and they identify. And that's what built this city known as rock and roll...the honesty, the identification. Yes, it's got to be catchy, it's got to grab you immediately, but it's got to SAY SOMETHING! And the true stars say and perform it in a way everybody else does not. You can buy insurance from Max Martin and Dr. Luke but it's like Jennifer Grey getting a nose job, you might now look sleek, but you've lost your identity, you're unrecognizable.
So I'm here to report from the front lines of the music business that we're experiencing a rebirth, that everything's healthy, because you can't keep the younger generation down. You need no degree to make music, you only need to be on the planet to experience life, and if you can fuse music and lyrics to tell your story you can gain a huge fan base that rains down dough.
What could be better?
P.S. Louie only represents one new act a time, he builds and promotes it around the country. Each of his acts has a team. From Taylor Swift to Eric Church to Kenny Chesney to Ed Sheeran. Because despite consolidation music remains a personal service business. And one man on a mission can achieve more than any faceless edifice.
P.P.S. In case you're unfamiliar with Ed Sheeran's music, here's a playlist for you to check out: http://spoti.fi/1zMYZdG
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Wednesday 27 August 2014
Stuff
"He who dies with the most toys wins."
Or is that a baby boomer paradigm? A concept so alien to their children that it will disappear into the ether, like 8-tracks and cassettes, a construct that will flummox future generations.
George Carlin gained fame by pointing out our foibles, like our propensity to accumulate stuff. I'm a hoarder, I can barely throw anything out, but is that concept passe?
Just ask a millennial. Why have a car? Never mind an expensive one. You can just use Uber or public transportation. As to going fast in a sleek machine, where can you achieve those speeds, and to a generation brought up on safety, wearing helmets while riding tricycles, the death-defying thrill of going a hundred miles an hour in an Italian sports car... That's just not appealing. Kind of like extreme sports themselves, they're dying. The X Games pushed the envelope in the 1990s, today snowboarding is failing, that's old man's stuff, skiing is where it's at.
But not as much as video games. Used to be you had to own the latest console. Now you just whip out your smartphone, or boot up your computer. Furthermore, we don't even need the latest smartphone or computer. If your phone has LTE, it's good enough. And no one's overpaying for the latest speedy computer chip, tricked-out gaming PCs like Alienware were once the rage, now you never hear about them.
CDs. Like vinyl before them, they demonstrated your identity. The wall in your abode could be perused to delineate your tastes. But now it's all about playlists, who'd want to own all that dreck when you can access whatever you want online?
Kind of like books and magazines. They're stories and articles. You can get those on electronic devices.
And why buy a bigger house when you've just got to heat it, never mind cool it. It's the antithesis of green. And millennials are almost all environmentalists.
Could it be that the culture of consumerism, which has driven the engine of America, is history? Or to the degree it survives, is it purely virtual? Manufacturing went overseas, we live in a service economy. Once you have the tools to access your data, do you really need anything else?
Food.
Shelter.
Access... Smartphone, laptop and flat screen.
After that, you're done.
Life is about experiences. Whether you've traveled to Asia more than whether you've added to your house and drive a fancy car.
This is a sea change which the baby boomers resist. Oh, they've got all the new electronic toys, but they cling to the old ones too, because they're afraid if they forgo them, they'll lose their status. But young 'uns are more about being members of the group than separating themselves therefrom. It's who you know as opposed to what you've got.
Sure, there are exceptions. Fashion is burgeoning. Baby boomers wore their bell bottoms and BVDs, kids have a cornucopia of outfits, which are not only cheap, but evidence their style, which is super-important.
Could it be that the game has changed to such a degree that oldsters cannot play because they don't understand it?
Could there be a generation gap equivalent to the one separating the boomers from their parents?
Just think about it. Snapchat is the rage and it disappears!
So instead of building that mansion you're better off downsizing. Spending that money on trips and meals, ever notice that kids snap photos of their food as opposed to their apartments?
Physical items are souvenirs. Not to be of use so much as mementos of experiences. They will not die, but they're certainly fading in importance.
"George Carlin Talks About 'Stuff'": http://bit.ly/1piBvYN
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Or is that a baby boomer paradigm? A concept so alien to their children that it will disappear into the ether, like 8-tracks and cassettes, a construct that will flummox future generations.
George Carlin gained fame by pointing out our foibles, like our propensity to accumulate stuff. I'm a hoarder, I can barely throw anything out, but is that concept passe?
Just ask a millennial. Why have a car? Never mind an expensive one. You can just use Uber or public transportation. As to going fast in a sleek machine, where can you achieve those speeds, and to a generation brought up on safety, wearing helmets while riding tricycles, the death-defying thrill of going a hundred miles an hour in an Italian sports car... That's just not appealing. Kind of like extreme sports themselves, they're dying. The X Games pushed the envelope in the 1990s, today snowboarding is failing, that's old man's stuff, skiing is where it's at.
But not as much as video games. Used to be you had to own the latest console. Now you just whip out your smartphone, or boot up your computer. Furthermore, we don't even need the latest smartphone or computer. If your phone has LTE, it's good enough. And no one's overpaying for the latest speedy computer chip, tricked-out gaming PCs like Alienware were once the rage, now you never hear about them.
CDs. Like vinyl before them, they demonstrated your identity. The wall in your abode could be perused to delineate your tastes. But now it's all about playlists, who'd want to own all that dreck when you can access whatever you want online?
Kind of like books and magazines. They're stories and articles. You can get those on electronic devices.
And why buy a bigger house when you've just got to heat it, never mind cool it. It's the antithesis of green. And millennials are almost all environmentalists.
Could it be that the culture of consumerism, which has driven the engine of America, is history? Or to the degree it survives, is it purely virtual? Manufacturing went overseas, we live in a service economy. Once you have the tools to access your data, do you really need anything else?
Food.
Shelter.
Access... Smartphone, laptop and flat screen.
After that, you're done.
Life is about experiences. Whether you've traveled to Asia more than whether you've added to your house and drive a fancy car.
This is a sea change which the baby boomers resist. Oh, they've got all the new electronic toys, but they cling to the old ones too, because they're afraid if they forgo them, they'll lose their status. But young 'uns are more about being members of the group than separating themselves therefrom. It's who you know as opposed to what you've got.
Sure, there are exceptions. Fashion is burgeoning. Baby boomers wore their bell bottoms and BVDs, kids have a cornucopia of outfits, which are not only cheap, but evidence their style, which is super-important.
Could it be that the game has changed to such a degree that oldsters cannot play because they don't understand it?
Could there be a generation gap equivalent to the one separating the boomers from their parents?
Just think about it. Snapchat is the rage and it disappears!
So instead of building that mansion you're better off downsizing. Spending that money on trips and meals, ever notice that kids snap photos of their food as opposed to their apartments?
Physical items are souvenirs. Not to be of use so much as mementos of experiences. They will not die, but they're certainly fading in importance.
"George Carlin Talks About 'Stuff'": http://bit.ly/1piBvYN
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Tuesday 26 August 2014
Take It Easy
The sun is out, the surf is up and it's a beautiful Southern California day.
That's right, we might be plagued by earthquakes and gridlock, but when the elements align, which is nearly every day, when you get behind the wheel and crank up the radio, you feel like a million bucks.
So I just went for an MRI at Kerlan-Jobe, for a hip injury that occurred skiing the ice two and a half years ago, I'm wondering what is causing the pain at this late date, and after lying in the tube for forty five minutes running every sexual fantasy possible through my brain to avoid concentrating on the fact that my ankles were Velcroed and my knee hurt I emerged into the sunlight to "Take It Easy" on the satellite.
