My Dad with Danny Glover
Eight years ago my father died. He’d been diagnosed with lung cancer in late August and passed away less than six months later. The so-called cure is what did him in, and looking back, I wonder if it would have been better if he’d skipped the chemo and gone on a two-year party and travel jaunt. It’s easy to look back now and say that, but at the time, chemo seemed prudent.
I recently wrote about my friend Sloan, whose husband had a bone marrow transplant in hopes to lick cancer – for awhile, it looked like the right decision too, but last week he took a dramatic backwards turn, a few days later he was dead.
I still believe that positive energy and thoughts make a difference. I also believe that music and community can ease the suffering, but at the end of the day, when death comes a knocking, there’s not much anyone can do.
The big lesson I’m drawing from this is that there’s no time to waste – life is for living now. When I think of all the moments I’ve frittered away, all the negative energy expended on needless reactions to situations that have no consequence, I cringe. If there’s one resolution to declare this year, it’s to eliminate thoughts that lead to a downward spiral.
When death comes to my doorstep I don’t want to think about all the time I squandered moping about for no reason, harboring ill-feelings towards people that I care deeply about, or beating myself up for stuff that couldn’t be helped. Starting now, that’s got to change.
My father wanted to be an actor in the worst way, but for too many reasons to go into here, it didn’t happen until late in life. He’d dabbled with being an extra (just like Ricky Gervais) for years, but once he retired, he put his name out there and went on countless auditions. The very month he was diagnosed, he got a gig in an A&E special as Alfred with Adam West as Bruce Wayne and Frank Gorshin as the Riddler. Dad only had a few speaking lines. I remember dropping him off at the set, the excitement on his face, the sparkle in his eye. That night he was driven home in a limo.
During the chemo the phone started ringing off the hook for more work, but he was already too weak.
I know if he could tell me something now, he’d probably say, don’t waste even a second of your life, you have no idea what’s around the corner.
Heavy thoughts, I know, for the start to a New Year, but what better time to change bad habits than now.
Classic Xmas Songs to make anyone smile
Santa Baby -- Eartha Kitt (bless her soul...)
Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer -- The Cadillacs
Deck the Halls -- Jackie Wilson
Santa Claus Go Straight to the Ghetto -- James Brown
Silent Night -- Dr. John
Jingle Bell Rock -- Bobby Helms
Frosty the Snowmen-- The Ronettes
Anything by Nat King Cole
December 22, 2008
On Saturday night I caught Westport natives, The Tom Tom Club – Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz, at the intimate Fairfield Theater Company. These Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductees dug in for three nights and blew the roof off the FTC.
I’ve known Tom Tom’s singer Mystic Bowie for several years – he’s got his own reggae band and in the summer you can hear him at festivals all over the region. I co-wrote a dance track once for an aerobics instructor and I brought Mystic in to sing with Jen Durkin, who fronts the Bombsquad, another kickass Fairfield County band.
Tom Tom’s guitar player, Fuzz, is another friend. I knew him when he and his wife were fronting a band called Rolla – his new band Caravan of Thieves opened the show – this post-retro gypsy ensemble was Django meets the Beatles, a unique combination that is well worth checking out.
When I was going to Nashville a few years ago, Fuzz and I talked about co-writing some tracks, but we never got it together. We reconnected last night and hopefully ’09 we’ll make it happen.
As many of you know, I've been frustrated at not having enough time to write, but it was interesting to see last night how what I do with CBGB collided with my writing. Chris and Tina were part of the very fabric of what CBGB was, they were there virtually at ground zero, and as part of Talking Heads, changed music forever. And here, at the end of 2008 as the Tom Tom Club, based in my home town, several friends of mine are in the band. It’s pretty cool and I’ll take that as a good sign for what’s ahead.
It’s also interesting to note that last week’s post was added to the CBGB MySpace page. It generated a great response, but one person wondered what Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Rosanne Cash had to do with CBGB – a damn good question. Most people don’t know that the Coen Brothers asked Gilmore to appear in their film, the Big Lebowski, after seeing his CB’s show. Rosanne never played the club, but always wanted to – Alan Jackson loved his appearance at 315, and of course most of you know that Hilly Kristal, the founder, had intended the club to be a Country, Bluegrass and Blues venue…
Back in the late 70’s I was at San Diego State, booking concerts for the college – my most memorable show was the annual Ramone’s gig – speaking to Arturo Vega (the so-called fifth Ramone), who I met back then (of course he didn’t remember me) – the boys loved playing San Diego, the women were so fine…
I booked lots of punk acts, keeping a close eye on what CBs was doing, but when we lost control of the crowd at a 999 and the Dickies show, punk was banned from campus. When I look back at my so-called mishmash of a career, it’s been a blend of business and art, with music the common thread in both.
Heading into 2009, nothing has changed.
December 15, 2008
In these days of retribution for excess and greed, music matters more than ever. Ten years ago I walked away from the industry executive suites to rediscover why I had forgotten that. Now I’m back with the awesome responsibility to keep the spirit of CBGB alive. Last week we opened an exhibit in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Annex in NYC.
Ten years ago, I was laid off, got a fat pay-off. I turned down several offers to rejoin the fray because I’d lost sight of why I was in the music biz. I had risen too high up, I was too far from the sounds, the sweat, the beat. I might as well have been selling tooth paste, and as far as I could tell, many of the decision makers at that time would have been better off doing just that.
I set out to wander the trenches, to rediscover what had driven me music mad in the first place. I took guitar lessons from a guy who apprenticed with Dave Van Ronk. I played open mics. I attended the Kerrville Folk Festival. I hung out with bands and songwriters that had no hope of putting a dent into the national scene. Even with their flaws in song structure, melody and performance, these musicians persevered without regret, excuse, or apology. They had a passion and a commitment that burned bright in their eyes. It wasn’t money that drove them, it was human connection. They might not have had a buck in their pocket, but they put smiles on faces, they warmed hearts.
I also got to hang out with Jimmie Dale Gilmore. He taught me a lot about music and song, but more importantly, he taught me about myself, my humanity. I also had the privilege to do a retreat with Rosanne Cash, not as some record honcho, but as a fellow writer, learning how to dig deep into oneself for truth and honesty. These experiences helped me find my voice again.
On Saturday I saw the Sloan Wainwright family Christmas show in Bedford, New York. Fresh off her annual Carnegie Hall performance with Rufus and Martha, the Bedford show featured the folk side of the clan including The Roches and Sloan’s sons, Sam and Gabe.
Sloan is the least known of the Wainwrights, but well worth hearing. She’s built a strong, independent following. What she lacks in commercial success and notoriety, she’s made up for in the community built around her music. Her personal connections are strong, vibrant, real.
I met Sloan ten years ago at Summersongs, a songwriter camp. Sloan was the vocal and song coach and we’ve stayed friends since. She sang on my last CD, we did a songwriter night last year at the trendy Rockwood Music Hall.
