If it was on HBO, it'd be the biggest show on television.
Ambition and intrigue, the linchpins of modern life. Throw in a little gossip and you've got the local office as well as the White House. It's universal. We're all trying to get ahead and get along.
But there are early adopters and those who go with the flow. And reporters who want to be famous and those who just want a paycheck. And you only get famous if you tell a story everybody can relate to, and the paycheck comes from serving those with the biggest agenda. So people don't want to report the story of Netflix's series because so many people still can't stream, they can't fathom being delivered 13 episodes all at once, they need to be behind the curve, not in front of it.
I have two friends without smartphones. They think they don't need them. The truth is we only need food and water, and a little shelter, but if you want to play in this game, you need the tools.
And a smartphone is only one of them.
The others are cogitation and the ability to get along and gain information.
Life is a game, enjoy it while you're playing it.
If you think it's about money, you're too busy keeping score.
But no one remembers who wins the Oscar, but they do remember seeing the film.
Your life is a movie, you'd better enjoy it.
And the truth is many people never figure out how to play. The sour grapes patrol point to their upbringing and some bad breaks to explain why they're not where they want to be. Whereas winners lose, pick themselves up, dust themselves off and get back into the arena.
Like Frank Underwood.
We like a linear story. We like "Rocky." You start nowhere, you triumph, and then you live off your endorsements and good will.
But the truth is life is more complicated than that. You don't get laid by every person you proposition. You invest with people you trust and you lose everything. If you haven't been left holding the bag, you haven't played.
Yes, it's scary.
But thrilling.
And that's what "House of Cards" is all about. Staying in motion, playing to your own agenda, seeing if you can move ahead on the board.
Pledging fealty to the corporation is so 1950s. Everybody knows the corporation is no longer to be trusted, your ass will get fired and your pension will be stolen. The story of America is it's every person for himself.
But we don't like to believe this, no one likes to say this. And those who know it want to keep the lid tamped down. That's the main worry of the rich, not that you'll expose their assets, but you'll figure it all out, how they made it.
We all want to make it. Our goals might not be similar, but the nature of life is you start here and you want to go there. How do we achieve this?
You can experience tension in a spy film.
But most people are never going to be spies.
Fantasies are good for escape.
But what truly rivets us is that which we can relate to, which edifies us.
The people on "House of Cards" are imperfect. But they're trying. They understand loyalty and manipulation and there hasn't been anything this good on television since the "Sopranos."
Just like newspapers cling to their old model of print and advertising, despite classifieds going to Craigslist and news being available instantly online, many people cling to the past, fearful of the unknown future.
We all come along eventually, but the early adopters pave the way and if you want to play, you've got to pick up and move. Used to be you could wait, but no one buys a car with crank windows anymore, electric ones don't break, everything works from the first iteration.
So sign up for Netflix, just to see this series.
And when we get together for a drink not only will we discuss plot points, but our own personal choices, how we see the game we're playing, how we're gonna get ahead.
Admit it, that's what you want.
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Saturday, 22 February 2014
Friday, 21 February 2014
The Mighty Storm
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1aLcubTtju8
Al Kooper strikes again.
Peter Bradley Adams was one half of a duo entitled eastmountainsouth signed to DreamWorks whose album was so overmassaged and spent upon that it sunk under its own weight and the act broke up. Times were a' changin', we were hitting the indie era, it was more about constantly producing and being in the marketplace than perfection and now almost no one knows the act, never mind their exquisite calling card, "You Dance."
But Peter Bradley Adams has soldiered on, in obscurity.
Yes, the wheel has turned again, indie is fading and it's all about the promotion that only a rich, connected label of experienced players can provide.
So Peter Bradley Adams releases a new track that you should hear and you won't.
Did you see that report wherein it was stated that country radio eclipses CHR? I'm not sure whether to believe it, because it was promulgated by the radio industry, which has enough ignorance and agendas to fuel a conspiracy team, but it rings true. Because despite all the hype about pop, it's got the nutrition of a Twinkie and most people are looking for something with a little meat on its bones, which no one on Top Forty has got, come on, being skinny is one of the PREREQUISITES!
And there's no way in hell Peter Bradley Adams's "The Mighty Storm" is gonna get airplay on either format, could get some traction on Triple A, but the problem with that format is that its PDs can't distinguish between good and new. In other words, just because it's new that does not mean...IT'S GOOD!
Which is why so many of us are listening to the same old stuff. Literally. Because we're lost in the wilderness with no direction home.
Algorithms will never triumph. If BeatsMusic succeeds, it will have nothing to do with curation and everything to do with marketing. Because the truth is we all want to be led by the hand, together, to the promised land of great tracks. And even though he's an irascible old coot, Al Kooper is doing God's work.
Oh, I've got a bone to pick. I wish he listed fewer than ten tracks a week. I wish even more were great. I wish he wouldn't employ the copyright-infringing Grooveshark. But every playlist features a nugget.
Especially this week. I was wondering if it was my mood. Because the David Crosby track has got an incredible feel. And Kooper swooped down and made sense of Bastille. But having played all the cuts, I came back to Peter Bradley Adams's "The Mighty Storm" and realized it was heads-above, because of the sound, because of the FEEL!
Take off your Clive Davis hat. Songs are everything, but not everybody can write a classic. "The Mighty Storm" is not A+ material, but that does not mean it won't reach you, that it won't set your mind free.
It's the HBO of music. Not what you want, but what you need.
So Peter Bradley Adams puts out albums, keeping them off streaming services either through ineptitude or a delusional belief he's standing up for artists and money, which 19 is doing via its suit against Sony, there's plenty of money in streaming, it's just that the labels are keeping most of it, so unless I wrote this you'd never hear "The Mighty Storm."
And it's not groundbreaking, but...
Imagine yourself driving alone through the delta. Cleaning the house. Needing company late at night. This music is PERFECT!
So I don't know how we rescue this music business, how we connect the great mass of people with great music, how everybody can get their head out of their ass and stop thinking about money but soul and humanity.
The only way out is us. Not our machines. Music is the ANTI-MACHINE! Even when it's made by Kraftwerk, that's the joke, the machines are harnessed by us!
So once again we need a deejay to save our life.
Someone who knows great from not good enough.
Who sifts through the detritus and delivers the gems we want but cannot find.
Al Kooper's looking for a needle in a haystack, I don't have the time, the patience or the desire. But oh do I want to listen to what he comes up with!
Kooper's playlist: http://bit.ly/1fivafX
"You Dance": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GilrMxoVPhA
"Country overtakes CHR": http://bit.ly/1f6D4TE
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Al Kooper strikes again.
Peter Bradley Adams was one half of a duo entitled eastmountainsouth signed to DreamWorks whose album was so overmassaged and spent upon that it sunk under its own weight and the act broke up. Times were a' changin', we were hitting the indie era, it was more about constantly producing and being in the marketplace than perfection and now almost no one knows the act, never mind their exquisite calling card, "You Dance."
But Peter Bradley Adams has soldiered on, in obscurity.
Yes, the wheel has turned again, indie is fading and it's all about the promotion that only a rich, connected label of experienced players can provide.
So Peter Bradley Adams releases a new track that you should hear and you won't.
Did you see that report wherein it was stated that country radio eclipses CHR? I'm not sure whether to believe it, because it was promulgated by the radio industry, which has enough ignorance and agendas to fuel a conspiracy team, but it rings true. Because despite all the hype about pop, it's got the nutrition of a Twinkie and most people are looking for something with a little meat on its bones, which no one on Top Forty has got, come on, being skinny is one of the PREREQUISITES!
And there's no way in hell Peter Bradley Adams's "The Mighty Storm" is gonna get airplay on either format, could get some traction on Triple A, but the problem with that format is that its PDs can't distinguish between good and new. In other words, just because it's new that does not mean...IT'S GOOD!
Which is why so many of us are listening to the same old stuff. Literally. Because we're lost in the wilderness with no direction home.
Algorithms will never triumph. If BeatsMusic succeeds, it will have nothing to do with curation and everything to do with marketing. Because the truth is we all want to be led by the hand, together, to the promised land of great tracks. And even though he's an irascible old coot, Al Kooper is doing God's work.
Oh, I've got a bone to pick. I wish he listed fewer than ten tracks a week. I wish even more were great. I wish he wouldn't employ the copyright-infringing Grooveshark. But every playlist features a nugget.
Especially this week. I was wondering if it was my mood. Because the David Crosby track has got an incredible feel. And Kooper swooped down and made sense of Bastille. But having played all the cuts, I came back to Peter Bradley Adams's "The Mighty Storm" and realized it was heads-above, because of the sound, because of the FEEL!