I've been thinking a lot about the last week of August. Used to be school was taboo. That week was taken up with recovering from summer exploits, before classes resumed after Labor Day. I'd come home from New Hampshire or Europe and immediately drive to Korvette's to buy the latest albums, to catch up on what I missed when I was away.
And that's where and when I bought the Eagles' debut.
But it wasn't only that, but Sly & the Family Stone's "Fresh," and a bunch of other records that I'd spin incessantly my first few weeks back at college in Vermont, where before you knew it, you were in the doldrums of November.
But it's different out here. The doldrums never appear. It rarely rains on your parade. And with no one asking where you went to college, never mind what you scored on your SATs, you're free. And that's what I love so much about SoCal, the right to be me, to live with a lawn and a car in a city where you may be unable to park, but at least you don't feel closed in.
So the world is blowing up, people's rights are being challenged, opportunity is rare, yet when you emerge from your house into the SoCal sunniness you can't help but smile and be optimistic.
Never underestimate the weather.
Yes, it's weird how the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting colder. It's like we're beginning a four month run to Christmas, soon we'll all be in front of the fire sipping hot cocoa.
But not me!
It's the time of year when the Doors' "Summer's Almost Gone" goes through my brain.
It's the time of year when the boys of summer make their last pilgrimage to Malibu, before everybody hunkers down and gets serious.
And it's the time of year when "Maggie May" no longer resonates. Yup, for decades I was haunted by Rod Stewart's refrain that it was late September and I really should be back in school. But no more!
You see I've broken free. I am who I am, the story cannot be rewritten. And whether I'm happy with what's inscribed in the book of life or not there's nothing I can do about it other than put on my sunglasses, slide back the sunroof and turn up the radio.
So, so long summer 2014. It was hotter than usual in my house without air conditioning but I won't be worrying about it for long.
So long hot summer nights where I could bask in sunlight 'til nearly nine.
And so long to the pressure to find a song of the summer, to make the most of the few months off.
Because in the modern world you're never off, you're on all the time, tethered to your devices, working to stay ahead of the man.
But the truth is I'm on an endless vacation. I listened to Jan & Dean, I got the memo, I came out west to live the Beach Boys' lifestyle and found out...
THEY WERE RIGHT!
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That's right, we might be plagued by earthquakes and gridlock, but when the elements align, which is nearly every day, when you get behind the wheel and crank up the radio, you feel like a million bucks.
So I just went for an MRI at Kerlan-Jobe, for a hip injury that occurred skiing the ice two and a half years ago, I'm wondering what is causing the pain at this late date, and after lying in the tube for forty five minutes running every sexual fantasy possible through my brain to avoid concentrating on the fact that my ankles were Velcroed and my knee hurt I emerged into the sunlight to "Take It Easy" on the satellite.
I've been thinking a lot about the last week of August. Used to be school was taboo. That week was taken up with recovering from summer exploits, before classes resumed after Labor Day. I'd come home from New Hampshire or Europe and immediately drive to Korvette's to buy the latest albums, to catch up on what I missed when I was away.
And that's where and when I bought the Eagles' debut.
But it wasn't only that, but Sly & the Family Stone's "Fresh," and a bunch of other records that I'd spin incessantly my first few weeks back at college in Vermont, where before you knew it, you were in the doldrums of November.
But it's different out here. The doldrums never appear. It rarely rains on your parade. And with no one asking where you went to college, never mind what you scored on your SATs, you're free. And that's what I love so much about SoCal, the right to be me, to live with a lawn and a car in a city where you may be unable to park, but at least you don't feel closed in.
So the world is blowing up, people's rights are being challenged, opportunity is rare, yet when you emerge from your house into the SoCal sunniness you can't help but smile and be optimistic.
Never underestimate the weather.
Yes, it's weird how the days are getting shorter and the nights are getting colder. It's like we're beginning a four month run to Christmas, soon we'll all be in front of the fire sipping hot cocoa.
But not me!
It's the time of year when the Doors' "Summer's Almost Gone" goes through my brain.
It's the time of year when the boys of summer make their last pilgrimage to Malibu, before everybody hunkers down and gets serious.
And it's the time of year when "Maggie May" no longer resonates. Yup, for decades I was haunted by Rod Stewart's refrain that it was late September and I really should be back in school. But no more!
You see I've broken free. I am who I am, the story cannot be rewritten. And whether I'm happy with what's inscribed in the book of life or not there's nothing I can do about it other than put on my sunglasses, slide back the sunroof and turn up the radio.
So, so long summer 2014. It was hotter than usual in my house without air conditioning but I won't be worrying about it for long.
So long hot summer nights where I could bask in sunlight 'til nearly nine.
And so long to the pressure to find a song of the summer, to make the most of the few months off.
Because in the modern world you're never off, you're on all the time, tethered to your devices, working to stay ahead of the man.
But the truth is I'm on an endless vacation. I listened to Jan & Dean, I got the memo, I came out west to live the Beach Boys' lifestyle and found out...
THEY WERE RIGHT!
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Income Inequality
What about my incentive?
I just spent an hour in traffic listening to Nick Hanauer tell me the pitchforks are coming out. Yup, the guy whose TED talk was banned wrote a piece last week on Politico and now the left-leaning NPR has him on delineating the evils of income inequality.
But only the converted will hear it. He gets no play on Fox, never mind CNN, because those are owned by giant corporations supported by rich advertisers and anything that undermines their comfortable wealth is prohibited. So most people never hear the truth. That the rich are getting richer and your odds of succeeding are close to nil.
Pretty depressing, isn't it?
Kind of like the music business.
You see a lot of job listings for the labels and concert companies? Of course not! Because the titans have to make millions and they don't want to share the wealth. Talk to an underling at a label, he makes bupkes and works 'round the clock thrilled that he's in show business, not knowing his ass will soon get fired and he'll have nothing to put on his resume.
It's even worse for the acts. You know why you're poor? Because your potential fans don't have any money! They can't come see you live because they paid a scalper hundreds of dollars to see the superstar, they've got nothing left over.
And sure, there have always been rich musicians, but as a friend who managed a household name act in the seventies which said he ripped them off...THERE IS NO MONEY, THEY SPENT IT ALL, TICKETS WERE FOUR, FIVE AND SIX DOLLARS AND THEY STAYED AT THE BEST HOTELS AND DID TONS OF DOPE!
That's a musician. Entitled and stupid, no matter how successful.
But most are not successful, but they're still stupid.
Come on, does anybody take music lessons with a desire to become a working stiff, someone who plays in a wedding band? No, what keeps most people going is the dream of becoming rich and famous. But that dream went down the drain and ain't coming back.
At least in reality TV the people know it's about the fame, that there is no back end.
But in music everybody's Facebooking and tweeting and believing they're just one step away from the brass ring.
Ain't that a laugh.
And those that break through leave the rest of us behind. Yup, the rappers have had it right for decades, telling us they're richer and having better sex than us. We've got no chance. Oh, you can dress up like a gangster, but if you think that'll get you laid you consider McDonald's fine dining.
We built this country, we sustain it, yet the rich and powerful have us duped into believing they're the engine of success.
Stop buying tickets to the show, watch how fast Rihanna, Jay Z and Beyonce disappear. Or stop watching their videos on YouTube. They're gonna kick and scream the same way big corporations do when they're confronted by union demands.
But the union is the enemy, all hail the corporation! The union fights for the little guy, the worker, but now we're all entrepreneurs, on our own, on the way to zillions! Ain't that a bunch of hogwash.