Our paths haven’t crossed much lately because last year her husband was diagnosed with cancer and he had to have a bone marrow transplant. As a general contractor they had no corporate insurance coverage. Forced to improvise, they cobbled together a network of friends to navigate a treacherous US healthcare system.
Sloan’s musician friends hosted several benefit concerts to provide supplemental funding. I doubt the money raised made a dent in the medical bills, but the pooling of love, the coming together through song, the creation of community, not for fame and glory, but for the purity of human connection, that’s what kept Sloan and her family sane through what can only be termed a nightmare of epic proportion.
This ability for music to inspire and connect us is what had drawn me to playing in the first place.
Now that I’m back working with CBGB, I survey a music landscape vastly different from the one I left. I don’t pretend to know what or how to fix the industry, but I do know that music matters now more than ever.
In the early days of CBGB, the club gave voice to those who could not get the ear of the music industry. CBGB was real, in your face. The sounds coming off that stage might not have always been pretty, but it was honest.
No matter how bad the economy gets, honest music will always be in demand. Whether it comes from international pop stars or from a neighborhood gospel choir, music is the universal language, it’s a language that I had forgotten while I was too busy making money selling CDs. It’s the language that I’ve spent the last ten years relearning, and I suspect, it’s the language many who currently occupy the executive ranks of what is left of this industry, have never known.
This Christmas season, I urge family and friends to come together in song, to heal, to save, to love. The future is bright for those with song in their hearts.
By the way, Sloan's husband, George is coming home for the holidays too, the power of music, the power of community.
Happy Holidays
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December 8, 2008
The very week the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Annex in NYC opened with CBGB artifacts, I had my first gig in over a year. Although the gala party was not CBGB’s responsibility, because I worked on the first Hall of Fame in Cleveland, I helped shape the event.
The gig had been in the books since the summer -- I'd canceled a June show due to my studio accident – I’ve had a hearing issue ever since.
I’m making slow progress, everything seems louder than it is, and often, I wear silicone earplugs to mitigate the impact – but the plugs throw off my intonation and timing – for this show, I was determined to overcome the additional challenge -- canceling again was not an option.
About three weeks ago, I started preparing. My voice was a shadow of what it once was – I could feel the lack of depth and tone, I was often flat, my range, never great in the best of days, had narrowed.
I broke out the vocal exercises, but things at work got busier – often I couldn’t find even ten minutes to practice. I grew depressed.
I put the vocal CDs in the car forcing myself to practice on the ride to the train station, the grocery store, wherever. I even hummed scales on the streets of NYC -- nobody noticed since everyone talks on cell phones.
On weekends I played a little more, and by the holiday break I was feeling good.
Then this week hit. The Annex overwhelmed everything, I didn’t touch my guitar until Thursday, but the practicing had paid off, then on Friday morning, I woke with a sore throat. I hadn’t been sick in over a year. I’m sure it was stress related, but nonetheless, there I was, confronted with the malady. I was playing with three other writers, people I’d known since 1999 – this was as much a reunion of friends as it was a performance, I was bumming because I wanted to be able to talk with my musical companions.
I nurtured the voice through the day, drank a lot of lemon honey tea, but it was a struggle. I figured by show time I’d be completely without voice, but somehow, just before we went on, the voice eased up – perhaps it was all the vitamins and tea I’d taken, perhaps it was just being in the company of good friends.
You have no idea how great it was to do the gig, hang out afterwards, catch up with the gang. It was grounding.
I was also reminded of when I was a young music biz exec, working crazy hours to climb ever higher on the corporate ladder, back then I stopped playing altogether. This week I was glad that I didn't yield to the pressure, or bail from the gig, it's a mistake I won't repeat again.
December 1, 2008
Jane works at a mid-sized company that’s been around thirty years – for as long as she and her co-workers remember, the company has given pies to employees at Thanksgiving – this year there was no pie.
Weeks leading up to pie day there were rumors, whispers in the coffee room, covert discussions in the parking lot – would there be pies or not?
Pie day came and went and not a word was uttered by management as to why, it was as if the pie tradition had never existed. It became the great unspoken, the pie that wasn’t in the room.
Clearly they should have communicated to employees, it was a lost opportunity. Everyone knows companies must hunker down, tighten ship, do what it must to survive the maelstrom. Cutting pies as part of a series of belt buckling activities could have gotten everyone on the same page. But hey, it’s not personal, it’s business, there’s no need for a company to act as if anyone has feelings.
The problem is, it’s always personal – when you’re asked to work late and forced to miss Junior’s little league game, that’s personal, but today, corporations are gutless. The belief in the board room is that employees will do what they’re told because they’re damn lucky to even have a job; if they don’t, the rising pool of unemployed are waiting to replace them.
Fear is often the most expeditious means to motivate, but when a company squeezes the soul out of their employees, what is left? We have taken the humanity out of our economy, distilled it to maximizing quarterly profits at any expense regardless of the ethical consequences – as long as shareholders and top management profit, who cares?
At the end of the day, what else explains this economic debacle?
It won’t take a miracle by Barack Obama to fix the mechanics of our economy, but to restore the heart in our system, that’s another matter. To rediscover the intangible that produced the innovation of an Apple, or the glory years of the American automobile industry, that’s going to take a lot more than just throwing money at the situation.
This isn’t about returning to the era of long lunches, uncooperative unions or hallways populated with deadwood, but it is about reconnecting to a time when people mattered, when results were determined over the long-term, when both employee and employer expected to be together for more than just a few seasons.
Free market principles must remain the foundation of our economy, but there has to be referees, rules, consequences. We failed to learn the lessons of the late 80’s, we missed the opportunity during the Enron fiasco, so it isn’t any surprise that here we are again.
My mother used to bake pecan pies for the holidays, she also used to say a little common sense and honesty will take you far. Perhaps that’s part of the recipe the Obama brain trust will use, it certainly would have made Jane’s management think twice about saying nothing when they stopped pie day this Thanksgiving.
November 24, 2008
Monday night I headed out of the city around seven. It had been a long day and I had worked through the weekend, so hadn’t had a chance to hook up with my girlfriend. We decided to get a bite to eat in Stamford, at PF Changs – I’d never eaten there and we thought of treating ourselves – we also figured that with the economy getting worse, we’d be able to pop in quick. It was just past eight, but the place was packed – there was a twenty-five minute wait.
You might be seeing the economic effects in your home town, but around here, folks are clearly still in denial. Of course many of the people responsible for this mess, live in Fairfield County -- they’ve still got a ton of bonus money, but I have no doubt that unemployment will rise over the next twelve months even here.
Unfortunately, I believe that all of us are in the same boat -- if we’re fortunate enough not to lose our jobs, then someone close to us will, and it won’t be surprising if we have to reach into our own pockets to help.
Ever since I decided to take a shot at making a living as an artist, I’ve been existing below my means. Even when I was making a comfortable six-figure income, I squirreled away cash. Living without spending is something I’ve practiced.