Take off your Clive Davis hat. Songs are everything, but not everybody can write a classic. "The Mighty Storm" is not A+ material, but that does not mean it won't reach you, that it won't set your mind free.
It's the HBO of music. Not what you want, but what you need.
So Peter Bradley Adams puts out albums, keeping them off streaming services either through ineptitude or a delusional belief he's standing up for artists and money, which 19 is doing via its suit against Sony, there's plenty of money in streaming, it's just that the labels are keeping most of it, so unless I wrote this you'd never hear "The Mighty Storm."
And it's not groundbreaking, but...
Imagine yourself driving alone through the delta. Cleaning the house. Needing company late at night. This music is PERFECT!
So I don't know how we rescue this music business, how we connect the great mass of people with great music, how everybody can get their head out of their ass and stop thinking about money but soul and humanity.
The only way out is us. Not our machines. Music is the ANTI-MACHINE! Even when it's made by Kraftwerk, that's the joke, the machines are harnessed by us!
So once again we need a deejay to save our life.
Someone who knows great from not good enough.
Who sifts through the detritus and delivers the gems we want but cannot find.
Al Kooper's looking for a needle in a haystack, I don't have the time, the patience or the desire. But oh do I want to listen to what he comes up with!
Kooper's playlist: http://bit.ly/1fivafX
"You Dance": http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GilrMxoVPhA
"Country overtakes CHR": http://bit.ly/1f6D4TE
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Rhinofy-Millennium
That's right, the Backstreet Boys album.
I had to own it, I needed to hear "I Want It That Way." After all, it was cowritten by the world's number one hitmaker, MAX MARTIN!
Huh?
Just like Mutt Lange was the eighties' secret sauce, Max Martin has filled that role for the past fifteen years, ever since the advent of...Britney Spears.
That's right, I bought her debut too, I had to hear Max's composition "...Baby One More Time."
Oh, baby baby. Britney Spears owes her whole career to Max Martin and this one track. The one wherein girl becomes woman, wherein she radiates a sexuality she does not possess but a middle-aged Swedish man can supply.
My loneliness is killing me...hit me baby one more time!
That's the power of a hit record. In this pre-Napster era, that's why Tommy Mottola made $28 million in one year and Clive Calder had the biggest victory in the history of the music business. It's about tracks that are so infectious, so necessary that you drove to the store on a mission to satiate your jones.
It's easy to dismiss what's popular, it's easy to pooh-pooh that which appeals to the teens, especially to the prepubescent set. But one listen to "Quit Playing Games (With My Heart)" convinced me that Backstreet Boys were no New Kids On The Block. This was memorable music. I lived to hear it on the radio. And then when I heard "I Want It That Way," I took the plunge.
"You are my fire
The one desire
Believe when I say
I want it that way"
It's like he's serenading her on the beach. With just the flamenco guitar. But then the track builds and builds.
"Tell me why
Ain't nothin' but a heartache
Tell me why
Ain't nothin' but a mistake
Tell me why
I never wanna hear you say
I want it that way"
Perfection. A mood is captured.
But it was the opening cut that riveted me, that closed me.
Yes, the best rock record of the year could have been...
LARGER THAN LIFE!
It hearkens back to Swedish superstars Roxette. But there's an underlying soul and power that evidences the millennium, when Generation Y came to power, eclipsing their parents, the baby boomers.
This is not the way it's supposed to be. We're supposed to be able to write off the mainstream.
But rock had lost its way.
Metal became so fast and unlistenable except to devotees.
There was a hole in the mainstream, and Max Martin filled it.
Backstreet Boys are lost without him. Anybody can sing, but not anybody can write and produce.
And Dr. Luke gets all the ink, but the secret weapon and still champion is his sometimes partner, the Swede known as Max Martin.
He's a modern day Todd Rundgren, seemingly able to write hits at will. But unlike Todd, Max has not rejected the adulation and riches. Then again, to this day most people have no idea who Max is.
You wonder who they're going to induct into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame sixty years on?
MAX MARTIN!
Spotify playlist: http://spoti.fi/p6HcZ8
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I had to own it, I needed to hear "I Want It That Way." After all, it was cowritten by the world's number one hitmaker, MAX MARTIN!
Huh?
Just like Mutt Lange was the eighties' secret sauce, Max Martin has filled that role for the past fifteen years, ever since the advent of...Britney Spears.
That's right, I bought her debut too, I had to hear Max's composition "...Baby One More Time."
Oh, baby baby. Britney Spears owes her whole career to Max Martin and this one track. The one wherein girl becomes woman, wherein she radiates a sexuality she does not possess but a middle-aged Swedish man can supply.
My loneliness is killing me...hit me baby one more time!
That's the power of a hit record. In this pre-Napster era, that's why Tommy Mottola made $28 million in one year and Clive Calder had the biggest victory in the history of the music business. It's about tracks that are so infectious, so necessary that you drove to the store on a mission to satiate your jones.
It's easy to dismiss what's popular, it's easy to pooh-pooh that which appeals to the teens, especially to the prepubescent set. But one listen to "Quit Playing Games (With My Heart)" convinced me that Backstreet Boys were no New Kids On The Block. This was memorable music. I lived to hear it on the radio. And then when I heard "I Want It That Way," I took the plunge.
"You are my fire
The one desire
Believe when I say
I want it that way"
It's like he's serenading her on the beach. With just the flamenco guitar. But then the track builds and builds.
"Tell me why
Ain't nothin' but a heartache
Tell me why
Ain't nothin' but a mistake
Tell me why
I never wanna hear you say
I want it that way"
Perfection. A mood is captured.
But it was the opening cut that riveted me, that closed me.
Yes, the best rock record of the year could have been...
LARGER THAN LIFE!
It hearkens back to Swedish superstars Roxette. But there's an underlying soul and power that evidences the millennium, when Generation Y came to power, eclipsing their parents, the baby boomers.
This is not the way it's supposed to be. We're supposed to be able to write off the mainstream.
But rock had lost its way.
Metal became so fast and unlistenable except to devotees.
There was a hole in the mainstream, and Max Martin filled it.
Backstreet Boys are lost without him. Anybody can sing, but not anybody can write and produce.
And Dr. Luke gets all the ink, but the secret weapon and still champion is his sometimes partner, the Swede known as Max Martin.
He's a modern day Todd Rundgren, seemingly able to write hits at will. But unlike Todd, Max has not rejected the adulation and riches. Then again, to this day most people have no idea who Max is.
You wonder who they're going to induct into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame sixty years on?
MAX MARTIN!
Spotify playlist: http://spoti.fi/p6HcZ8
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Close Call
I almost got killed last night.
And that's the truth and it was totally my fault and I'm still shaking. Because you feel so alive after the Grim Reaper's scythe misses you but you don't stop being haunted by what almost was.
So I was meeting a friend at the Moon House, the Chinese restaurant in the strip center at Santa Monica and Sepulveda that Jay Weston recommended, and there wasn't a spot in the lot.
That's the bane of SoCal...you can own a car, but finding a place to park it? Especially now that so many streets are restricted.
So I pull on to what was once called "Little Santa Monica," but has now been restructured into cul-de-sacs and turn pockets... Let me be clear, it's still a street, still parallel to "Big Santa Monica," but it's got a different characteristic, it's...sleepy.
And on the right side of the street there are no spots.
But the left side is wide open. Which scares me. Because if no one else is parking there, can I? I'm an "i" dotter and "t" crosser, I rebel in this newsletter but out in the world I'm a law-abiding citizen, it was drilled into me growing up, play by the rules. And nothing hurts more than a parking ticket. I mean WHY? I pay them immediately, to forget them. Once upon a time you could get away without paying, especially if you had an out of state plate, but now the whole world's been computerized, they've got your second grade transcript, everything's on your permanent record.
So I pull into a space and start pondering whether I'm close enough to the curb. The rule is 12", but I've got a small car. And I debate it. I could fire the engine back up and pull closer, but then I risk damaging my wheels...everybody in SoCal is worried about the look of their car, see one dented and crumpled on the highway and you steer away, fearful it'll be contagious, they'll hit you and now your car will be crippled.
And after deciding I was close enough, and this is an issue because there's parking on both sides of this one way street, I walk back a few yards to study the sign, determining that it was truly legal to park here, even though I admit when I came back hours later I looked for the ticket, which was not there...
But there would have been no looking if...
Yes, I looked at the sign, decided I was cool, and then did what every modern day citizen does, I pulled out my phone, to read my e-mail, to catch up. And lulled into soporifity by the downsizing and deconstructing of Little Santa Monica I stepped off the sidewalk and started crossing this lazy street, like one in the middle of Kansas, on the prairie...
And that's when it happened.