So you've got the disinformation campaign of the wealthy, telling us if they have to pay more taxes, they'll have no incentive to create these wonderful jobs we're working at minimum wage with split shifts. Well, forgetting that their effective tax rate is much lower than mine, how about my incentive? Living with cancer in a rental unit without a family, having sacrificed everything for my so-called career. I was willing to starve and sacrifice while banks raped and pillaged, while governments cozied up to corporations, while the rich got richer and they kept pulling the carrot from my reach, saying I could make it but hoping I wouldn't, because they want all the spoils for themselves.
And if I broke through thirty or forty years ago, I'd be as rich as anybody. Yup, not only musicians were kings, but writers too. But now writers are pawns in the game as business titans like Jeff Bezos and the faceless people at Hachette move us around the board in an effort to get even more wealthy. Because the writer doesn't make the money, the man does. And even if you're successful, you can't live in a gated community and fly private. That's for the financial wizards.
But at least I'm educated, I understand all this. But most people can't grasp the facts, never mind the concepts. If they go to college at all, it's to learn a trade, study business or publicity or some other worker bee subject, because you don't go to school to enrich your mind, but to get a job, and those are scarce, so you'd better buckle down.
So it's poor on poor crime.
You hate Ticketmaster not realizing the acts are the problem, that Fred Rosen created the paradigm to exclude fees from the dividable pot, since acts want it all.
And you hate the band that gets the gig you don't.
You don't realize that until we band together and fight the powers that be, we're screwed.
Yup, you want paperless ticketing, so the rich don't get all the good seats.
You want low ticket prices, so not only can you go, but they can come to see you.
And you want the end of income inequality so not only can you get a leg up, but so the working and middle classes have money to spend, making us all more healthy and wise.
So what is end game?
Are the pitchforks coming out?
Is Hanauer the canary in the coalmine, like those analysts who called the mortgage crisis? One thing we learned there is the edifice topples very fast.
I don't know, but I'm stuck at the bottom with you, and I don't like it.
"The Pitchforks Are Coming... For Us Plutocrats": http://politi.co/1tGogW3
"Banned TED Talk: Nick Hanauer 'Rich people don't create jobs'": http://bit.ly/1lujM4W
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I just spent an hour in traffic listening to Nick Hanauer tell me the pitchforks are coming out. Yup, the guy whose TED talk was banned wrote a piece last week on Politico and now the left-leaning NPR has him on delineating the evils of income inequality.
But only the converted will hear it. He gets no play on Fox, never mind CNN, because those are owned by giant corporations supported by rich advertisers and anything that undermines their comfortable wealth is prohibited. So most people never hear the truth. That the rich are getting richer and your odds of succeeding are close to nil.
Pretty depressing, isn't it?
Kind of like the music business.
You see a lot of job listings for the labels and concert companies? Of course not! Because the titans have to make millions and they don't want to share the wealth. Talk to an underling at a label, he makes bupkes and works 'round the clock thrilled that he's in show business, not knowing his ass will soon get fired and he'll have nothing to put on his resume.
It's even worse for the acts. You know why you're poor? Because your potential fans don't have any money! They can't come see you live because they paid a scalper hundreds of dollars to see the superstar, they've got nothing left over.
And sure, there have always been rich musicians, but as a friend who managed a household name act in the seventies which said he ripped them off...THERE IS NO MONEY, THEY SPENT IT ALL, TICKETS WERE FOUR, FIVE AND SIX DOLLARS AND THEY STAYED AT THE BEST HOTELS AND DID TONS OF DOPE!
That's a musician. Entitled and stupid, no matter how successful.
But most are not successful, but they're still stupid.
Come on, does anybody take music lessons with a desire to become a working stiff, someone who plays in a wedding band? No, what keeps most people going is the dream of becoming rich and famous. But that dream went down the drain and ain't coming back.
At least in reality TV the people know it's about the fame, that there is no back end.
But in music everybody's Facebooking and tweeting and believing they're just one step away from the brass ring.
Ain't that a laugh.
And those that break through leave the rest of us behind. Yup, the rappers have had it right for decades, telling us they're richer and having better sex than us. We've got no chance. Oh, you can dress up like a gangster, but if you think that'll get you laid you consider McDonald's fine dining.
We built this country, we sustain it, yet the rich and powerful have us duped into believing they're the engine of success.
Stop buying tickets to the show, watch how fast Rihanna, Jay Z and Beyonce disappear. Or stop watching their videos on YouTube. They're gonna kick and scream the same way big corporations do when they're confronted by union demands.
But the union is the enemy, all hail the corporation! The union fights for the little guy, the worker, but now we're all entrepreneurs, on our own, on the way to zillions! Ain't that a bunch of hogwash.
So you've got the disinformation campaign of the wealthy, telling us if they have to pay more taxes, they'll have no incentive to create these wonderful jobs we're working at minimum wage with split shifts. Well, forgetting that their effective tax rate is much lower than mine, how about my incentive? Living with cancer in a rental unit without a family, having sacrificed everything for my so-called career. I was willing to starve and sacrifice while banks raped and pillaged, while governments cozied up to corporations, while the rich got richer and they kept pulling the carrot from my reach, saying I could make it but hoping I wouldn't, because they want all the spoils for themselves.
And if I broke through thirty or forty years ago, I'd be as rich as anybody. Yup, not only musicians were kings, but writers too. But now writers are pawns in the game as business titans like Jeff Bezos and the faceless people at Hachette move us around the board in an effort to get even more wealthy. Because the writer doesn't make the money, the man does. And even if you're successful, you can't live in a gated community and fly private. That's for the financial wizards.
But at least I'm educated, I understand all this. But most people can't grasp the facts, never mind the concepts. If they go to college at all, it's to learn a trade, study business or publicity or some other worker bee subject, because you don't go to school to enrich your mind, but to get a job, and those are scarce, so you'd better buckle down.
So it's poor on poor crime.
You hate Ticketmaster not realizing the acts are the problem, that Fred Rosen created the paradigm to exclude fees from the dividable pot, since acts want it all.
And you hate the band that gets the gig you don't.
You don't realize that until we band together and fight the powers that be, we're screwed.
Yup, you want paperless ticketing, so the rich don't get all the good seats.
You want low ticket prices, so not only can you go, but they can come to see you.
And you want the end of income inequality so not only can you get a leg up, but so the working and middle classes have money to spend, making us all more healthy and wise.
So what is end game?
Are the pitchforks coming out?
Is Hanauer the canary in the coalmine, like those analysts who called the mortgage crisis? One thing we learned there is the edifice topples very fast.
I don't know, but I'm stuck at the bottom with you, and I don't like it.
"The Pitchforks Are Coming... For Us Plutocrats": http://politi.co/1tGogW3
"Banned TED Talk: Nick Hanauer 'Rich people don't create jobs'": http://bit.ly/1lujM4W
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Monday 25 August 2014
The Sarah Polley Movie
Used to be movies came on like a lion and then disappeared. Music entered the scene like a lamb and lasted.
But no more.
Records were all about traction, how could you get something to stick. Movies were about getting people into the theatre right away. At first, there was no television for reruns, the flicks just disappeared. Then came TV, then came the VCR and now comes Netflix. So films live on. Whereas a record that does not gain purchase, and very few do, disappears and is plowed under by subsequent releases. Both art forms are heavily promoted at the outset, but music promotion has no legs, no one years later says they're interested in hearing the stiff work of so and so. But when we hear movies are good, the titles stick in our minds, and when we're surfing our streaming services, a synapse fires and we hit play.
That's what happened to me last night with Sarah Polley's movie "Stories We Tell."