One trick I mastered is bartering skills and services. We all have talent at something, and we all have friends with their own special abilities -- swapping services is a great way to stretch hard earned dollars. A musician friend of mine runs a lawn service – I give him studio time, he cleans out my gutters – no doubt you’ve got something that someone will value in exchange for something they can do for you.
I see one possible silver lining in all of this economic suffering. Perhaps shedding ourselves of this consumption habit will put us more in touch with what’s really important --- family, friends, neighbors. If this downturn forces us to be less materialistic, more communal, that can only be a good thing. When things turn around, and I have no doubt that they will, hopefully we won’t forget the lessons of how we got into this mess, or the simple pleasures of good conversation, reading a book, helping someone in need…
Port au Prince 2006
I wonder how I’ll get by another year with my ’94 car and whether I should delay that trip to the dentist, I’m thinking: how bad is it really going to get? Each month it’s a scramble to pay the bills, but somehow, knock on wood, I’m doing it. But the days of flipping my credit card debt for a zero percent promotional period has probably run its course.
I’d heard that the mortgage companies and the credit card people have received federal funds to write-off bad debt. I called both, thinking I might qualify given the lack of income I’ve generated the past several years. When I asked, this is what they said, “The only way to qualify for this program is to go into default.”
“I don’t want to do that,” I told them. “I pay my mortgage every month, but it’s a struggle, a hardship.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Williams, you’ve managed to pay your bills, we can’t help you.”
“So you’re saying that you’ll write down debt for those who never should have taken a mortgage in the first place, or to those who opted to go on vacation with a credit card versus paying you, but for me, a guy who does what is necessary, even if it means wearing clothes that should have been taken to Goodwill ages ago, or drives an old clunker, you won’t help me.”
“Yup.”
That's why I'm against a car bailout that doesn't come with serious strings -- starting with top management: gone; top labor leaders: gone. Then we can discuss a bailout.
But while I sit here in America, licking my fiscal wounds, there are Americans abroad who have dedicated their lives to helping others, sacrificing wealth, comfort, and security. Stephen D. Vance was one such person. On Wednesday he was assassinated in Pakistan – 52, a US aid worker, he married a Mongolian on assignment, had five children. He’d spent his life working in the world’s worst places to ease the pain and suffering of those who could not help themselves.
When I was in Haiti back in ’06 for Concern Worldwide – aid workers were being kidnapped in a handful of unstable areas of Port au Prince. We kept away from those places, I didn’t walk any where alone, I traveled with a local driver. I so admired the expats based there, folks who dedicated their lives to inhospitable conditions for nothing more than the satisfaction of making a difference.
I wish I had such courage.
This weekend I wanted to recognize all my friends at Concern who work so hard, for so little, I truly don’t know how they do it. Any hardship here at home is nothing compared to what these guys go through every day. This year they will need financial support more than ever – literally, lives are depending on them. This holiday season, with cutbacks on everybody’s mind, perhaps we can spend a little less on ourselves, and find a way to give to folks like Concern.
Regardless of whether the stock market is up or down, the poor always need help.
November 10, 2008
I was on the train the day after the election, heading into the city, and I picked this off my Blackberry email:
Psychologist's chilling analysis of Obama
It was from a musician friend, a known republican, a bright guy, married to a Lebanese woman. He feels as if he’s got an insight into the Muslim world that I don’t; he probably does. We go out for a beer, play some music and debate politics a couple of times a year. On occasion he sends a mass, hyped-up republican email like this one. I didn’t bother reading the body of the email, I simply shot back this retort:
Stop it John (name changed for privacy). Give him a chance to right the ship you guys sunk.
Don't go on about the democrats had the house and senate the last two years. Bush was the worst ever. Give it two years and then see.
We need to work together now -- both sides need to give.
We need to show humility
Not blame
You need to work with us
We are one
If you want to divide, then we're guaranteed to be a 2nd rate country
His response:
Who sunk the ship? You, my friend, are deeply in the thrall of the lies told by your own propaganda lords. Everything you think you know about Bush is a lie, demonstrably so.
Meanwhile, specifically what do you know about Obama?
Hey, I will give Obama and Biden as much respect and co-operation as you and your guys gave to Bush and Cheney for the past eight years. Fair enough? Actually, I will probably give them more respect and co-operation, because probably we won't go so far as to commit acts of treason to undermine their policies. And then again....
Let's argue over a few beers sometime. That would be more fun.
My response:
You're nuts. I don't need to be told anything about those guys, I just have to look around:
Ten percent unemployment in Bridgeport
Failed banks
Iceland bankrupt
Ireland in turmoil
Bush has the lowest approval ratings in history
McCain and the party did everything they could to distance themselves from your boys Bush and Cheney
But I still love u
This country must come together
Obama will bring republicans into the administration in ways never seen before
If Warren Buffet says Obama is the man, then I’m for Obama
His response:
You're a towel.
But I still love you, too.
I don't buy into your post hoc or ad populum arguments, but it's too much work to argue, epecially since we are not likely to agree, regardless. The risk/benefit does not pan out.
Business is not good for me. The high-tax Democrats who run everything drove most of my manufacturing customer base out of the northeast region and into the south and midwest.
Oops. That was an unfair of me to take an indirect shot like that. Sorry.
----
Whew – something, heh?
I didn’t ask what he meant by a towel, but it couldn’t have been good.
The reality is that many Americans feel just as John does – there was an electoral landslide, but the popular vote was closer than one might expect given the conditions. In a few areas, Republicans actually picked up votes.
There’s no point to the blame game, too much to get done to dwell on the past. We’ve got a clean slate and at least twelve months before the next election cycle – at this point it’s not about words any more, it’s about doing – governing.
Obama can’t solve everything in a year, the objective should be to turn this ship around, get it headed in the right direction, show folks that change really is attainable.
For the first time in a very long time, I’m feeling optimistic about this country’s prospects. I’m proud again to be an American – for those who think that’s an unpatriotic statement – well, that’s what makes this country so amazing, the fact that we can live peacefully side by side, despite differences. Of that, we must never lose sight…
The right change versus the left change
Several people called today saying I was on a roll – first the Phillies, now Obama – guess folks that know me well, know that I often back losers. I was nervous down to the last pitch of that World Series, and the same could be said for last night’s election.
But with victory comes responsibility and humility. This is the time to reunite the country, not wedge a further divide. We have a unique opportunity to make this a game changer, but democrats in the house and senate must reach across the aisle, not rub the republicans’ noses in their shit.
Obama’s speech was flawless, McCain’s was great too, but I saw Spike Lee on TV and he was smug, and at the end of the interview, he held up a tee-shirt with Obama knocking out McCain, a la Louis versus Schmeling. Spike – that ain’t helpful.