A green car. I think it was a Chrysler product. I didn't see it coming at all. It didn't slow down for me. It was going about 35 miles per hour, around the speed limit, and I'm looking down, scrolling through my e-mail and...suddenly I was aware of its presence, barely a foot away.
He didn't beep the horn, he didn't slow down, and he would have told the cop I was breaking the law and...
I would have had no input, I would have been dead.
I could see it in my mind's eye, the automobile striking me, throwing me down on the pavement head first. I thought of the ambulance and the ride to UCLA but then I realized I never would have made it, that in a stolen moment, an instant, my life would be over.
There are certain episodes that stick in my brain. Like falling through the ice. Coming over the crest on the original Loges Peak lift. Passing that vehicle in Ludlow, Vermont and finding a truck barreling right down towards us with no room to pull back in, Jimmy's only choice being to accelerate and find a spot with a nanosecond to spare. And now this. The moment via poor judgment when I was almost history. The end. All she wrote.
They say to get back on the horse.
They say to get back on the high wire.
They say to get back on the trapeze.
So that's what I'm trying to do.
But I'm still processing, still digesting, still trying to make sense of how fate dealt me a good hand last night, scared me to death, but it almost wasn't so.
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And that's the truth and it was totally my fault and I'm still shaking. Because you feel so alive after the Grim Reaper's scythe misses you but you don't stop being haunted by what almost was.
So I was meeting a friend at the Moon House, the Chinese restaurant in the strip center at Santa Monica and Sepulveda that Jay Weston recommended, and there wasn't a spot in the lot.
That's the bane of SoCal...you can own a car, but finding a place to park it? Especially now that so many streets are restricted.
So I pull on to what was once called "Little Santa Monica," but has now been restructured into cul-de-sacs and turn pockets... Let me be clear, it's still a street, still parallel to "Big Santa Monica," but it's got a different characteristic, it's...sleepy.
And on the right side of the street there are no spots.
But the left side is wide open. Which scares me. Because if no one else is parking there, can I? I'm an "i" dotter and "t" crosser, I rebel in this newsletter but out in the world I'm a law-abiding citizen, it was drilled into me growing up, play by the rules. And nothing hurts more than a parking ticket. I mean WHY? I pay them immediately, to forget them. Once upon a time you could get away without paying, especially if you had an out of state plate, but now the whole world's been computerized, they've got your second grade transcript, everything's on your permanent record.
So I pull into a space and start pondering whether I'm close enough to the curb. The rule is 12", but I've got a small car. And I debate it. I could fire the engine back up and pull closer, but then I risk damaging my wheels...everybody in SoCal is worried about the look of their car, see one dented and crumpled on the highway and you steer away, fearful it'll be contagious, they'll hit you and now your car will be crippled.
And after deciding I was close enough, and this is an issue because there's parking on both sides of this one way street, I walk back a few yards to study the sign, determining that it was truly legal to park here, even though I admit when I came back hours later I looked for the ticket, which was not there...
But there would have been no looking if...
Yes, I looked at the sign, decided I was cool, and then did what every modern day citizen does, I pulled out my phone, to read my e-mail, to catch up. And lulled into soporifity by the downsizing and deconstructing of Little Santa Monica I stepped off the sidewalk and started crossing this lazy street, like one in the middle of Kansas, on the prairie...
And that's when it happened.
A green car. I think it was a Chrysler product. I didn't see it coming at all. It didn't slow down for me. It was going about 35 miles per hour, around the speed limit, and I'm looking down, scrolling through my e-mail and...suddenly I was aware of its presence, barely a foot away.
He didn't beep the horn, he didn't slow down, and he would have told the cop I was breaking the law and...
I would have had no input, I would have been dead.
I could see it in my mind's eye, the automobile striking me, throwing me down on the pavement head first. I thought of the ambulance and the ride to UCLA but then I realized I never would have made it, that in a stolen moment, an instant, my life would be over.
There are certain episodes that stick in my brain. Like falling through the ice. Coming over the crest on the original Loges Peak lift. Passing that vehicle in Ludlow, Vermont and finding a truck barreling right down towards us with no room to pull back in, Jimmy's only choice being to accelerate and find a spot with a nanosecond to spare. And now this. The moment via poor judgment when I was almost history. The end. All she wrote.
They say to get back on the horse.
They say to get back on the high wire.
They say to get back on the trapeze.
So that's what I'm trying to do.
But I'm still processing, still digesting, still trying to make sense of how fate dealt me a good hand last night, scared me to death, but it almost wasn't so.
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Thursday, 20 February 2014
The Barricades Of Heaven
It was sunny today. Spring is coming. Just when I want to put on the brakes and have the world slow down. I'm thirty one days in but I can see the ski season ending, and with the California drought I doubt Mammoth will make it until June.
I don't think I could live on the east coast. Gray was natural, to be expected when I grew up there, but having lived in Southern California for decades I enjoy the rain, an occasional overcast day, but string a few together and I get depressed.
Not that I don't get down out here. Felice's house is nestled into the hills and from November until...just about now, it can get pretty dark. But then I walk outside and...
I remember they told you to turn on the a/c in the winter to maintain the system. That was a chore in Vermont and Utah, but out here it's a regular activity. I had it on today. When the sun was shining, the thermometer hit eighty and I was thrilled to be alive.
Possibility. It's what comes after satisfaction. Driving down the highway with the sunroof open and the radio blasting and you think...about what you can do.
And that's when songs start running through my brain. When I walk down the sidewalk and lyrics are popping through my brain gaining new insight all the while.
Jackson Browne had a comeback in '93, "I'm Alive." But without huge commercial success he went back to rocking. He cast aside his acoustic return and fired up the band and the result, 1996's "Looking East," was even less successful, because as you age so does your audience and suddenly they don't want to hear anything new. But I liked that album, especially the title cut, but those songs didn't really come alive until Jackson released them in live acoustic versions in 2005.
"Running down around the towns along the shore
When I was sixteen and on my own"
I was not on my own when I was sixteen. Maybe it's a SoCal thing, where every Valleyite remembers taking the bus to Zuma. With the weather so good, no crime in evidence, little dirt and detritus, parents relax the reins, they let their kids go not only to the beach, but to the Strip, to find themselves.
"Life became the Paradox, the Bear, the Rouge et Noir
And the stretch of road running to L.A."
That's the Golden Bear, in Huntington Beach. The Sweetwater in Redondo. There was a musical scene, steeped in folk music, that rivaled Greenwich Village. Only in this case you drove there, and there was somewhere to park, and you went to partake in the scene and the tunes. Going home later to listen to your albums and practice your guitar. Back then that's what we did. Just like kids Instagram and YouTube today. We were looking for the same things, notoriety and fame, it's just that in this case it was all based in music.
"No I couldn't tell you what the hell those brakes were for
I was just trying to hear my song"
Ah, the immortality and optimism of youth. Then again, minor scrapes and bruises take forever to heal when you're older, when you're young the damage disappears long before your next adventure. And it was this relentless testing of limits that led to the explosion of consciousness and sound in San Francisco and Los Angeles. And it's the underpinning of the Silicon Valley revolution. And the Hollywood dream factory to this day.
It's all about the possibilities. Discovering who you are and then doubling down on it.
But you need a base of freedom, a safety net that embraces failure, in order to triumph.
So while you were battling the precipitation, bundling up against the elements, wishin' and hopin' that spring would come, it's already here...
In Los Angeles.
Just thought I'd let you know.
The rebirth has happened. We're challenging preconceived notions. We're testing the limits.
"Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where I'm from"
You're coming, right?
"Barricades Of Heaven" (acoustic): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SOhvUHxtpGU
"Barricades Of Heaven" (studio): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NiE5-II0v7w
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I don't think I could live on the east coast. Gray was natural, to be expected when I grew up there, but having lived in Southern California for decades I enjoy the rain, an occasional overcast day, but string a few together and I get depressed.
Not that I don't get down out here. Felice's house is nestled into the hills and from November until...just about now, it can get pretty dark. But then I walk outside and...
I remember they told you to turn on the a/c in the winter to maintain the system. That was a chore in Vermont and Utah, but out here it's a regular activity. I had it on today. When the sun was shining, the thermometer hit eighty and I was thrilled to be alive.
Possibility. It's what comes after satisfaction. Driving down the highway with the sunroof open and the radio blasting and you think...about what you can do.
And that's when songs start running through my brain. When I walk down the sidewalk and lyrics are popping through my brain gaining new insight all the while.
Jackson Browne had a comeback in '93, "I'm Alive." But without huge commercial success he went back to rocking. He cast aside his acoustic return and fired up the band and the result, 1996's "Looking East," was even less successful, because as you age so does your audience and suddenly they don't want to hear anything new. But I liked that album, especially the title cut, but those songs didn't really come alive until Jackson released them in live acoustic versions in 2005.