It's about a secret, a personal secret. It's a documentary. And although I've always loved Polley's work in front of the camera, I'm skeptical of actors who switch sides. Which may be why I did not make the effort to see this film in the theatre, and it is an effort, but I always remembered the accolades and when I hit play last night, I was hooked.
Are you married to the right person?
Are you an extrovert and is he or she an introvert?
That's the case with Diane Polley. She was the life of the party, always going to and fro, whereas her husband Michael was a homebody who didn't talk much and was fine with that. Did this cripple Diane or root her?
And do you make a clean break for love or do you hang in there for the benefits, enriched over time?
These are the questions which haunt us all. Am I more into her than she is to me? According to Michael, that's almost inevitable.
But maybe these questions can be asked because the story took place in Canada, where they don't have the American dream and it's cold and snowy and who you are inside and who your friends are is all you're gonna get. Whereas in the U.S., everybody dreams of getting out, rising above, leaving behind where they came from and entering a brand new, better world, crawling from the wreckage into a brand new car. But is it really better?
I don't know.
Despite all the certainty being flung at me constantly I've got more questions than answers, and I find when I bring them up no one wants to hear them, no one wants to contemplate them, no one wants to debate them, because that would waste time on the way to their destination. And no one's got any time anymore.
Including me. Which is why I can't remember the last time I went to the movies.
And today it's all about television anyway. Because TV knows it's about story, movies have lost sight of this truism.
And there's plenty of story in "Stories We Tell," but what draws one in is the truth. That's what art is in search of. And it's not only lyrics, it can be sound, but we've long ago given up looking for truth in music. Because brands aren't about truth, but deception, and money.
And some of the truth in this film is staggering. Michael Polley quoting Pablo Neruda:
"Love is so short, forgetting is so long."
Eureka, that is it! Today you break up and are over it immediately. You get divorced and remarried instantly. No one wants to talk about the damage, the lingering effects of disconnection. And if they do, their friends just say to get over it, as if you can will yourself into thinking something different, but you can't.
So "Stories We Tell" is at your fingertips. If you don't have a Netflix account you can sign up and immediately cancel after watching this movie.
And you should, watch this movie. Because we're all human.
And it's full of humanity.
And truth.
Like all stories are not tied up neatly. Everyone has their own truth. And we age and lose and ruminate and are thrilled by small joys we can hold on to.
Because life is precious.
And so is this film.
http://www.storieswetellmovie.com
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But no more.
Records were all about traction, how could you get something to stick. Movies were about getting people into the theatre right away. At first, there was no television for reruns, the flicks just disappeared. Then came TV, then came the VCR and now comes Netflix. So films live on. Whereas a record that does not gain purchase, and very few do, disappears and is plowed under by subsequent releases. Both art forms are heavily promoted at the outset, but music promotion has no legs, no one years later says they're interested in hearing the stiff work of so and so. But when we hear movies are good, the titles stick in our minds, and when we're surfing our streaming services, a synapse fires and we hit play.
That's what happened to me last night with Sarah Polley's movie "Stories We Tell."
It's about a secret, a personal secret. It's a documentary. And although I've always loved Polley's work in front of the camera, I'm skeptical of actors who switch sides. Which may be why I did not make the effort to see this film in the theatre, and it is an effort, but I always remembered the accolades and when I hit play last night, I was hooked.
Are you married to the right person?
Are you an extrovert and is he or she an introvert?
That's the case with Diane Polley. She was the life of the party, always going to and fro, whereas her husband Michael was a homebody who didn't talk much and was fine with that. Did this cripple Diane or root her?
And do you make a clean break for love or do you hang in there for the benefits, enriched over time?
These are the questions which haunt us all. Am I more into her than she is to me? According to Michael, that's almost inevitable.
But maybe these questions can be asked because the story took place in Canada, where they don't have the American dream and it's cold and snowy and who you are inside and who your friends are is all you're gonna get. Whereas in the U.S., everybody dreams of getting out, rising above, leaving behind where they came from and entering a brand new, better world, crawling from the wreckage into a brand new car. But is it really better?
I don't know.
Despite all the certainty being flung at me constantly I've got more questions than answers, and I find when I bring them up no one wants to hear them, no one wants to contemplate them, no one wants to debate them, because that would waste time on the way to their destination. And no one's got any time anymore.
Including me. Which is why I can't remember the last time I went to the movies.
And today it's all about television anyway. Because TV knows it's about story, movies have lost sight of this truism.
And there's plenty of story in "Stories We Tell," but what draws one in is the truth. That's what art is in search of. And it's not only lyrics, it can be sound, but we've long ago given up looking for truth in music. Because brands aren't about truth, but deception, and money.
And some of the truth in this film is staggering. Michael Polley quoting Pablo Neruda:
"Love is so short, forgetting is so long."
Eureka, that is it! Today you break up and are over it immediately. You get divorced and remarried instantly. No one wants to talk about the damage, the lingering effects of disconnection. And if they do, their friends just say to get over it, as if you can will yourself into thinking something different, but you can't.
So "Stories We Tell" is at your fingertips. If you don't have a Netflix account you can sign up and immediately cancel after watching this movie.
And you should, watch this movie. Because we're all human.
And it's full of humanity.
And truth.
Like all stories are not tied up neatly. Everyone has their own truth. And we age and lose and ruminate and are thrilled by small joys we can hold on to.
Because life is precious.
And so is this film.
http://www.storieswetellmovie.com
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Video Music Awards
What channel is MTV again?
And what kind of crazy fucked up world do we live in where an unscripted precursor is the height of the show. That's right, the shooting of Suge Knight was this year's memorable moment, and that's all the VMAs are about these days, trying to create lasting impressions, which this year's telecast failed to do.
How do I know? I scanned the web!
So we've got a self-congratulatory music industry trumpeting this faux show because of its reach and we've got an advertising industry fascinated because they see these young nitwits as their next audience and we've got self-satisfied oldsters refusing to watch because they've got no idea who these people are and want to feel superior.
Welcome to 2014, where self-promotion is paramount and music is second to your brand.
How did we get here?
Ironically, via MTV itself. Which proved that music is second to money. Which took fly by night acts and blew them up to icons so big that they can still tour sheds today.
But that was 1982. Long before videos cost a million bucks in the nineties and then the whole paradigm was eviscerated by the web. Yup, a couple of years back Adam Levine excoriates the channel, now he plays it, because after all, who can turn down that exposure?
That's the avenue you take when you've got little talent, when you don't record memorable music. You call out the usual suspects, the hacks in the media world, and get them to trump up your evanescent product to the point where you feel it's significant, even though most of us shrug our shoulders and move on.
At least credit Sam Smith for concocting a good song. But the point is how do you reach people not in the echo chamber? Oldsters who prefer CDs to YouTube, who don't search SoundCloud and find it too hard to use Spotify.
We're complicit in the decline of the music industry. All the makers and sellers. Because we haven't come up with a way to showcase our wares. So MTV does it for us, poorly, and Grammy ratings improve because everybody at home has no idea what to listen to. It's kind of like Twitter. Its adherents and the press keep telling us it's changing the world, but we never go there. Hell, I follow my feed religiously but almost no one was commenting on the VMAs last night, I guess there's no nexus between who I read and those who watch the VMAs.
So where do we start?
Always with the acts.
Give these VMA stars credit, they create catchy tunes. Not Beyonce, who self-indulgently tributed herself with sixteen minutes of music that didn't break through and few want to hear, but the Ariana Grande and Iggy Azaleas of this world. How come oldsters can't write catchy tunes? How come Americana acts can't write catchy tunes? Have we lost the formula? Do only Max Martin and Dr. Luke have the secret sauce?