Yes, I can make an argument that Black Americans deserve to gloat, but this isn’t about just winning an election, this is about change in a meaningful way that can propel this nation back into a world leadership position on all fronts. To do that, we must unite, not further the divide.
That also means taking slow, steady steps forward – the big mistake the Clinton’s made was rushing a liberal left agenda – within two years, the house and senate were lost. But I sense Barack understands this. I just hope Pelosi and Reid get it too.
We need an alternative to the alternatives
Anyone still undecided, please, what more information could you possible require? I might not agree with republicans this year, but at least they can choose a side. Those that can’t need to be checked for brain activity or a pulse.
And yet, Ralph Nader claims there’s little that separates democrats from republicans – this year, I disagree, but it is true that a conservative democrat has a lot in common with a moderate republican. Perhaps the middle ground should form its own party, leaving the extreme right and left to their own.
This year in the fourth congressional district of Connecticut, the republican incumbent, Christopher Shays, is in danger of losing his seat after two decades, despite an endorsement from the New York Times.
Over the weekend I was reading the League of Women Voters of Westport annual Voters’ Guide, featuring position statements from the candidates. What stood out this year were the words from the fringe, folks like Michael Anthony Carrano, the Libertarian candidate, and Richard Z. Duffee, the Green party representative.
Mr. Carrano opened with this:
An economy, being a chaotic system, entails a sensitive dependency on initial conditions.
Apparently this Libertarian is an autodidact and the intellectual architect behind Imperativism, a multidisciplinary approach to critical thinking and value analysis. He calls himself an experimental philosopher. An Ayn Rand supporter, he claims marked deregulation is our only option.
I read his two paragraphs four times and still had no idea what he was talking about. To be honest, it was his picture that caught my attention – he looks like a kid who’s trying out for American Idol.
Mr. Duffee of the Green party wants to abolish the Federal Reserve. He’d eliminate the right to expected profit on investment but doesn’t say why anyone would invest if there was no profit. He also wants to drastically increase taxes on every business with overseas production plants, but doesn’t explain how they would compete with international companies with dramatically lower costs. Clearly Duffee doesn’t buy into a global economy or capitalism – certainly the system needs serious work, but this man’s views are the words of a college kid blowing off steam late at night over a few beers and joints.
At a time when alternative thinking might find a place in this year’s debate, these sophomoric positions by the alternative candidates hurt any chance of having serious opportunity for a truly independent third party to gain a foothold.
Winston Churchill said, democracy was the worst government in the world, except for all the others. Despite the flaws in our system, many of which are now painfully apparent, the peaceful transference of power remains the cornerstone of our success. For as long as opposing ideas can be freely discussed and debated, the United States will remain a world leader. But it would help if the ideas that bubbled upward had some sense in reality. Of course with Joe the plumber, now a republican spokesperson, perhaps Mr. Carrano or Mr. Duffee’s views aren’t as out of whack with the mainstream as I think.
Headed South...
I don’t believe the men and women responsible for this global financial collapse are inherently evil, but morally, their compass wobbles. Often it starts with a little fudge of the facts, or a tiny step toward the gray, then it cascades…
As COO of CBGB, I too often come across folks who somehow end up crossing the ethical line. Recently, a festival contacted me about being one of the sponsors of their event – according to their promotions department, lots of people had been contacting the festival, thinking they were the legendary NYC rock club -- they thought it would be cool if we’d give them money to sponsor something at their event.
And that would be something, us giving them money, since folks were confused because they were using a domain with CBGB in it without our permission.
As a trademark holder, I have a responsibility to defend my mark whenever someone infringes – the law clearly states – you are giving up your right for the trademark if you do not defend it. Therefore it is incumbent upon me to immediately put them on notice with a ‘cease and desist’ letter that instructs them to stop using CBGB in any manner.
They wrote back:
This is a charity event and we’ve got too much material produced to change everything now. Can we come up with some sort of arrangement?
First off, that’s no excuse, it’s not my problem; however, being that CBGB is the coolest rock and roll brand in the universe, I said to them:
Since this a charity event, we don’t want to come down hard on you, let’s see how we can work something out. Let me talk to my attorneys, but in the meantime, don’t make this problem any larger.
They said, “Cool.”
Two days later one of my team shoots me an email with a link to a twitter site – these guys created the CBGB Festival page for this fast growing on-line social community. I wrote to Chicago immediately:
Hey, didn’t you just tell me you wouldn’t do that?
They wrote back:
Sorry, it was an eager fan that set that up, we were in the process of changing it when you sent that email.
Hmmm. Well, I verified that they did change it, but I started to wonder about these guys.
We did a little digging and it turns out that this isn’t a charity event in the sense that all proceeds go to a non-profit group, only some of the proceeds go to the charity. That’s an important distinction and a misrepresentation of what that initially told us.
Still, we’re CBGB, we want to be cooperative when possible, so I said to them, look we’ll give you a one-time license to use the letters for free, the day after the event, you sign over to us the domain name you created. Next year, don’t use our letters for anything.
They said:
Agreed, thanks so much, cool, we’ll send you a legal contract stating those terms tomorrow.
Two days pass, no contract. Then I get a phone call from someone else there:
– Hey man, we’re really into working with you guys, can you give me call? Let’s talk about how we can work together.
I write back:
Be happy to talk about the possibility of working together, but send me the signed contract first.
Five days have passed with no response.
So this week I will take legal action – I also plan on taking moral action by spreading the word out to the CBGB nation. Our fans are loyal, committed, they know what we stand for. We have a database of over 500,000 people. I also plan on sending a letter to each of the performers at the festival and their sponsors, sharing this story. I will also contact the charity, as well as the local press. Before I kick this into gear, I’ll send the festival folks a copy of this piece and give them twenty-four hours to get me that signed document.
Are these guys inherently evil? Probably not; but just like those Wall Streeters that have ruined the global economy, these guys got carried away, they took one step toward the gray, and before they knew it, they were ass deep in the black goo of lies and deceit. It’s not too late for them to do the right thing, but it will be soon.
Women and men aren't so different, and yet...
Last Wednesday I watched my beloved Phillies win the pennant with my girl friend, Mary. She was a good sport, said all the right things, but baseball is not her thing. I was happy to share the experience, but to be frank, it’s not like watching with other die-hards, she doesn’t know the ins and outs, the subtleties, the history, or the agony of being a Philadelphia sports fan.
I realize this comes off patronizing, but I truly appreciate her effort and welcome her to join me for the World Series. I’m happy to explain the basics, go deeper too, in fact it would be cool to get into the implications of a double switch or what it means to have a ten pitch at bat, but only if she wants to know, I don’t want to force it, or make her feel obligated, and I certainly don’t want her thinking, oh God, I hate this, why am I here? We have enough in common – we don’t need to bond through baseball.