"Running down around the towns along the shore
When I was sixteen and on my own"
I was not on my own when I was sixteen. Maybe it's a SoCal thing, where every Valleyite remembers taking the bus to Zuma. With the weather so good, no crime in evidence, little dirt and detritus, parents relax the reins, they let their kids go not only to the beach, but to the Strip, to find themselves.
"Life became the Paradox, the Bear, the Rouge et Noir
And the stretch of road running to L.A."
That's the Golden Bear, in Huntington Beach. The Sweetwater in Redondo. There was a musical scene, steeped in folk music, that rivaled Greenwich Village. Only in this case you drove there, and there was somewhere to park, and you went to partake in the scene and the tunes. Going home later to listen to your albums and practice your guitar. Back then that's what we did. Just like kids Instagram and YouTube today. We were looking for the same things, notoriety and fame, it's just that in this case it was all based in music.
"No I couldn't tell you what the hell those brakes were for
I was just trying to hear my song"
Ah, the immortality and optimism of youth. Then again, minor scrapes and bruises take forever to heal when you're older, when you're young the damage disappears long before your next adventure. And it was this relentless testing of limits that led to the explosion of consciousness and sound in San Francisco and Los Angeles. And it's the underpinning of the Silicon Valley revolution. And the Hollywood dream factory to this day.
It's all about the possibilities. Discovering who you are and then doubling down on it.
But you need a base of freedom, a safety net that embraces failure, in order to triumph.
So while you were battling the precipitation, bundling up against the elements, wishin' and hopin' that spring would come, it's already here...
In Los Angeles.
Just thought I'd let you know.
The rebirth has happened. We're challenging preconceived notions. We're testing the limits.
"Better bring your own redemption when you come
To the barricades of heaven where I'm from"
You're coming, right?
"Barricades Of Heaven" (acoustic): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SOhvUHxtpGU
"Barricades Of Heaven" (studio): http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NiE5-II0v7w
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He's creatively bankrupt.
Recent studies show that few post and no one clicks through on likes, what's a poor boy to do?
Buy something with all that Wall Street money to deflect criticism as those prognosticating and investing miss the point.
Steve Jobs is a hero not because he started the computer revolution, but because he continued it. Sure, he dandied up the Mac and got people buying fashion, but truly it was the iPod that broke Apple wide open, with the iPhone and iPad making it the world's most valuable company.
Amazon has stayed ahead by creating the Kindle, in-house.
I'm not saying that that Apple and Amazon made no acquisitions, didn't build upon the technology in the field, but I am saying they pushed it to create something new, that caught the public's fancy. That's Apple's challenge today, to continue to innovate with its founder gone.
Microsoft was famous for stealing others' ideas and then improving upon them. But the lack of vision has hobbled the company. After improving word processing and spreadsheets and the browser and utilizing the company's OS to leverage their adoption, the company ran out of steam because it just couldn't innovate.
Facebook innovation is centered on changing privacy and advertising policies, flummoxing users all the while.
The Instagram purchase was akin to an industrialist buying a baseball team.
Nothing is pushing the ball forward, because there's no vision. The guy in the hoodie is played out.
One can even argue he stole his original idea from the Winklevosses.
Just because you're under thirty, that does not mean you've got your pulse on technology.
Furthermore, execution is key, but it's built upon a foundation of creativity. You can get a plethora of people to play the notes, but finding someone to write them?
Yes, tech is just like music. A manager can get lucky once. The proof of talent is someone who does it twice, never mind many times.
Kind of like Bruce Allen. Who went from BTO to Bryan Adams to Michael Buble all of whom were different. And Bruce gets little press. But he's working all the time.
Furthermore, the press and the public were caught flat-footed, because living in the so-called "Greatest Country In The World" they were asleep when it came to WhatsApp. I was too, until I went to Bogota and asked what that app Wendy kept tapping on her iPhone was. She stared at me incredulously...it's WHATSAPP!
We want to communicate, we want to share. And some are fame whores. But most of us just want to be connected.
And Facebook and Twitter and so many social networks are built upon the fame whore paradigm. Let's get the wannabe to spread the word, get everybody interested so we can go public and get rich and leave investors holding the bag.
Twitter... Baba Booey said he hadn't tweeted in weeks. I barely do. Because I see no reason to put another raindrop into a sea of noise. I'm not saying I don't check my feed, but what happens when only the fame whores are left?
You've got Facebook. Which has hit a wall. After the thrill of connecting with everybody you've ever known is gone, then what?
BlackBerry missed out, BBM was the first. Well, not really, AOL's Instant Messenger was the first, but they could never capitalize on that.
Apple has iMessage, but it's not an open platform.
And we learn that the cell companies are caught flat-footed, the same way the record companies were when ringtones died. Charging for texts? That's soon to be history.
But is WhatsApp worth $19 billion?
Of course not. But it's not real money anyway.
Don't confuse Facebook with Google, which wanted WhatsApp too. Google had a second act, known as Gmail, the company is not only about search. The purchase of YouTube was after the fact. The purchase of Nest? There's a bit of vision there, but...
Apple is still the king. Because it's actually making products people want. That they're paying hard cash for.
But it's not forever, it's just until the next big thing.
Social networking is forever. Facebook and Twitter may not be, they may just be features in a future ecosystem.
Meanwhile, WhatsApp is news today and we'll be talking about something else tomorrow.
But unlike tech, a great song is forever. You don't have any use for your Windows XP machine, but you still want to hear Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy."
You can't buy the world, the same way you can't buy romance. Connection is something you feel. Creativity is something inbred. Just because Mark Zuckerberg fleshed out Facebook that does not mean he's a visionary.
He's anything but.
Stop drinking the kool-aid.
P.S. It's truly a global village. But only someone from Kiev seems to know this. Jan Koum set about to lasso the entire world's users, not just those in the media-savvy, media-hungry United States. If you're not marketing to the entire world, you're not dreaming big enough.
P.P.S. Like a great band, the message was sent by fans, not publicity. Marketing is secondary to usage. In other words, people know a good app/track when they see/hear it, and they find out about it from other users.
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Recent studies show that few post and no one clicks through on likes, what's a poor boy to do?
Buy something with all that Wall Street money to deflect criticism as those prognosticating and investing miss the point.
Steve Jobs is a hero not because he started the computer revolution, but because he continued it. Sure, he dandied up the Mac and got people buying fashion, but truly it was the iPod that broke Apple wide open, with the iPhone and iPad making it the world's most valuable company.
Amazon has stayed ahead by creating the Kindle, in-house.
I'm not saying that that Apple and Amazon made no acquisitions, didn't build upon the technology in the field, but I am saying they pushed it to create something new, that caught the public's fancy. That's Apple's challenge today, to continue to innovate with its founder gone.
Microsoft was famous for stealing others' ideas and then improving upon them. But the lack of vision has hobbled the company. After improving word processing and spreadsheets and the browser and utilizing the company's OS to leverage their adoption, the company ran out of steam because it just couldn't innovate.
Facebook innovation is centered on changing privacy and advertising policies, flummoxing users all the while.
The Instagram purchase was akin to an industrialist buying a baseball team.
Nothing is pushing the ball forward, because there's no vision. The guy in the hoodie is played out.
One can even argue he stole his original idea from the Winklevosses.
Just because you're under thirty, that does not mean you've got your pulse on technology.
Furthermore, execution is key, but it's built upon a foundation of creativity. You can get a plethora of people to play the notes, but finding someone to write them?
Yes, tech is just like music. A manager can get lucky once. The proof of talent is someone who does it twice, never mind many times.
Kind of like Bruce Allen. Who went from BTO to Bryan Adams to Michael Buble all of whom were different. And Bruce gets little press. But he's working all the time.
Furthermore, the press and the public were caught flat-footed, because living in the so-called "Greatest Country In The World" they were asleep when it came to WhatsApp. I was too, until I went to Bogota and asked what that app Wendy kept tapping on her iPhone was. She stared at me incredulously...it's WHATSAPP!
We want to communicate, we want to share. And some are fame whores. But most of us just want to be connected.
And Facebook and Twitter and so many social networks are built upon the fame whore paradigm. Let's get the wannabe to spread the word, get everybody interested so we can go public and get rich and leave investors holding the bag.
Twitter... Baba Booey said he hadn't tweeted in weeks. I barely do. Because I see no reason to put another raindrop into a sea of noise. I'm not saying I don't check my feed, but what happens when only the fame whores are left?
You've got Facebook. Which has hit a wall. After the thrill of connecting with everybody you've ever known is gone, then what?
BlackBerry missed out, BBM was the first. Well, not really, AOL's Instant Messenger was the first, but they could never capitalize on that.