Because it's damn hard to be ubiquitous with a product that does not deserve the acclaim.
And today, even though classic rock sustains, almost nothing else does. Check the most played tracks on Spotify, you'll find Led Zeppelin, but not PSY. And Led Zeppelin didn't break through until "Whole Lotta Love." And sure, "Stairway To Heaven" was not an AM single, but it was unavoidable on FM, which was coming to dominate.
The youngsters know how to play the game.
But they've got nothing to say, other than pay attention to me, watch me dance, look at my bank account, wanna have sex with me? You can't!
The oldsters want to say something but they've got bad tunes and bad voices and they're so demanding of our attention that we ignore them. The VMAs of the hipsters is a feature in the "New York Times Magazine," which just goes to prove you're a wanker who appeals to the head not the heart, and deserve little attention.
Yes, we need a new awards show. A Mercury Prize for America.
But who are we gonna give it to?
The problem is us. We refuse to acknowledge that the basics are always key. That first and foremost music is something you listen to, and if it doesn't hook you quickly, it won't hook you at all, especially in these overwhelming times.
Come on, how many times did you have to hear "I Want To Hold Your Hand"?
And most of the acts whose music you had to hear multiple times had hits to entice us first.
But the truth is I'm not optimistic. Because music lost its hold on the culture decades ago, it's not where you go for honesty and truth. I get a bigger hit opening my browser than going to the iTunes Store. We've decimated our credibility. Once upon a time music was hot, now it's meh.
Yup, YouTube features young stars with credibility, but on MTV we get the fawning Sway.
Radiohead entered our consciousness via "Creep," yet has not recorded anything that memorable for the masses since.
Which is why EDM could be our savior. Because the mainstream doesn't care about it, the oldsters don't get it and the deejays and attendees don't need our attention.
Yup, it may be driven by drugs, but no one in that world is saying LOOK AT ME!
So, so long 2014 VMAs... The run-up was more memorable than the show.
And so long the seventies, when breaking through on radio meant everybody in the demo knew you.
And so long to the eighties, when we were all watching MTV.
Hello to the twenty first century. Where we're overloaded with information and just because you're yelling that does not mean we hear you.
We live in a world where most is ignored but that which is picked up is spread like wildfire.
You know why you don't know Iggy Azalea, never mind Ariana Grande?
BECAUSE THEY'RE JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH!
Kid music for kids.
But it used to be different...
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And what kind of crazy fucked up world do we live in where an unscripted precursor is the height of the show. That's right, the shooting of Suge Knight was this year's memorable moment, and that's all the VMAs are about these days, trying to create lasting impressions, which this year's telecast failed to do.
How do I know? I scanned the web!
So we've got a self-congratulatory music industry trumpeting this faux show because of its reach and we've got an advertising industry fascinated because they see these young nitwits as their next audience and we've got self-satisfied oldsters refusing to watch because they've got no idea who these people are and want to feel superior.
Welcome to 2014, where self-promotion is paramount and music is second to your brand.
How did we get here?
Ironically, via MTV itself. Which proved that music is second to money. Which took fly by night acts and blew them up to icons so big that they can still tour sheds today.
But that was 1982. Long before videos cost a million bucks in the nineties and then the whole paradigm was eviscerated by the web. Yup, a couple of years back Adam Levine excoriates the channel, now he plays it, because after all, who can turn down that exposure?
That's the avenue you take when you've got little talent, when you don't record memorable music. You call out the usual suspects, the hacks in the media world, and get them to trump up your evanescent product to the point where you feel it's significant, even though most of us shrug our shoulders and move on.
At least credit Sam Smith for concocting a good song. But the point is how do you reach people not in the echo chamber? Oldsters who prefer CDs to YouTube, who don't search SoundCloud and find it too hard to use Spotify.
We're complicit in the decline of the music industry. All the makers and sellers. Because we haven't come up with a way to showcase our wares. So MTV does it for us, poorly, and Grammy ratings improve because everybody at home has no idea what to listen to. It's kind of like Twitter. Its adherents and the press keep telling us it's changing the world, but we never go there. Hell, I follow my feed religiously but almost no one was commenting on the VMAs last night, I guess there's no nexus between who I read and those who watch the VMAs.
So where do we start?
Always with the acts.
Give these VMA stars credit, they create catchy tunes. Not Beyonce, who self-indulgently tributed herself with sixteen minutes of music that didn't break through and few want to hear, but the Ariana Grande and Iggy Azaleas of this world. How come oldsters can't write catchy tunes? How come Americana acts can't write catchy tunes? Have we lost the formula? Do only Max Martin and Dr. Luke have the secret sauce?
Because it's damn hard to be ubiquitous with a product that does not deserve the acclaim.
And today, even though classic rock sustains, almost nothing else does. Check the most played tracks on Spotify, you'll find Led Zeppelin, but not PSY. And Led Zeppelin didn't break through until "Whole Lotta Love." And sure, "Stairway To Heaven" was not an AM single, but it was unavoidable on FM, which was coming to dominate.
The youngsters know how to play the game.
But they've got nothing to say, other than pay attention to me, watch me dance, look at my bank account, wanna have sex with me? You can't!
The oldsters want to say something but they've got bad tunes and bad voices and they're so demanding of our attention that we ignore them. The VMAs of the hipsters is a feature in the "New York Times Magazine," which just goes to prove you're a wanker who appeals to the head not the heart, and deserve little attention.
Yes, we need a new awards show. A Mercury Prize for America.
But who are we gonna give it to?
The problem is us. We refuse to acknowledge that the basics are always key. That first and foremost music is something you listen to, and if it doesn't hook you quickly, it won't hook you at all, especially in these overwhelming times.
Come on, how many times did you have to hear "I Want To Hold Your Hand"?
And most of the acts whose music you had to hear multiple times had hits to entice us first.
But the truth is I'm not optimistic. Because music lost its hold on the culture decades ago, it's not where you go for honesty and truth. I get a bigger hit opening my browser than going to the iTunes Store. We've decimated our credibility. Once upon a time music was hot, now it's meh.
Yup, YouTube features young stars with credibility, but on MTV we get the fawning Sway.
Radiohead entered our consciousness via "Creep," yet has not recorded anything that memorable for the masses since.
Which is why EDM could be our savior. Because the mainstream doesn't care about it, the oldsters don't get it and the deejays and attendees don't need our attention.
Yup, it may be driven by drugs, but no one in that world is saying LOOK AT ME!
So, so long 2014 VMAs... The run-up was more memorable than the show.
And so long the seventies, when breaking through on radio meant everybody in the demo knew you.
And so long to the eighties, when we were all watching MTV.
Hello to the twenty first century. Where we're overloaded with information and just because you're yelling that does not mean we hear you.
We live in a world where most is ignored but that which is picked up is spread like wildfire.
You know why you don't know Iggy Azalea, never mind Ariana Grande?
BECAUSE THEY'RE JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH!
Kid music for kids.
But it used to be different...
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Sunday 24 August 2014
The Zombies At The Santa Monica Pier
I'm getting tired of seeing the classic rock acts. They show up every summer, playing the same hits, going just makes me feel old. I've seen it all before.
But not the Zombies.
They were more like shooting stars, they didn't have a dominant arc like the acts populating the sheds. And I'd consider them irrelevant except their hits were so iconic and when they reformed Cliff Burnstein told me they were excellent.
So I was interested.