On Friday, we went to a movie that she’d picked out – Nights in Rodanthe, starring Richard Gere and Diane Lane. It was awful for too many reasons to mention, and yet, she enjoyed it. To be fair, she admitted it wasn’t one of Gere’s best films and she understood why the reviews were savage (rightly so in IMHO), but for her, it was a break from a long work week, it was entertainment, a diversion, a trifle.
Whereas Mary said all the right things when we were watching baseball, I failed to be so valiant. I fidgeted in the theater, I made fun of the contrived plot, I laughed at the sad bits.
“Shhhh,” she kept saying.
The theater was empty, so it wasn’t like I was annoying anyone but Mary. I was bored and wishing I was somewhere else.
Before I get slaughtered by my female readers, let me state for the record that I’m as much a sucker for a good romance as any girl, in fact, last week we saw Duchess, and we both loved it. But regardless of what we’re seeing, I should be satisfied just to sit next to such a beautiful woman as Mary in a dark theater, and on some level I was, but on another plane, I was wandering, and at some point I was dwelling on what my editor would think if I put such drivel in my characters mouths. I truly don’t know how things like this get made.
At some point along this contrived narrative, I had an epiphany – this film was Mary’s sports equivalent. Like most men after a tough day, I zone out to ESPN, it’s a diversion, entertainment, a trifle, but I also know that to get wrapped up emotionally in the ebb and flo of a bunch of overpaid men playing a game is ridiculous, but it serves a purpose in the way that this Richard Gere film did for Mary - both are brief respites from the grind.
And that made me realize that I should be as supportive of her zoning out in front of a mindless romance as she was for me in watching the Phillies. I certainly shouldn’t have smirked when the lights came on and her cheek was tear streaked.
Regardless of whether the Phillies win or lose in this upcoming best of seven affair, I will be on an emotional rollercoaster, jumping for joy when they score, having pain in my gut if the bullpen lets up a critical run, and heaven help Mary, if she’s around the day after a Phillie loss, and dare I say, no I can’t even go there…but if that were to happen, I’d deserve any grief Mary gave me for getting so caught up in something that has nothing to do with me – she’d be absolutely within her right to rub my nose in it, but knowing her, she won’t…
The end of an era...In musical chairs, when the music stops, the last one standing is out. That’s why I never got into the musical real estate game – at some point the music has to stop.
I took enough risk trying to eke out a living as an artist, I couldn’t double down with my house. And yet I watched people all over town selling and buying, making obscene amounts of money, upgrading to gorgeous homes with lots of amenities and grand water views.
A McMansion is the last thing I desired, but a few years back I did look at a comfortable home on a secluded wooded lot with a writer’s cottage. Despite little income, I had great credit, the market was booming, and the bank said they’d give me the mortgage.
At the time I was feeling like a schmuck. The guy across the street bought his house in 2000, knocked it down, rebuilt and flipped it for a ton. The next guy lived in the house for only 18 months and made several hundred thousand too; and there I was, on the sidelines, thinking I better get on this bandwagon. I felt like the only one in town not cashing in. Since I was struggling to make ends meet, this sounded like an easy way to keep writing for another decade. And yet, in the back of my mind, I knew that home values couldn’t go up forever, that there was no such thing as easy money.
Here we are in October of 2008, the music has stopped and I’m breathing easier since I didn’t take that plunge, but if those that did, now get bailed out, I’m going to feel like a schmuck all over again.
If someone had said three years ago, don’t worry, if your home value drops, we’ll adjust your mortgage, of course I would have bought that place with the writer’s cottage.
First time buyers or folks duped into a deal by a disreputable lender might deserve a break, but the guy who took out a second mortgage to buy an investment property – that’s like giving golden parachutes to these failed executives.
If the government helps everyone that can’t pay their mortgage, then screw it, I’ll stop paying mine and head to California for my own boondoggle, just like those AIG executives.
Westport's most famous resident
Westport made national headlines with the passing of its most famous resident, Paul Newman, but the town has changed a lot from when he first moved here. Most of the old-timers and artists have been displaced by bankers and developers, and that has changed the fabric of the town in ways that have bothered me for years.
I channeled this frustration into my writing. I used Westport as a character in my novel as a way of showing my protagonists’ frustration with his desire to be an artist in a materialistic town. Here’s an excerpt from
My Year as a Clown:
For years I looked across the street at a wooded property, now I see a towering five-bedroom monster. At least nobody can cut the trees on my land. The tulips are in bloom, there are buds on the tall maple, my grass shows renewed signs of life. But driving through town I pass teardowns on almost every street. Bulldozers rumble through country roads, and trees fall faster here than in the Amazon because everyone is feverish, real estate is Putnam’s Landing’s gold rush.
Putnam’s Landing is a homage to Max Schulman, another Westport resident, who wrote
Rally ‘Round the Flag, Boys!, set in Putnam’s Landing, a fictional Westport; the film starred Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward (coincidence?).
Back in the 50’s, when Max wrote Rally, Westport was comprised of old-timers, artists, and the newcomers, the ad men who commuted to the city. I was surprised to read of the tensions back then amongst these groups.
Today some of the men and women responsible for our economic mess live here. I don’t think that these neighbors are inherently evil, nor do I believe that they thought what they did could bring the world to its knees, but I do feel that they understood they were earning more than their fair share and worse, that they deserved it.
If there’s one good thing that’s come out of this economic disaster, the era of the McMansion may have finally seen it’s end, but this week as I rode the train into the city, I felt like screaming out – who on this train is responsible? Give back your bonuses.
I go to the supermarket, the gas station, the gym, and I wonder who amongst us was responsible? I wonder how they sleep at night and I wonder why nobody else seems bothered that they mingle about town as if innocent. Everyone is OJ, we are in denial. Nobody wants to admit that Blaine and Susan, a lovely couple who live in that fabulous home down the street, are partly responsible for what has happened. They have two cute, although sometimes obnoxious kids, they vacation in the south of France and they throw that amazing Xmas party every year, but nobody wants to acknowledge that they were partly responsible for what might end up becoming the worst economic depression of all time…
And yet, if you're a black man driving through town late at night, odds are good you'll get pulled over.
But Westport is also home to Save the Children, and I'm sure thousands of other folks live here, just as appalled that some of our citizens were key players in this situation.
There's something happening here
What it is ain't exactly clear
There's a man with a gun over there
Telling me I've got to beware
Hope you checked out the Springsteen voter registration video clip -- just when you think everything is going down, music is there to inspire hope...Bruce should be secretary of state...
Still dealing even on the way down...
How did we get into this banking crisis?
I have no idea, but I have seen how it crept into my life, and I'm sure you have too. Perhaps there's something to be learned from each of our own experiences...
To me, credit was marketed like crack, and it still is…
Earlier this week, WaMu bank offered me a pre-approved credit card with 30k worth of credit, this, from a failing bank, to a guy with no money.
Banks were dealers, enticing us with easy credit to get us hooked.
It takes strength to live below your means in a world where we are constantly being told to live above our economic level. I was doing it because I was struggling as a writer, but no matter how hard I tried to keep off the stuff, eventually I got worn down.