Apple has iMessage, but it's not an open platform.
And we learn that the cell companies are caught flat-footed, the same way the record companies were when ringtones died. Charging for texts? That's soon to be history.
But is WhatsApp worth $19 billion?
Of course not. But it's not real money anyway.
Don't confuse Facebook with Google, which wanted WhatsApp too. Google had a second act, known as Gmail, the company is not only about search. The purchase of YouTube was after the fact. The purchase of Nest? There's a bit of vision there, but...
Apple is still the king. Because it's actually making products people want. That they're paying hard cash for.
But it's not forever, it's just until the next big thing.
Social networking is forever. Facebook and Twitter may not be, they may just be features in a future ecosystem.
Meanwhile, WhatsApp is news today and we'll be talking about something else tomorrow.
But unlike tech, a great song is forever. You don't have any use for your Windows XP machine, but you still want to hear Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy."
You can't buy the world, the same way you can't buy romance. Connection is something you feel. Creativity is something inbred. Just because Mark Zuckerberg fleshed out Facebook that does not mean he's a visionary.
He's anything but.
Stop drinking the kool-aid.
P.S. It's truly a global village. But only someone from Kiev seems to know this. Jan Koum set about to lasso the entire world's users, not just those in the media-savvy, media-hungry United States. If you're not marketing to the entire world, you're not dreaming big enough.
P.P.S. Like a great band, the message was sent by fans, not publicity. Marketing is secondary to usage. In other words, people know a good app/track when they see/hear it, and they find out about it from other users.
--
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Wednesday, 19 February 2014
Sunk Costs
Ginny gave me "The Art of Critical Decision Making" for Christmas.
She gave everybody else a bathrobe. After saying it's hard to buy a gift for me, she told me to get back to her, to let her know what I thought.
Huh. I'm self-educated. Show me a lecturer and I'll point out someone I can daydream during the presentation of. I can count on one hand the number of riveting college professors I had, and they were all in the art department, which is why I switched majors, from English, wherein they didn't give a hoot what I thought, they just wanted to teach me classical theory and eradicate all the creativity extant in my body.
I was never one of those people lauding educators. Because like musical stars, we only cotton to the best, the rest are journeymen at best, some are barely punching the clock, it's like no one ever busted them and told them they were boring.
And I was afraid Michael Roberto would be boring.
The intro certainly was. Wherein they lauded him, reciting all his accomplishments and I started to tune out. But then, Mr. Roberto began.
Unfortunately, the initial lecture was too much of an overview. Don't tell me where you're going, just take me there. The theories were littered with examples, but they were just a tease, no depth was afforded, I wanted to know about how they decided to switch to New Coke, but alas, I didn't find out.
Not yet anyway. There are twelve CDs, and this was just the first.
But at the end of the first, after delineating the thought process made in decisions, Professor Roberto said he believed in the case method, and his first example was going to be...the 1996 Everest tragedy.
I can get into that. I read "Into Thin Air," Krakauer's essay in "Outside" before that, I know the players, I'm a student of the game.
And I heard about Rob Hall and Scott Fisher and Beck Weathers and then Roberto started talking about...
Something I just couldn't figure out.
I didn't go to business school, I don't have an MBA, and although I'd like the experience, I'm fearful they'd drain out my essence. You see it's too much about money, less about emotions than critical thinking. And without emotion you've got no joy. And the only joy MBAs get is when they party, which is why so many go to these schools, to network, what they learn there is secondary at best, even at Harvard. It's who you know, not what you know, don't ever forget it.
But I was now stimulated. There's nothing like delving into a new subject. And if you think school is for learning...I point you back to the earlier paragraph. That's what flummoxes the nerds, the fact that they do well in school but are lousy at life. They get their degree, they get a job at the firm, and when they don't make partner...they're lost.
But I was having a pure learning experience. Roberto was listenable, better than good if not truly phenomenal. But I just couldn't understand the point he was making. But about the fifth time through, I got it, he was saying SUNK COSTS!
What are sunk costs?
Essentially those you've already made that you cannot retrieve.
And listening to Roberto pontificate I was running through scenarios from my own life. After you invest so much, do you keep on going?
Kind of like Tim Armstrong and Patch. It was his idea, he couldn't let go.
Roberto said CEOs who made major purchases kept investing, only their successors with no emotional ties could cut bait.
Think about this. Professor Roberto has. You've spent so much time and money...it's easier to spend more, it's easier to believe. Doubling down prevents you from the fall. Kind of like those students who think it's about grades as opposed to life.
We just terminated someone. My initial instinct was to keep going, we'd spent so much already.
But Ginny, the soon to be nonagenarian, was the first to say we should pull out. That's the wisdom of age.
The youngster just keeps trying harder, banging his head against the wall.
Every day I get e-mail from people saying they're never going to give up.
You can't tell these people they're good, but not good enough. They've dedicated so much time and money into being a musician, working in the biz, they can't start all over again.
But they should.
Kind of like Marko Babineau and Steve Tipp.
Babineau started selling real estate, he gave up looking for a new job in the music business. As did Tipp. But there are too many dreamers surviving on scraps believing the good days are gonna come back when the truth is they're over fifty and their opportunities have evaporated.
Then there's the criticism of the labels, that they just don't stick with anything anymore. But maybe they're smarter than you are, maybe they like the act but just don't see how they can make any money, so they drop them. Certainly the new CEO/President drops most of the previous regime's acts, he's got no emotional ties to them.
It's no crime to let go. Sometimes it's smart.
Rob Hall and Scott Fisher had expended so much time and effort in getting their charges to the top of Everest that they ignored their own rules, like turning around between 1 and 2, no matter where they were.
Furthermore, they'd never seen bad weather. People have a bad habit of ignoring the odds. Just because they've never experienced the downside, that does not mean it's not coming.
And Professor Roberto went much deeper than I'm going now. And listening was quite stimulating, and I'm looking forward to the next ten CDs.
But think about those sunk costs.
If you can't write off the past, you're beholden to it.
"The Art of Critical Decision Making": http://bit.ly/1dPaZnZ
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She gave everybody else a bathrobe. After saying it's hard to buy a gift for me, she told me to get back to her, to let her know what I thought.
Huh. I'm self-educated. Show me a lecturer and I'll point out someone I can daydream during the presentation of. I can count on one hand the number of riveting college professors I had, and they were all in the art department, which is why I switched majors, from English, wherein they didn't give a hoot what I thought, they just wanted to teach me classical theory and eradicate all the creativity extant in my body.
I was never one of those people lauding educators. Because like musical stars, we only cotton to the best, the rest are journeymen at best, some are barely punching the clock, it's like no one ever busted them and told them they were boring.
And I was afraid Michael Roberto would be boring.
The intro certainly was. Wherein they lauded him, reciting all his accomplishments and I started to tune out. But then, Mr. Roberto began.
Unfortunately, the initial lecture was too much of an overview. Don't tell me where you're going, just take me there. The theories were littered with examples, but they were just a tease, no depth was afforded, I wanted to know about how they decided to switch to New Coke, but alas, I didn't find out.
Not yet anyway. There are twelve CDs, and this was just the first.
But at the end of the first, after delineating the thought process made in decisions, Professor Roberto said he believed in the case method, and his first example was going to be...the 1996 Everest tragedy.
I can get into that. I read "Into Thin Air," Krakauer's essay in "Outside" before that, I know the players, I'm a student of the game.
And I heard about Rob Hall and Scott Fisher and Beck Weathers and then Roberto started talking about...
Something I just couldn't figure out.
I didn't go to business school, I don't have an MBA, and although I'd like the experience, I'm fearful they'd drain out my essence. You see it's too much about money, less about emotions than critical thinking. And without emotion you've got no joy. And the only joy MBAs get is when they party, which is why so many go to these schools, to network, what they learn there is secondary at best, even at Harvard. It's who you know, not what you know, don't ever forget it.
But I was now stimulated. There's nothing like delving into a new subject. And if you think school is for learning...I point you back to the earlier paragraph. That's what flummoxes the nerds, the fact that they do well in school but are lousy at life. They get their degree, they get a job at the firm, and when they don't make partner...they're lost.
But I was having a pure learning experience. Roberto was listenable, better than good if not truly phenomenal. But I just couldn't understand the point he was making. But about the fifth time through, I got it, he was saying SUNK COSTS!
What are sunk costs?
Essentially those you've already made that you cannot retrieve.
And listening to Roberto pontificate I was running through scenarios from my own life. After you invest so much, do you keep on going?
Kind of like Tim Armstrong and Patch. It was his idea, he couldn't let go.
Roberto said CEOs who made major purchases kept investing, only their successors with no emotional ties could cut bait.