You could barely get there. I-10 was backed up all the way to 20th Street. When you approached downtown it was gridlock. I ended up parking at a friend's house miles away and walking. And despite being told by the promoter that the band would begin at 8:30, just after getting our wristbands, just after walking onto the expanse of boards that serves as the show space, they hit the stage and started to sing "I Love You."
AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY!
You might be scratching your head, believing you don't know it, but the truth is you do, assuming you're a baby boomer. The U.S. hit wasn't by the Zombies, but by one hit wonder People!
And elation was spontaneous. Not only was the band playing one of my favorite songs, they were good! Colin Blunstone still had his voice, Rod Argent was tickling the electric ivories and I was brought right back to Ilene Kramer's bat mitzvah party at Hillandale Country Club.
Actually, back then they still called it a BAS mitzvah. The Valiants were playing, it was a dark February afternoon. And I can still vividly remember them singing "She's Not There," which is equally black and mysterious.
Yup, long before deejays ruled the party circuit, bands of teenagers, usually high school students, played the hits of the day that our parents were unfamiliar with but we knew by heart.
Just like the audience in attendance was unfamiliar and were busy talking.
Free shows... Most oldsters won't go, they need to be treated well, the youngsters attend to be part of the scene. That's the essence of the millennials... I was there, let me tell you about MY experience. Whereas we baby boomers sat on chairs in rapt attention as our heroes played their hits.
And stunningly, these kids did know the hits!
But it was long before the Zombies played another.
They'd taken the stage early in order to play longer. There was a hard curfew. This flummoxed me. Usually bands, especially older acts at free or soft ticket shows, want to get on and get off, it's about the check. But the Zombies were giving a performance. With Rod Argent and sometimes Colin Blunstone narrating the whole affair. This did break the mood, I wanted to believe it was still the midsixties, at first I was too far away to see the lines in their faces, but I give credit to them for having no airs.
And then they played "Time Of The Season"...
Credit Al Kooper for rescuing it. But what's strange about this hit is its endurance. And its timeless quality. Sure, it was a hit way back when, but it didn't sound like anything else then and there's still nothing else that sounds like it. That's what makes the Zombies hits so iconic, that they're sui generis.
But when they followed it up soon thereafter with "Tell Her No" and "She's Not There," where were they going to go next?
"Hold Your Head Up."
Come on, if you were alive in 1972, you're familiar with this Argent hit. And sure, Russ Ballard was not there to sing it, but Colin's voice with its unique timbre cast a spell nonetheless, and Rod and bassist Jim Rodford were there on the original.
And they did an Alan Parsons cut Colin sang and then they played...
"God Gave Rock and Roll to You."
Funny track. A lame follow-up to "Hold Your Head Up" from Argent's fourth album, "In Deep," with time the song has marinated and gained new life, especially after Kiss's 1991 cover for "Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey."
"If you wanna be a singer or play guitar
Man you've gotta sweat or you won't get far"
We all sang and we all learned to play guitar! It was a mania driven by the Beatles and their British compatriots. We were infected the same way you are with your smartphone. We lined up at the record store instead of the Apple Store. And we might not have been able to take our records on the run, but we did have our transistors, we were never without our music.
"And if you're young then you'll never grow old
Music can make your dreams unfold"
There isn't a baby boomer alive who believes he's over forty five. Most still feel they're teenagers. And what's kept us this way is the music, which is truly the soundtrack to our lives. The music inspired us, made us who we are, rode shotgun through our trials and tribulations. Sure, today's athletes listen to their favorites before the game, before running the course, but we invented this paradigm, we discovered and then harnessed the power of rock and roll.
And then so did the corporations. Who still use it to sell useless products to the unknowing.
But once upon a time it was not this way. It was all a lark. The musicians were finding their way, having fun, and no one expected it to last forever. It'd be as if they only made the iPhone for two years and then forgot about it. But it turns out the productions were so good that they lasted.
So, you've got aged hippies traveling to the Santa Monica Pier to bond with what once was, finding out it still exists.
I couldn't help throwing my hands in the air, singing with my head lifted to the heavens. I didn't care that the later generations saw it all as grist for the mill, that they thought they were their own heroes. Because as Bowie sang, you can be a hero for a day, but the Zombies' music...it's FOREVER!
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But not the Zombies.
They were more like shooting stars, they didn't have a dominant arc like the acts populating the sheds. And I'd consider them irrelevant except their hits were so iconic and when they reformed Cliff Burnstein told me they were excellent.
So I was interested.
You could barely get there. I-10 was backed up all the way to 20th Street. When you approached downtown it was gridlock. I ended up parking at a friend's house miles away and walking. And despite being told by the promoter that the band would begin at 8:30, just after getting our wristbands, just after walking onto the expanse of boards that serves as the show space, they hit the stage and started to sing "I Love You."
AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO SAY!
You might be scratching your head, believing you don't know it, but the truth is you do, assuming you're a baby boomer. The U.S. hit wasn't by the Zombies, but by one hit wonder People!
And elation was spontaneous. Not only was the band playing one of my favorite songs, they were good! Colin Blunstone still had his voice, Rod Argent was tickling the electric ivories and I was brought right back to Ilene Kramer's bat mitzvah party at Hillandale Country Club.
Actually, back then they still called it a BAS mitzvah. The Valiants were playing, it was a dark February afternoon. And I can still vividly remember them singing "She's Not There," which is equally black and mysterious.
Yup, long before deejays ruled the party circuit, bands of teenagers, usually high school students, played the hits of the day that our parents were unfamiliar with but we knew by heart.
Just like the audience in attendance was unfamiliar and were busy talking.
Free shows... Most oldsters won't go, they need to be treated well, the youngsters attend to be part of the scene. That's the essence of the millennials... I was there, let me tell you about MY experience. Whereas we baby boomers sat on chairs in rapt attention as our heroes played their hits.
And stunningly, these kids did know the hits!
But it was long before the Zombies played another.
They'd taken the stage early in order to play longer. There was a hard curfew. This flummoxed me. Usually bands, especially older acts at free or soft ticket shows, want to get on and get off, it's about the check. But the Zombies were giving a performance. With Rod Argent and sometimes Colin Blunstone narrating the whole affair. This did break the mood, I wanted to believe it was still the midsixties, at first I was too far away to see the lines in their faces, but I give credit to them for having no airs.
And then they played "Time Of The Season"...
Credit Al Kooper for rescuing it. But what's strange about this hit is its endurance. And its timeless quality. Sure, it was a hit way back when, but it didn't sound like anything else then and there's still nothing else that sounds like it. That's what makes the Zombies hits so iconic, that they're sui generis.
But when they followed it up soon thereafter with "Tell Her No" and "She's Not There," where were they going to go next?
"Hold Your Head Up."
Come on, if you were alive in 1972, you're familiar with this Argent hit. And sure, Russ Ballard was not there to sing it, but Colin's voice with its unique timbre cast a spell nonetheless, and Rod and bassist Jim Rodford were there on the original.
And they did an Alan Parsons cut Colin sang and then they played...
"God Gave Rock and Roll to You."
Funny track. A lame follow-up to "Hold Your Head Up" from Argent's fourth album, "In Deep," with time the song has marinated and gained new life, especially after Kiss's 1991 cover for "Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey."
"If you wanna be a singer or play guitar
Man you've gotta sweat or you won't get far"
We all sang and we all learned to play guitar! It was a mania driven by the Beatles and their British compatriots. We were infected the same way you are with your smartphone. We lined up at the record store instead of the Apple Store. And we might not have been able to take our records on the run, but we did have our transistors, we were never without our music.