It wasn't the temptation of a new car, a kitchen remodel, or a HiDef TV that made me cross the line, I needed to buy groceries, pay medical bills and fix my '94 car.
Despite meager earnings, I remained a prime target because of a high credit score. The banks wouldn’t stop, determined to get me, just like in that movie
28 Days – the banks were the Zombies, and until they ruined my credit score, they wouldn’t stop chasing me. They needed to drown me in debt, turn me into their bitch, make me scramble each month to make the minimum payment at loan shark rates.
In the end we all became credit Zombies and now the day of reckoning has arrived. Although the bail-out will temporarily delay the pain, over the next year we will discover what it’s really like to be a credit junkie, when there’s no credit fix to be had.
It ain't going to be pretty, but we will all be better off for breaking the habit once and for all.
Fuck it, just print some more...
I made a rare mid-week update due to the not-so-unbelievable collapse of our financial system. And to think, we were told Al-Queda was who we should be afraid of, it turns out the enemy was amongst us. How poetic.
So why did it take the shit hitting the fan for the government to do anything? For years we’ve been hearing republicans say free market knows best, less government is good – last year Lehman Brother executives issued themselves 5.7 billion in bonuses. Apparently this is not a crime, and yet, smoking a joint can put you behind bars. Good grief.
We’ve been hearing for years that there’s no money for health care or education, but when Wall Street needs bailing out there’s plenty of cash. No surprise…
I remember the 80’s and the savings and loan crisis – everyone said we’ll fix it so this never happens again – huh?
It’s hard to know how government regulation affects my life, but here are few examples that don't require a PhD in bureaucratic double-speak to understand:
Clinton’s telecommunication act was passed in ‘96 eliminating the laws that made it wrong to own too many radio stations -- this opened the way for Clear Channel to gobble up stations and destroy radio as we once knew it -- that's why the Dixie Chicks got derailed -- when Clear Channel decided not to play them, it was as if they didn't exist -- that's how much power ended up in Clear Channel's hands.
Back in ’82, AT&T was busted up by the government to allow competition and the free market to herald in a new era of telecommunication innovation. Maybe that did happen if you mean that instead of renting a phone that could have survived a nuclear attack, we were forced to buy plastic pieces of crap that needed replacing every twelve months, then yes, we got innovation. I remember thinking, how should I know which long distance company to use. In the end it didn’t matter because they all merged and thirty years later they were rebundled back into what is now called the new AT&T, introduced with a groovy little jingle by Oasis. But this time AT&T is bigger and more dominant than the company that was busted up in my day. Not only does this AT&T do telephone, it does mobile, internet and satellite TV too, but heaven help you, when you try to get someone to solve a combination of problems, they shuffle you about because internet can’t help you with TV, phone folks don’t do wireless – now that sounds like the AT&T I used to know and loathe...
But I digress – the topic this week was the banking meltdown. What disgusts me the most about it is that those responsible still believe they did nothing wrong. They think they’re better than the rest of us, that they were entitled to their obscene profit. They should be forced to pay back their bonuses, and of course, be investigated for criminal acts, but their spouses should also be forced to do community service, and more important, their children should be made to attend public school – shock, horror -- this way son and daughter Gekko will grow up with just a tad less hubris.
I will end this week with a quote from John McCain: “This financial crisis requires leadership and action in order to restore a sound foundation to financial markets, get our economy on its feet, and eliminate this burden on hardworking middle-class Americans.”
Folks, it was a deliberate hands-off approach, a lack of leadership and action over the last eight years that created this situation…where was anyone in Washington, when true leadership and vision was required?
September 17, 2008
For those of us with no money, this stock market meltdown means little to our bank book – as one friend told me yesterday – from the looks of those on the train, not having money never felt so good.
Those at the top of these financial institutions believe they are better than us, that’s how they rationalize their ridiculous salaries, and their even more gluttonous bonuses. The AIG CEO, the one that’s getting replaced, he’s taking a nine-million dollar exit package – how is this possible? What about paying back his salary and bonus for the past five years, as well as his other perks?
Privatize profits, socialize the losses.
Everyone who understood credit default swaps knew exactly what was going on, but this so-called sophisticated financial package was so clever, no one wanted to admit that it was a house of cards. Anyone in the know was making a boatload of money over the past five years…
It wouldn’t be difficult to identify the top 100 executives that made ridiculous money since 2003 at Bear Stearns, AIG, and Lehman. Shouldn’t they be forced to liquidate their homes and other possessions to cover some of this bail-out?
Some will say, but their stock has gone to nothing, that going from 200 million net worth to 10 is very significant. And wrecking the global economy isn’t? We send two-bit criminals to jail for petty crimes and these guys are going to walk away…
But no crime was committed some will say, huh?
Those responsible for not regulating this need accountability too – we can start by firing those responsible in November.
I’ve been getting notes from my insurance brokers the past two days telling me not to worry – I never hear from these jokers until my payment is due, so reaching out to me now, saying everything is going to be okay, makes me think the opposite – they want me to keep paying my monthly premium, because if Joe Schmo stops those payments, the system will really crash – meanwhile, I’m scraping by, and those responsible will sip margaritas poolside at their private country clubs.
What me worry? This truly is a mad, mad, world...
The annual changing of the books ceremony...
September 15, 2008
It’s that time of year when I oversee the annual changing of the books ceremony. It takes place each September here in Westport, at my house, and begins with the arrival of the ugly yellow plastic bags. Usually they are tossed out of an 80’s style station wagon and land at the mouth of my driveway. The neighborhood is littered with these eyesores, and when it rains, as it did this year, the books turn into a soggy mess, as they did in ’92, the year of the hundred year flood, and in ’98, during a classic ‘Nor easter.
I rescued the bags this year, lugging them into the house, shaking the water off before entering. The first batch to arrive was The Yellow Book, which includes Fairfield County, and the Westport Yellow and White pages.
A week later, the second collection is tossed out of another slow moving station wagon, these are the classic Real Yellow Pages, 2008,, a four volume set.
I rescue these before more rain falls. I bring them into the house as if they are neighborhood strays, and leave them with the others until I can find time to properly execute the exchange ceremony.
This weekend, I finally get a few minutes. I light a candle and put on some John Phillip Sousa. I open the lower kitchen cabinet drawer next to the refrigerator. The seven books that I put in there roughly one year ago are perfectly preserved. I carefully extract them from the drawer, and put them in the yellow bags that contain this year’s volumes. The 2008s are then placed into the draw where they will reside comfortably and undisturbed until next year, when their successors, the 2009, arrive.
The ‘07’s will make their way to my car and the next time I go to the dump, I’ll toss them in the recycle bin, thus completing another needless cycle, featuring not one, but two competing dinosaur directories, providing an out-of-date service that wastes precious resources.