Think about this. Professor Roberto has. You've spent so much time and money...it's easier to spend more, it's easier to believe. Doubling down prevents you from the fall. Kind of like those students who think it's about grades as opposed to life.
We just terminated someone. My initial instinct was to keep going, we'd spent so much already.
But Ginny, the soon to be nonagenarian, was the first to say we should pull out. That's the wisdom of age.
The youngster just keeps trying harder, banging his head against the wall.
Every day I get e-mail from people saying they're never going to give up.
You can't tell these people they're good, but not good enough. They've dedicated so much time and money into being a musician, working in the biz, they can't start all over again.
But they should.
Kind of like Marko Babineau and Steve Tipp.
Babineau started selling real estate, he gave up looking for a new job in the music business. As did Tipp. But there are too many dreamers surviving on scraps believing the good days are gonna come back when the truth is they're over fifty and their opportunities have evaporated.
Then there's the criticism of the labels, that they just don't stick with anything anymore. But maybe they're smarter than you are, maybe they like the act but just don't see how they can make any money, so they drop them. Certainly the new CEO/President drops most of the previous regime's acts, he's got no emotional ties to them.
It's no crime to let go. Sometimes it's smart.
Rob Hall and Scott Fisher had expended so much time and effort in getting their charges to the top of Everest that they ignored their own rules, like turning around between 1 and 2, no matter where they were.
Furthermore, they'd never seen bad weather. People have a bad habit of ignoring the odds. Just because they've never experienced the downside, that does not mean it's not coming.
And Professor Roberto went much deeper than I'm going now. And listening was quite stimulating, and I'm looking forward to the next ten CDs.
But think about those sunk costs.
If you can't write off the past, you're beholden to it.
"The Art of Critical Decision Making": http://bit.ly/1dPaZnZ
--
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Bob Casale
Used to be our heroes O.D.'ed.
Now they die of old age.
Once upon a time Devo remade "Satisfaction" and after taking us back in time, devolving to a sound earlier than the art rock and corporate tunes that dominated the airwaves, they broke ground in video and inspired us by demonstrating that art is all about conception, execution comes last.
In other words, where was Devo coming from?
Now we wonder where we're going to.
As the baby boomers age, some are defying this. Dieting down to nothing and wearing their children's clothing, they believe if they just look young, they will be. But as Bob Dylan so eloquently sang:
"For them that think death's honesty
Won't fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes must get lonely"
In other words, if Bob Casale can die, I can too.
And it's coming, it's inevitable, and it's just beginning to dawn upon the baby boomers...that they, like their music, is not forever.
It's weird getting old. Because like Grandpa Simpson you want the old days to come back, and you understand the game. NBC is owned by nobody, run by the megalomaniacs at Comcast and ultimately reports to Wall Street. So rather than continue to employ ratings champion Jay Leno, they hand the reins to Jimmy Fallon and get the complicit press to trumpet this fact and we oldsters are sitting at home thinking there's been nothing new in late night since Dave went on at 12:30, and we'd all rather watch the DVR, if not Netflix. Reading the news you'd think Fallon won the gold medal, when the truth is he's got a show produced by an ancient comedy titan featuring people desperate for exposure.
That's right, Lorne Michaels blew up Saturday night television and hasn't done anything innovative since. But he's smart and rich and gives good parties so he gets a pass in this world where you coast on what you've done before when we see what you're doing now is not worth the attention.
Even Devo is coasting.
After scoring films and television, Mark Mothersbaugh reunited the troops with Bob's brother Jerry and found out...nobody wanted to hear anything new, but many wanted to experience what once was. They wanted to whip it good. In other words, Devo went from cutting edge to nostalgia.
And David Bowie was so busy being cutting edge he missed the target.
And Paul McCartney releases new music that none of his old fans want to hear.
And the youngsters all want to sell out to corporations in order to get rich and win.
And I'm stuck in the middle with you.
We remember when a record could change the world. When rock stars were revered for who they were and what they said as opposed to the shenanigans featured on gossip blogs. When we laughed at no talents instead of giving them a pass like the one Ryan Seacrest and his Kardashians get.
But admit you're old and you're deemed irrelevant.
That's the innocent, wet behind the ears youngsters' refrain. You're old, as if the pejorative were enough to scare people into submission.
But the truth is, it does.
But the funny thing is except for tech, now dominated by the not so young, youngsters are not pushing us out of the way, just demanding the keys to the car, like a teenager requests of his parents, not because he can drive any better, but just because he believes he deserves it.
The train is idling on the track.
Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison never made it to the station.
Along the way we lost Marc Bolan in a car accident, John Lennon in a tragedy, and Les Harvey died on stage before he got his one big break.
But now, more important than your chart position is your cholesterol number. Cancer can strike at any time. When your chest thumps you don't think it's anxiety or too stressful a workout, you think the end is nigh.
And you realize...
We're sailing into the sunset.
We made history and soon we will be so.
Everything we thought so important is fading away.
We went from testing limits to being the limit.
So, so long Bob 2. I bought all those records, you weren't the star, but I knew who you were.
So long cutting edge videos, they can only be done once, and they were, in the eighties.
So long KROQ, which once pioneered bleeding edge music and was the sound of a generation.
So long MTV, which was so busy casting aside generations it didn't realize there was no core left to appeal to the next.
So long percolating in your local market before bursting upon the scene as a phenomenon, if anyone of note is creating in Akron, we know immediately.
And so long the rock dream.
We wanted to rock and roll all night and party every day.
Now we want to live in gated communities, get up early and turn the sound down.
Don Henley said we wouldn't go quietly, but the truth is we are. Because we just did not see it coming. We just did not believe our time would ever end. We screwed and divorced and didn't plan for retirement, believing life was one big rock festival, but now ticket prices are prohibitive and you don't want to go and you see everybody imitating what once was and you say so but nobody is listening.
Because it's not our world anymore.
Rest in peace Bob Casale. I hope when my time comes I can see it coming. Because to be cut down when you still have gas in the tank, when you still have dreams, when there's so much more you want to do and didn't get around to...
Is tragic.
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Now they die of old age.
Once upon a time Devo remade "Satisfaction" and after taking us back in time, devolving to a sound earlier than the art rock and corporate tunes that dominated the airwaves, they broke ground in video and inspired us by demonstrating that art is all about conception, execution comes last.
In other words, where was Devo coming from?
Now we wonder where we're going to.
As the baby boomers age, some are defying this. Dieting down to nothing and wearing their children's clothing, they believe if they just look young, they will be. But as Bob Dylan so eloquently sang:
"For them that think death's honesty
Won't fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes must get lonely"
In other words, if Bob Casale can die, I can too.
And it's coming, it's inevitable, and it's just beginning to dawn upon the baby boomers...that they, like their music, is not forever.
It's weird getting old. Because like Grandpa Simpson you want the old days to come back, and you understand the game. NBC is owned by nobody, run by the megalomaniacs at Comcast and ultimately reports to Wall Street. So rather than continue to employ ratings champion Jay Leno, they hand the reins to Jimmy Fallon and get the complicit press to trumpet this fact and we oldsters are sitting at home thinking there's been nothing new in late night since Dave went on at 12:30, and we'd all rather watch the DVR, if not Netflix. Reading the news you'd think Fallon won the gold medal, when the truth is he's got a show produced by an ancient comedy titan featuring people desperate for exposure.
That's right, Lorne Michaels blew up Saturday night television and hasn't done anything innovative since. But he's smart and rich and gives good parties so he gets a pass in this world where you coast on what you've done before when we see what you're doing now is not worth the attention.
Even Devo is coasting.
After scoring films and television, Mark Mothersbaugh reunited the troops with Bob's brother Jerry and found out...nobody wanted to hear anything new, but many wanted to experience what once was. They wanted to whip it good. In other words, Devo went from cutting edge to nostalgia.
And David Bowie was so busy being cutting edge he missed the target.
And Paul McCartney releases new music that none of his old fans want to hear.
And the youngsters all want to sell out to corporations in order to get rich and win.
And I'm stuck in the middle with you.
We remember when a record could change the world. When rock stars were revered for who they were and what they said as opposed to the shenanigans featured on gossip blogs. When we laughed at no talents instead of giving them a pass like the one Ryan Seacrest and his Kardashians get.
But admit you're old and you're deemed irrelevant.
That's the innocent, wet behind the ears youngsters' refrain. You're old, as if the pejorative were enough to scare people into submission.
But the truth is, it does.
But the funny thing is except for tech, now dominated by the not so young, youngsters are not pushing us out of the way, just demanding the keys to the car, like a teenager requests of his parents, not because he can drive any better, but just because he believes he deserves it.
The train is idling on the track.
Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison never made it to the station.
Along the way we lost Marc Bolan in a car accident, John Lennon in a tragedy, and Les Harvey died on stage before he got his one big break.
But now, more important than your chart position is your cholesterol number. Cancer can strike at any time. When your chest thumps you don't think it's anxiety or too stressful a workout, you think the end is nigh.
And you realize...
We're sailing into the sunset.
We made history and soon we will be so.
Everything we thought so important is fading away.
We went from testing limits to being the limit.
So, so long Bob 2. I bought all those records, you weren't the star, but I knew who you were.
So long cutting edge videos, they can only be done once, and they were, in the eighties.
So long KROQ, which once pioneered bleeding edge music and was the sound of a generation.
So long MTV, which was so busy casting aside generations it didn't realize there was no core left to appeal to the next.
So long percolating in your local market before bursting upon the scene as a phenomenon, if anyone of note is creating in Akron, we know immediately.
And so long the rock dream.
We wanted to rock and roll all night and party every day.
Now we want to live in gated communities, get up early and turn the sound down.
Don Henley said we wouldn't go quietly, but the truth is we are. Because we just did not see it coming. We just did not believe our time would ever end. We screwed and divorced and didn't plan for retirement, believing life was one big rock festival, but now ticket prices are prohibitive and you don't want to go and you see everybody imitating what once was and you say so but nobody is listening.
Because it's not our world anymore.
Rest in peace Bob Casale. I hope when my time comes I can see it coming. Because to be cut down when you still have gas in the tank, when you still have dreams, when there's so much more you want to do and didn't get around to...
Is tragic.
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Tuesday, 18 February 2014
Art, Not Business
A businessman plays by the rules, an artist breaks them.
A businessman puts money first, an artist sees money as a byproduct.
A businessman has a plan, an artist flies by the seat of his pants.
A businessman is looking to sell out, an artist is looking to continue, forever.
A businessman is all about domination, an artist does not believe in competition.
An artist believes in inspiration, a businessman believes in calculation.
A businessman is a team player, an artist is an individual, a party of one.
An employee of the label is a businessman, an artist is not an employee, just check the paperwork, you're an "independent contractor," self-directed with no input from the company other than broad outlines, if this is not so, change your behavior or ask for health insurance and tax withholding.
Today, techies are artists and artists are businessmen. Techies try to surprise the public with that which they're unaware they need and artists are giving them just what they expect.
Artists have skin in the game, the best businessmen do, but almost no one in the music business does anymore... We live in an era of corporatization, if it's not your money to lose, you're not going to stay up all night willing success.
Artists lead, business people follow.
Artists make people uncomfortable, businessmen seek to coddle.
Artists are cool, businessmen are not.
Artists challenge convention, businessmen seek to establish conventions.
Artists are independent, beholden to no one and can always say no, businessmen work for the man, execs come and go but the corporation remains.
The best businessmen are artists, but very few deserve the moniker. The worst, and sometimes most financially successful artists are businessmen.
They call it "show business," but it's nothing without art.
Artists shoot for the stars, risking it all in the process. Businessmen play it safe.
Artists are about the essence, businessmen are about the trappings.
Mediocre but cheap works in business, but never in art.
Cheap, fast and good...pick two. In both business and art.
Artists don't confuse marketing with music, they realize that sponsorships and perfume are not the product, but ancillary thereto. Businessmen think of only how they can monetize the product.
Artists say no, businessmen say yes.
We are in an era where being an artist has been confused with being a businessman. The music world took a hit when Jay Z said he was a business, and if you consider yourself a brand you're on the wrong track. Artists are always reinventing themselves, always risking the approval of both audience and gatekeepers. Playing it safe is anathema to an artist, it's godhead to a businessman.
An artist takes responsibility, a businessman says his hands are tied and it's not his fault.
A businessman lies, an artist tells the truth, all the time.
An artist runs on instinct and is not always sure, a businessman runs by spreadsheet and makes no move unless he's confident.
An artist is tortured, a businessman tortures.
A businessman is about protection, an artist is about destruction.
An artist challenges, a businessman respects.
A businessman is all about hierarchy, the chain of command, the artist sees the world as flat, with the ability to move amongst all peoples, from the CEO to the homeless person.
An artist can reach everybody, a businessman just wants to reach enough people to make his numbers.
A businessman stops when he runs out of money, an artist never stops.
An artist relies on his mind, a businessman relies on his status and machinery.
A businessman takes advantage, an artist is always neutral, at arm's length from his customer, purveying but never strong-arming.
An artist runs on feel, a businessman runs on intellect.
A businessman believes in resume, an artist's body of work is his resume.
A businessman is on LinkedIn, artists see no need to be on the site.
Businessmen are confident, artists are insecure.
Businessmen prey on artists, artists prey on people's souls.
Artists demand excellence, businessmen believe in good enough.
Today's best businessmen are artists and few successful artists are anything but businessmen. Businessmen take risks and are beholden to nobody, wearing their everyday clothes at formal functions and artists are painting by numbers, constricted by their handlers, and eager to dress up to impress.
Artists know what's inside counts, businessmen believe in appearances.
Businessmen are conniving, manipulation and underhanded activity never made a hit record.
Businessmen judge success by money, artists judge success by cultural impact.
Business is here today and gone tomorrow, Steve Jobs will soon be forgotten, whereas art is forever. We know who painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, but we don't know who was Pope. We can sing Beatle songs, but we threw away our Walkman long ago.
Art takes practice, businessmen learn on the job.
Lose your job in business and you can find another, screw up in art and your career might be over.
Brands are hollow shells, bands are living organisms which must be nurtured and protected.
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A businessman puts money first, an artist sees money as a byproduct.
A businessman has a plan, an artist flies by the seat of his pants.
A businessman is looking to sell out, an artist is looking to continue, forever.
A businessman is all about domination, an artist does not believe in competition.
An artist believes in inspiration, a businessman believes in calculation.
A businessman is a team player, an artist is an individual, a party of one.
An employee of the label is a businessman, an artist is not an employee, just check the paperwork, you're an "independent contractor," self-directed with no input from the company other than broad outlines, if this is not so, change your behavior or ask for health insurance and tax withholding.
Today, techies are artists and artists are businessmen. Techies try to surprise the public with that which they're unaware they need and artists are giving them just what they expect.
Artists have skin in the game, the best businessmen do, but almost no one in the music business does anymore... We live in an era of corporatization, if it's not your money to lose, you're not going to stay up all night willing success.
Artists lead, business people follow.
Artists make people uncomfortable, businessmen seek to coddle.
Artists are cool, businessmen are not.
Artists challenge convention, businessmen seek to establish conventions.
Artists are independent, beholden to no one and can always say no, businessmen work for the man, execs come and go but the corporation remains.
The best businessmen are artists, but very few deserve the moniker. The worst, and sometimes most financially successful artists are businessmen.
They call it "show business," but it's nothing without art.
Artists shoot for the stars, risking it all in the process. Businessmen play it safe.
Artists are about the essence, businessmen are about the trappings.
Mediocre but cheap works in business, but never in art.
Cheap, fast and good...pick two. In both business and art.
Artists don't confuse marketing with music, they realize that sponsorships and perfume are not the product, but ancillary thereto. Businessmen think of only how they can monetize the product.
Artists say no, businessmen say yes.
We are in an era where being an artist has been confused with being a businessman. The music world took a hit when Jay Z said he was a business, and if you consider yourself a brand you're on the wrong track. Artists are always reinventing themselves, always risking the approval of both audience and gatekeepers. Playing it safe is anathema to an artist, it's godhead to a businessman.
An artist takes responsibility, a businessman says his hands are tied and it's not his fault.
A businessman lies, an artist tells the truth, all the time.
An artist runs on instinct and is not always sure, a businessman runs by spreadsheet and makes no move unless he's confident.
An artist is tortured, a businessman tortures.
A businessman is about protection, an artist is about destruction.
An artist challenges, a businessman respects.
A businessman is all about hierarchy, the chain of command, the artist sees the world as flat, with the ability to move amongst all peoples, from the CEO to the homeless person.
An artist can reach everybody, a businessman just wants to reach enough people to make his numbers.
A businessman stops when he runs out of money, an artist never stops.
An artist relies on his mind, a businessman relies on his status and machinery.
A businessman takes advantage, an artist is always neutral, at arm's length from his customer, purveying but never strong-arming.
An artist runs on feel, a businessman runs on intellect.
A businessman believes in resume, an artist's body of work is his resume.
A businessman is on LinkedIn, artists see no need to be on the site.
Businessmen are confident, artists are insecure.
Businessmen prey on artists, artists prey on people's souls.
Artists demand excellence, businessmen believe in good enough.