"And if you're young then you'll never grow old
Music can make your dreams unfold"
There isn't a baby boomer alive who believes he's over forty five. Most still feel they're teenagers. And what's kept us this way is the music, which is truly the soundtrack to our lives. The music inspired us, made us who we are, rode shotgun through our trials and tribulations. Sure, today's athletes listen to their favorites before the game, before running the course, but we invented this paradigm, we discovered and then harnessed the power of rock and roll.
And then so did the corporations. Who still use it to sell useless products to the unknowing.
But once upon a time it was not this way. It was all a lark. The musicians were finding their way, having fun, and no one expected it to last forever. It'd be as if they only made the iPhone for two years and then forgot about it. But it turns out the productions were so good that they lasted.
So, you've got aged hippies traveling to the Santa Monica Pier to bond with what once was, finding out it still exists.
I couldn't help throwing my hands in the air, singing with my head lifted to the heavens. I didn't care that the later generations saw it all as grist for the mill, that they thought they were their own heroes. Because as Bowie sang, you can be a hero for a day, but the Zombies' music...it's FOREVER!
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Steve Boone's Lovin' Spoonful Book
They were the Pixar of their day, their first seven singles hit the "Billboard" Top Ten back when that meant something.
But Steve Boone believes, despite being in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Lovin' Spoonful don't get any respect.
Musicians... The audience adores them, the businessmen deplore them, but without their tunes the engine grinds to a halt.
But the truth is, if a musician were not, he'd have a hard time getting a job at a 7/11, because he wouldn't be able to show up on time. The band breaks up and drummer Joe Butler ends up driving a cab, not decades later, but almost immediately.
It was a different era. Sure, there were records, but live bands ruled. We had to get out of the house to get oiled up, blow off steam and meet the opposite sex, and this happened at clubs with bands. Which is where Steve Boone started out, before the Beatles, playing bass with the Kingsmen. Oh, not the Portland band with the "Louie Louie" hit, just another Hamptons act that covered the R&B hits of the day. Boone would have you believe if it hadn't been for a car accident, he'd have had a career in the military. If he hadn't gone into NYC to retrieve his motorcycle, he'd have ended up an engineer, even though he never attended a day of college
Yup, that's a musician, a delusional dreamer. Yup, if they weren't on stage, they'd be a doctor. Right.
You've got to read this book because of the endless run of bad judgment employed by Mr. Boone. Sure, he made it, truly, but that only lasted a handful of years, not a whole hell of a lot longer than the run of PSY, and then he was broke and running dope and...
So he meets John Sebastian and Zal Yanofsky and they give it six months to make it with their manager Bob Cavallo, then they're gonna break up and do something different. Yup, the Lovin' Spoonful was a lark, in an endless string, Sebastian and Yanofsky were looking for traction, and if their new combination of jug band music and rock and roll didn't work, they'd come up with something else.
Yup, the same Bob Cavallo who only recently stepped down as majordomo of Disney's Hollywood Records. The names keep popping up. Like Charley Koppelman before he was Charles. Boone's got no idea where the money went, but he's convinced without Koppelman and his partner Don Rubin the band would have never made it. The duo got the band signed to seemingly the only label they knew, Kama Sutra, which was distributed by MGM, which left the act so many steps from the money they never got any. But Charles and Don had relationships. Their label could get them on the radio. And the band had an immediate hit with "Do You Believe In Magic."
And Boone is a treasure trove of what ifs. What if they'd followed up "Summer In The City" with another rocker, what if they'd broken just a couple of years later and made a definitive album statement, what if he'd taken Nat Weiss up on his offer to produce James Taylor...
Then what? He wouldn't have been busted multiple times, gotten married to four different women and would be in the pantheon with the Beatles?
There's even an unironic inclusion of a letter from Sebastian complaining that Boone and drummer Joe Butler were gonna go back out on the road in the nineties as the Spoonful without him and Yanofsky. Sure, it was a band, but without Sebastian there'd be no success.
Then again, John B. Sebastian was never as successful without them. But was this because his solo album was caught up in a war between MGM and Warner and was delayed a year, never mind ultimately released by both?
Yup, bands have a weird alchemy, kick a seemingly insignificant member out and you kill the spark. Once Yanofsky was history, so was the Spoonful's run. And once Erik Jacobsen was thrown over as the producer, the hits dried up. Proving once again success in music is all about relationships and accidents.
Today everybody's so savvy, believing by being knowledgeable they can will success. But it'd be better to burn Don Passman's book and ply the streets, conversing with every player you bump into. But back then players were plentiful and music ruled the world.
But one thing hasn't changed, despite recording being dominated by international corporations, music is a haven of hustlers, and if you've got none on your team, your band's a nonstarter.
So the band breaks up. And in addition to having no cash, his Ferrari impounded and disappearing after hanging with a bad element, the IRS putting a lien on his royalties, Boone goes to the islands and buys a sailboat.
Which he doesn't bother to have checked out. So it leaks. And eventually sinks when sailed to South America with his eventual co-owners, a pair of drug dealers.
And then he follows a bisexual singer to Baltimore where he takes over a recording studio unaware of its unpaid bills and gets evicted from his space and puts it on a barge which soon sinks, along with Lowell George's demos.
We've been inundated with fairy tales, we're made to believe things work out. But time and again Boone gets himself into situations with bad endings. Proving once again if you take risks, if you flaunt the law, your time is gonna come.
He gets hooked on heroin. Helps undercover cops a second time and ends up marrying a bandmate's three decades younger daughter. Huh?
And you wonder why rock stars do irrational things and lose all their money...it's in their DNA! You finished college and believe the world owes you success in a pair of years, where those who do break through have no roadmap, they're just lifers plucking the strings, getting high and laid and rarely thinking about tomorrow.
I wasn't gonna read this book. But Boone still means something in my mind, he was there at the epicenter, the creation of iconic songs that do get their due contrary to his belief, but I agree should be exalted a bit more. Furthermore, their hits are some of the few that I all like. Yup, come on, most bands, even your favorites, succeed with a few clunkers, but not the Spoonful. Even their minor tracks are classics. I love "Six O'Clock," and "Darling Be Home Song" is a stone cold smash, just shy of "Yesterday."
So I'm thumbing through, skipping the growing up part, going straight to the heart of the matter, and when Boone starts talking about turning down Phil Spector and Elektra in favor of shysters, I'm hooked. Because I was there, on the other end of the enterprise, with these songs coming out of the speaker.
They're working so much they don't know which end is up. Limit testers die. And only Joe Butler gets laid on a regular basis. Yup, you can be in a band but you've still got to have game.
And when it's over to watch Boone bumble through life is both horrifying and riveting. Because this is how it is for so many people. This isn't college graduates with careers with a few bumps in their lives, Boone's life is almost completely bumps.
And then I had to go back and read from the beginning, I couldn't put this book down until I finished it.
And Tommy James's book was better, but too often rock bios are sanitized, or so poorly written as to be unreadable. And I was marveling at how well this book was written until I realized Boone had a co-writer.
So...
If you don't know the Spoonful, don't bother. But if you do, do like me. Start with the band searching for a label. And damn if you won't be unable to put the damn thing down. Because this is the life we thought we wanted. But reading the book you realize you don't. And that there are no miracles. Everybody needs to eat. And when the royalties dry up it doesn't matter how successful you've been, you've either got to borrow money or bend the law or both, which is what Boone did.
People send me these books all the time and I skim them and toss them. But not "Hotter Than A Match Head, Life On The Run With The Lovin' Spoonful," because of those songs.
Do you believe in magic?
I certainly do.