I’m sure there’s a Yellow Page Industry Council that can cite statistics proving the relevance and usefulness of this service, but how about making it an option, in the way that we now have the option of getting bills on-line? Maybe that’s a task for the now-environment friendly Westport civil servants who last week banned plastic bags at retail, the first east coast town to do so.
Of course when my friend’s kids come over for dinner, these books do act as an excellent seat booster. In ’05, when I was recording my CD, I used the Westport White Pages as a baffle against a kick drum. But for the sake of the environment, I’m sure I can do my bit, tough it out, Google when needed.
Westport became the first east coast town to ban plastic bags at retail.
September 8, 2008
In a year where it should be no contest, this race will go down to the wire.
I didn’t think Sarah Palin would hold up in the spotlight, but she nailed it.
You’ve got to hand it to the Republicans – their theme of change sounds more convincing than the Democrats…
But some of the Republican rhetoric has me confused. Can someone explain what small town values are? As a Democrat, I thought I had faith and family values.
I don’t mean to be nosy, but how old is Cindy? I must admit, I hadn’t followed her to this point, so had never taken a real good look. I know nothing of her background either. At first, knowing McCain’s age, and not having a HiDef TV, I was thinking, damn, that woman uses a shitload of Botox…
What’s age anyway? But then I heard she picked him up in a bar when he was still married – okay, I get it -- small town values…
There’s a lot to admire in Sarah Palin, a governor with five kids. She’s probably the first national politician with a special needs child, but should I vote for her because she seems like a regular person? I don’t want to drill more in Alaska; polar bears need saving too. I don’t think she could name many of the key leaders in Africa or Asia – as a first time governor of Alaska, she doesn’t need to, but two months from being VP – what do you think?
I heard McCain wanted Lieberman – I didn’t have a problem with Lieberman becoming an independent – it was the timing – he ran as a democrat and lost, then ran as an independent. If he’d simply left the Democratic Party and ran as an independent, I’d feel different. That shows a lack of character – I lost the primary, but I’m not going to stand by the vote.
What’s he done for Connecticut the past year? Every time I see him, he appears attached to McCain’s backside -- small town values?
Obama chose someone smarter than him, someone that complemented his ability to govern, someone that hadn’t always agreed with him – McCain’s choice is contrived – driven by an opportunity to get votes – but let’s give McCain’s people credit – it’s not about governing at this point, it’s about winning the election, and that’s something Democrats often forget. Being right at this point has no relevance. Is that a small town value?
To be fair, one could ask whether a community organizer was qualified. I was leaning toward Hilary because of experience. But I’ve always liked Biden – these guys make a good team – you want real change in Washington – just having the president and vice president working together as a team, not as competitors, or as an electoral college accessory, or as the brains behind the scene, could make a world of difference.
At least Obama ran a national campaign. We saw him up close for the past two years – we’ve only just met Sarah, if she’s elected it will be a shotgun wedding – maybe that’s what’s meant by small town values…
Her daughter’s fiancée shouldn’t be a story, but the Republicans often make it their business to make decisions for the family, so it’s fair game to see how their leaders live – if we’re going to cite her love for her child with down syndrome as a key qualification to be the vp, then her other kids are fair game too…
Did you see that poor schmuck’s MySpace page? Come on folks – do you think this kid really wants to get married? I’m not saying she should have an abortion – they could do a Juno – no pun intended. But why get married? Why ruin three lives for the sake of party unity? Small Town Value…
Here in Westport, a major piece of legislation was passed – the town banned plastic bags at retail – we are the first on the East Coast to do so – I don’t know if this is a good thing or not, but I thought it was interesting that the American Chemistry Council appeared at the town meeting to speak out against the ban. Town representatives were nervous, expecting a corporate deluge, but their arguments failed to convince the board, and the ban was passed.
The local supermarket reported that after the vote people started stealing boxes of plastic bags – one citizen said as they were getting booked by the police, “I use them for trash bags, saves me having to buy them, isn’t that recycling?”
PS...I wanted to love the new Gates / Seinfeld commercial but I'm sorry folks, it's a stinker...call in to Larry David please...
Now a proud card carrying member -- good grief!
September 1, 2008
I’m not sure what was more surprising when this card arrived in the mail, that AARP knew I was turning 50 on Saturday, or that I’m eligible to be part of the old folks’ club.
When I was a kid, anyone over 30 was old, 50 was ancient. In biblical times, teenagers were kings; they led men into battle. If they made it to thirty, they were grandparents. Today I talk to college kids and think – was I that young when I was in school?
The word is, kids grow up fast today, and in some respects they do, but in the ways that count, I wonder. Most kids come out of college today unable to support themselves, many end up back at home.
Violins please:
My parents got divorced when I was eleven. In the summer between 8th and 9th grade, I ran my mom’s clothing boutique while she was away on her honeymoon. The one employee we had, stole sixty bucks out of the cash register. I guess this person figured I didn’t know how to add, or I wouldn’t have the guts to confront her. She was wrong on both counts. Maybe that’s why in some ways, I feel much older – and then again, in so many ways, I still feel like a college kid. I guess that has to do with my life long obsession with music and writing. I’ve never lost that passion.
Age is relative – it’s not just about how you feel, but how you think…
But one can’t fight city hall no matter how optimistic one might be. I glance at the obits in the New York Times, it’s hard not to notice when someone younger dies, that frequency continues to increase at an alarming rate.
With good friends dealing with breast and prostate cancer, I’m fortunate to have even made it to fifty, it truly is a miracle that anyone reaches the half century mark. But as I take stock, reflect upon this date in my life, I see plenty to be proud of, but lots of regrets and lost opportunity too.
As I look forward to what’s ahead, success is growing in ways that make me a better human being, one that contributes to the positive force within my community of friends and family. I’m also grateful for my community of artists, supporters, advisors and fellow scribes.
Thank you.
Next week – countdown to November 4…
Is anything truly 'Plug and Play?'
August 23, 2008
Installing democracy into a country with no history of such freedom is no ‘plug and play’ situation. But our leaders tend to get carried away, they oversell. Who hasn’t added new software that touted to be a piece of cake install, only to discover two days later, it’s still not working.
As we’ve seen with the recent democracy installations in Russia, Iraq, and Afghanistan, things rarely go as planned. Winston Churchill once said, democracy is the worst government in the world, except all the others. Perhaps a bit of humbleness when extolling the virtues of democracy would make it an easier sell. It certainly would make for an easier ‘install,’ because everyone would be prepared for the bumpy road ahead.
The Chinese understood they needed to infuse capitalism into their system, but they had no interest in introducing a whole new operating system. Of course adding features to an old, antiquated system has its challenges too. But the Chinese move slow, doing extensive beta testing prior to introducing a widespread release. This avoids unexpected bugs in the existing infrastructure, but also makes access to freedoms a painfully slow process. It can still backfire, especially when the rest of the world is watching.