Today's best businessmen are artists and few successful artists are anything but businessmen. Businessmen take risks and are beholden to nobody, wearing their everyday clothes at formal functions and artists are painting by numbers, constricted by their handlers, and eager to dress up to impress.
Artists know what's inside counts, businessmen believe in appearances.
Businessmen are conniving, manipulation and underhanded activity never made a hit record.
Businessmen judge success by money, artists judge success by cultural impact.
Business is here today and gone tomorrow, Steve Jobs will soon be forgotten, whereas art is forever. We know who painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, but we don't know who was Pope. We can sing Beatle songs, but we threw away our Walkman long ago.
Art takes practice, businessmen learn on the job.
Lose your job in business and you can find another, screw up in art and your career might be over.
Brands are hollow shells, bands are living organisms which must be nurtured and protected.
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House of Cards
Don't block my way as I'm climbing the greased pole.
Did you read the story about Wendi Deng in "Vanity Fair"? Wherein it states that Rupert Murdoch divorced her because she slept with Tony Blair and Eric Schmidt?
You know Tony, the titan with the six-pack. But Schmidt? The goofy guy with the bad complexion who sits atop Google?
Money, power...they're much more important than fame.
Yes, while the minions salivate over Miley Cyrus, those who pull the strings are barely paying attention, as they gallivant in private jets making money and deals and living a life much more interesting than yours. Then again, to read how Rupert spent precious time on his wife's business shenanigans makes your jaw drop. Meanwhile, after being fired by Rupert Wendi does well in Silicon Valley investments. She's no Hollywood trophy wife whose beauty is only skin deep. Yes, a beautiful bod and striking punim will put you on the arm of a movie star, but be prepared to get the old heave-ho when your looks fade.
So Wendi, not her real name, she changed it, she westernized it, goes from $50 a month factory father's daughter to medical school to snaring the husband of an ex-pat to getting another man to pay for a Yale MBA to getting a job at Star TV in Asia to nabbing Rupert.
Naked ambition. And smarts.
Talk to anybody in the music business. They've been stepped on. It's a fascinating experience, watching someone cunning be nice and friendly and then use and abuse you. Not that everybody climbs the greased pole to the top, but there's a certain breed that's determined...
Like Francis in "House of Cards." He needs it. He's willing to sacrifice children, the normality of family life, for his political ambitions.
Not that Wendi Deng was a nitwit. Her father had her reading next year's textbooks over the summer. She dropped out of medical school. These people chew nails and spit them out with impunity. They're determined.
And you don't have to be like them, you can ponder if they're truly happy, but you don't make it from the backwoods to the pinnacle by accident.
They say politics is show business for ugly people.
And show business is fodder for the masses.
But when done right, art illuminates life.
I'd like to say this year's edition of "House of Cards" is as good as last's. But there are too many plot twists, not all of them believable. Still, they're shooting high and the resulting drama is intoxicating.
We're in a golden age of television.
Once upon a time we were in a golden age of music.
The golden age of television was ushered in by "The Sopranos." Something so good, people could not stop talking about it. Sure, there were series on HBO previously, but nothing of this quality. "The Sopranos" was TV's Beatles. Meanwhile, we're still waiting for a new Beatles in music, something that makes everybody pay attention.
But we shoot low in music. We focus on money. The barrier to entry is so low that the great unwashed believe they deserve a shot. Justin Timberlake and Beyonce and Miley Cyrus may have hit records, but try and convince someone who is not normally interested, it's impossible.
That's our problem.
There was Adele... But we used to have many Adeles, of different stripes and colors. Back when people knew how to write and play and had something to say.
So now, despite all the hosannas from those in the business, all the testifying from individual fans, the great American sport is watching television, where's there's a cornucopia of stuff thrilling the public. More people have told me about "True Detective" than any new band. Surf Netflix and you'll find documentaries like "Chasing Ice," that don't worry about the market share, just getting it right.
Meanwhile, Reed Hastings single-handedly moved the entire nation to streaming. Oh, the public, they HATED IT! Wall Street excoriated the company. But despite some initial wavering, Hastings stayed the course, he led, he was right. DVDs are deader than CDs. The poor man's viewing choice. But instead of embracing streaming, the music business still wants you to buy the physical product.
As for the album... We're hooked on these series because they tell a story. There's no story on your album, never mind inconsistent quality at best. I just hear you second-guessing the audience, not striving to lead it.
So it's everybody for himself.
Always has been.
Want to hang with movie stars?
Want to fly private?
It's your ball. And the best way to get there is to be an entrepreneur. If you're thinking about someone giving you a job, you're headed straight for middle management.
And know unless you're feverishly climbing the ladder...
You'll be pushed aside by those who are.
"Read Wendi Deng Murdoch's Mash Note About Tony Blair: "He Has Such Good Body": http://vnty.fr/Ly4sTf
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Did you read the story about Wendi Deng in "Vanity Fair"? Wherein it states that Rupert Murdoch divorced her because she slept with Tony Blair and Eric Schmidt?
You know Tony, the titan with the six-pack. But Schmidt? The goofy guy with the bad complexion who sits atop Google?
Money, power...they're much more important than fame.
Yes, while the minions salivate over Miley Cyrus, those who pull the strings are barely paying attention, as they gallivant in private jets making money and deals and living a life much more interesting than yours. Then again, to read how Rupert spent precious time on his wife's business shenanigans makes your jaw drop. Meanwhile, after being fired by Rupert Wendi does well in Silicon Valley investments. She's no Hollywood trophy wife whose beauty is only skin deep. Yes, a beautiful bod and striking punim will put you on the arm of a movie star, but be prepared to get the old heave-ho when your looks fade.
So Wendi, not her real name, she changed it, she westernized it, goes from $50 a month factory father's daughter to medical school to snaring the husband of an ex-pat to getting another man to pay for a Yale MBA to getting a job at Star TV in Asia to nabbing Rupert.
Naked ambition. And smarts.
Talk to anybody in the music business. They've been stepped on. It's a fascinating experience, watching someone cunning be nice and friendly and then use and abuse you. Not that everybody climbs the greased pole to the top, but there's a certain breed that's determined...
Like Francis in "House of Cards." He needs it. He's willing to sacrifice children, the normality of family life, for his political ambitions.
Not that Wendi Deng was a nitwit. Her father had her reading next year's textbooks over the summer. She dropped out of medical school. These people chew nails and spit them out with impunity. They're determined.
And you don't have to be like them, you can ponder if they're truly happy, but you don't make it from the backwoods to the pinnacle by accident.
They say politics is show business for ugly people.
And show business is fodder for the masses.
But when done right, art illuminates life.
I'd like to say this year's edition of "House of Cards" is as good as last's. But there are too many plot twists, not all of them believable. Still, they're shooting high and the resulting drama is intoxicating.
We're in a golden age of television.
Once upon a time we were in a golden age of music.
The golden age of television was ushered in by "The Sopranos." Something so good, people could not stop talking about it. Sure, there were series on HBO previously, but nothing of this quality. "The Sopranos" was TV's Beatles. Meanwhile, we're still waiting for a new Beatles in music, something that makes everybody pay attention.
But we shoot low in music. We focus on money. The barrier to entry is so low that the great unwashed believe they deserve a shot. Justin Timberlake and Beyonce and Miley Cyrus may have hit records, but try and convince someone who is not normally interested, it's impossible.
That's our problem.
There was Adele... But we used to have many Adeles, of different stripes and colors. Back when people knew how to write and play and had something to say.
So now, despite all the hosannas from those in the business, all the testifying from individual fans, the great American sport is watching television, where's there's a cornucopia of stuff thrilling the public. More people have told me about "True Detective" than any new band. Surf Netflix and you'll find documentaries like "Chasing Ice," that don't worry about the market share, just getting it right.
Meanwhile, Reed Hastings single-handedly moved the entire nation to streaming. Oh, the public, they HATED IT! Wall Street excoriated the company. But despite some initial wavering, Hastings stayed the course, he led, he was right. DVDs are deader than CDs. The poor man's viewing choice. But instead of embracing streaming, the music business still wants you to buy the physical product.
As for the album... We're hooked on these series because they tell a story. There's no story on your album, never mind inconsistent quality at best. I just hear you second-guessing the audience, not striving to lead it.
So it's everybody for himself.
Always has been.
Want to hang with movie stars?
Want to fly private?
It's your ball. And the best way to get there is to be an entrepreneur. If you're thinking about someone giving you a job, you're headed straight for middle management.
And know unless you're feverishly climbing the ladder...
You'll be pushed aside by those who are.
"Read Wendi Deng Murdoch's Mash Note About Tony Blair: "He Has Such Good Body": http://vnty.fr/Ly4sTf
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