But not as much as John Sebastian, Zal Yanofsky, Joe Butler and Steve Boone. They sacrificed everything to their vision with no safety net. They made it, however briefly. The tracks live on, but tracks don't make a life, the ride doesn't go on forever, at some point everybody's forced to leave the amusement park and enter the real world, and that can be awfully hard.
Did you ever have to make up your mind?
Then read this book first. If it doesn't scare you away from a life playing music, go for it. But please, STAY OUT OF JAIL!
http://www.steveboone.net
http://www.amazon.com/Hotter-Than-Match-Head-Spoonful/dp/1770411933/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1408861368&sr=8-1
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But Steve Boone believes, despite being in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Lovin' Spoonful don't get any respect.
Musicians... The audience adores them, the businessmen deplore them, but without their tunes the engine grinds to a halt.
But the truth is, if a musician were not, he'd have a hard time getting a job at a 7/11, because he wouldn't be able to show up on time. The band breaks up and drummer Joe Butler ends up driving a cab, not decades later, but almost immediately.
It was a different era. Sure, there were records, but live bands ruled. We had to get out of the house to get oiled up, blow off steam and meet the opposite sex, and this happened at clubs with bands. Which is where Steve Boone started out, before the Beatles, playing bass with the Kingsmen. Oh, not the Portland band with the "Louie Louie" hit, just another Hamptons act that covered the R&B hits of the day. Boone would have you believe if it hadn't been for a car accident, he'd have had a career in the military. If he hadn't gone into NYC to retrieve his motorcycle, he'd have ended up an engineer, even though he never attended a day of college
Yup, that's a musician, a delusional dreamer. Yup, if they weren't on stage, they'd be a doctor. Right.
You've got to read this book because of the endless run of bad judgment employed by Mr. Boone. Sure, he made it, truly, but that only lasted a handful of years, not a whole hell of a lot longer than the run of PSY, and then he was broke and running dope and...
So he meets John Sebastian and Zal Yanofsky and they give it six months to make it with their manager Bob Cavallo, then they're gonna break up and do something different. Yup, the Lovin' Spoonful was a lark, in an endless string, Sebastian and Yanofsky were looking for traction, and if their new combination of jug band music and rock and roll didn't work, they'd come up with something else.
Yup, the same Bob Cavallo who only recently stepped down as majordomo of Disney's Hollywood Records. The names keep popping up. Like Charley Koppelman before he was Charles. Boone's got no idea where the money went, but he's convinced without Koppelman and his partner Don Rubin the band would have never made it. The duo got the band signed to seemingly the only label they knew, Kama Sutra, which was distributed by MGM, which left the act so many steps from the money they never got any. But Charles and Don had relationships. Their label could get them on the radio. And the band had an immediate hit with "Do You Believe In Magic."
And Boone is a treasure trove of what ifs. What if they'd followed up "Summer In The City" with another rocker, what if they'd broken just a couple of years later and made a definitive album statement, what if he'd taken Nat Weiss up on his offer to produce James Taylor...
Then what? He wouldn't have been busted multiple times, gotten married to four different women and would be in the pantheon with the Beatles?
There's even an unironic inclusion of a letter from Sebastian complaining that Boone and drummer Joe Butler were gonna go back out on the road in the nineties as the Spoonful without him and Yanofsky. Sure, it was a band, but without Sebastian there'd be no success.
Then again, John B. Sebastian was never as successful without them. But was this because his solo album was caught up in a war between MGM and Warner and was delayed a year, never mind ultimately released by both?
Yup, bands have a weird alchemy, kick a seemingly insignificant member out and you kill the spark. Once Yanofsky was history, so was the Spoonful's run. And once Erik Jacobsen was thrown over as the producer, the hits dried up. Proving once again success in music is all about relationships and accidents.
Today everybody's so savvy, believing by being knowledgeable they can will success. But it'd be better to burn Don Passman's book and ply the streets, conversing with every player you bump into. But back then players were plentiful and music ruled the world.
But one thing hasn't changed, despite recording being dominated by international corporations, music is a haven of hustlers, and if you've got none on your team, your band's a nonstarter.
So the band breaks up. And in addition to having no cash, his Ferrari impounded and disappearing after hanging with a bad element, the IRS putting a lien on his royalties, Boone goes to the islands and buys a sailboat.
Which he doesn't bother to have checked out. So it leaks. And eventually sinks when sailed to South America with his eventual co-owners, a pair of drug dealers.
And then he follows a bisexual singer to Baltimore where he takes over a recording studio unaware of its unpaid bills and gets evicted from his space and puts it on a barge which soon sinks, along with Lowell George's demos.
We've been inundated with fairy tales, we're made to believe things work out. But time and again Boone gets himself into situations with bad endings. Proving once again if you take risks, if you flaunt the law, your time is gonna come.
He gets hooked on heroin. Helps undercover cops a second time and ends up marrying a bandmate's three decades younger daughter. Huh?
And you wonder why rock stars do irrational things and lose all their money...it's in their DNA! You finished college and believe the world owes you success in a pair of years, where those who do break through have no roadmap, they're just lifers plucking the strings, getting high and laid and rarely thinking about tomorrow.
I wasn't gonna read this book. But Boone still means something in my mind, he was there at the epicenter, the creation of iconic songs that do get their due contrary to his belief, but I agree should be exalted a bit more. Furthermore, their hits are some of the few that I all like. Yup, come on, most bands, even your favorites, succeed with a few clunkers, but not the Spoonful. Even their minor tracks are classics. I love "Six O'Clock," and "Darling Be Home Song" is a stone cold smash, just shy of "Yesterday."
So I'm thumbing through, skipping the growing up part, going straight to the heart of the matter, and when Boone starts talking about turning down Phil Spector and Elektra in favor of shysters, I'm hooked. Because I was there, on the other end of the enterprise, with these songs coming out of the speaker.
They're working so much they don't know which end is up. Limit testers die. And only Joe Butler gets laid on a regular basis. Yup, you can be in a band but you've still got to have game.
And when it's over to watch Boone bumble through life is both horrifying and riveting. Because this is how it is for so many people. This isn't college graduates with careers with a few bumps in their lives, Boone's life is almost completely bumps.
And then I had to go back and read from the beginning, I couldn't put this book down until I finished it.
And Tommy James's book was better, but too often rock bios are sanitized, or so poorly written as to be unreadable. And I was marveling at how well this book was written until I realized Boone had a co-writer.
So...
If you don't know the Spoonful, don't bother. But if you do, do like me. Start with the band searching for a label. And damn if you won't be unable to put the damn thing down. Because this is the life we thought we wanted. But reading the book you realize you don't. And that there are no miracles. Everybody needs to eat. And when the royalties dry up it doesn't matter how successful you've been, you've either got to borrow money or bend the law or both, which is what Boone did.
People send me these books all the time and I skim them and toss them. But not "Hotter Than A Match Head, Life On The Run With The Lovin' Spoonful," because of those songs.
Do you believe in magic?
I certainly do.
But not as much as John Sebastian, Zal Yanofsky, Joe Butler and Steve Boone. They sacrificed everything to their vision with no safety net. They made it, however briefly. The tracks live on, but tracks don't make a life, the ride doesn't go on forever, at some point everybody's forced to leave the amusement park and enter the real world, and that can be awfully hard.
Did you ever have to make up your mind?
Then read this book first. If it doesn't scare you away from a life playing music, go for it. But please, STAY OUT OF JAIL!
http://www.steveboone.net
http://www.amazon.com/Hotter-Than-Match-Head-Spoonful/dp/1770411933/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1408861368&sr=8-1
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