A good example is how the Chinese introduced the concept of protest. Prior to the Olympics, they announced that protests would be permitted during the event in designated areas, as long as permits were applied for and procedures followed.
Thousands submitted applications, and then each applicant was paid a visit by the authorities. In the end, no permits were issued. According to Chinese civil servants, the concerns of the protesters were all resolved. “This is the Chinese way,” one government spokesman commented.
Western journalists did some digging and discovered that two women in their 70’s had been sentenced to a year of reeducation labor for submitting this so-called protest application – the two wanted to voice displeasure over the government seizure of their homes for redevelopment. Both were forced to sell substantially under market value. A government official said, “The women won’t have to complete the sentence if they put a halt to their complaint.”
There are lots of things about the United States that concern me, and Churchill’s assessment of our system is correct, but I do admire our robustness. Despite the many differences amongst us, we keep the debate within the context of our political process. This is due to the system’s ability to prevent one group from controlling government or the media, most important, the United States still delivers a reasonable standard of living to the majority of its citizens.
But this economic downturn feels different compared to others I've experienced. Come winter, when many of us will be in search of enough shekels to heat our homes, fill our gas tanks, or put food on our tables, this economy will be put to the test in a way that it hasn't since the great depression. It is up to all of us to elect leaders who can execute a plan that ensures future growth as well as security for all Americans. But be wary, like software, there are no quick fix, ‘plug and play’ solutions, listen carefully to what’s being sold, be prepared for a long, cold winter.
I was there the night it fell...
August 17, 2008
The renewed tension between the US and Russia reminded me of the time I was in East Berlin. It was November 12, 1989, the very day the wall came down. It was evening and I was eating dinner at the Grand Hotel with a group of EMI record execs, listening to an awful East German rock band. We were attending the first East/West Music Conference.
For months tension was building across the Eastern bloc with weekly protests in various cities. I’d attended one right here in Berlin just a few days earlier. The park was packed, the area was surrounded by green Polizei vans and soldiers patrolled the perimeter yielding AK-47s, looking dour. The scene was eerily similar to the hours leading up to the Tiananmen Square massacre just a few months earlier.
It wasn’t just the political tension that had me jumpy, I’d just joined HMV Records, a division of EMI. My boss was supposed to speak at this event and at the last second he cancelled. They sent me to give a half-hour speech on what the west could do to help eastern European music retailers. I’d been at HMV three weeks, what did I know? But to be fair, what could any western company do to help their eastern counterparts?
By the very definition of capitalism, no company helps another unless there’s a direct economic benefit. None of these western record companies came to liberate some unknown Russian songwriter, we were there to open up the eastern market to sell them more Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen, and Bon Jovi.
To be honest I have no recollection of what I said, but I do recall standing up in front of five hundred or so, feeling sorry for this crowd of eastern European hipsters with bad teeth and polyester sport jackets. Each word I uttered was translated into eight languages. As I spoke, I prayed I was making more sense in German, Russian, Polish, Hungarian, French or Czech than I was in English. Lots of people came up after the speech, so I guess it wasn’t a debacle.
Around 10:30 pm that Thursday, we noticed an unusual amount of activity out on the streets. It wasn’t just the number of folks outside, it was their mannerism, faces animated, an extra kick in their step, the typical East Berlin gait was designed to blend in, it was slow, steady, head down.
I wandered to Checkpoint Charlie and saw a mass of people standing on the wall, guards with guns at their side, smoking cigarettes, cars going through unchecked.
The next morning I had a plane to catch at Tegel in West Berlin. Four of us took the Grand Hotel limo. There was a line over a mile long at the border comprised mostly of Russian Trabants, a tin can of a car with a five-year waiting list. “Unglaublich,” our driver uttered. Unbelievable. Normally he drove through with no wait. He honked his horn, rammed several cars, screamed obscenities, pushing our armored Mercedes to the front of the line.
“It’s a great day,” I said to the driver.
But he wasn’t smiling. This man was one of the few who traveled to the west unencumbered. He received tips in dollars, he smuggled goods. The fall of communism was the worst thing that could have happened as far as he was concerned.
Watching what transpired in Georgia this week was not surprising. The seeds were sown the very day the wall came down. Our rush to democratize Russia paved the way for ruthless mobsters to control the flow of goods and corrupt government officials and the average person suffered in the way Americans suffered back in the 19th century when the industrial revolution began. I don't condone Russia's moves this week, but Putin restored Russian pride, he established law and order.
Perhaps divergent interests were inevitable, but our world class economists, bankers, and consultants, rushed into the Soviet Union like it was the '49 Gold Rush, idealoques, unleashing capitialism as if it was the Holy Grail; clearly it wasn't.
The ultimate reality show...
August 11, 2008
The Olympics are the original reality show, all that’s missing from the broadcast is the contestant back stabbing. And yet, long before reality shows were in, Tonya Harding set a standard that no 21st century reality show has come close to topping, not even Amarosa on “The Apprentice” was in the same class.
Think of the potential ratings if Mark Burnett produced the Olympics or if Simon Cowell was given free reign. One day Fox will land the broadcast rights, and don’t be surprised if reality Olympics happens, no doubt it will set all-time records for ratings and ad revenue.
If one were to think about this year’s games as a reality show, one might conclude that the most compelling character is the host country itself, China. It's complex, provocative, not afraid to speak its mind. Think about the gold one could find in the backstage clips – senior-level bureaucrats bickering over how best to squelch rebellion, censorship, pollution.
The Russians chose an interesting time to invade their fledgling neighbor and former territory, if only we’d had a camera behind the scenes when the Georgians made the decision to go after the separatists just before the games, they clearly assumed the Russians wouldn’t ramp up a full-scale invasion in response while the world gathered in Beijing. Whoever made that call in Georgia needs to be voted off the island.
Perhaps if the Olympics were covered like a reality show, the guns, money, and power plays would be set aside for these two weeks so that the world could come together in peace for purity of sport and honest competition, of course it’s probably never been that way. The Nazis in 1936, for example, used the games for their propaganda, but I’m sure even back in the ancient swelter of Athens, politics and behind the scene intrigue was rampant.
But I’ll tune in this year to gawk at bald guys setting records in a swimming pool and women gymnasts gyrating in ways that defy gravity. And yet, I must also admit that I’ll be watching to see if there are any disasters, and breathe a sigh of relief each night when I hear nothing happened.
Tragically, not everyone has such empathy. In the Roman Gladiator days, folks enjoyed a good fight to the death. And in the 21st century what would NASCAR be without a good crash or two? A hockey game without fights?
Modern day Olympics have had their tragedy -- Munich ’72, the US boycott of ’80, the bomb in Atlanta...the Beijing games are off to a shaky start...
If only for two weeks every four years we could set aside our differences and unite in the celebration of sport…think of the progress we might make as the human race...
With twelve days left in these games, there’s still time…
The joys of public transport...
August 3, 2008
You don’t need economic data to know we’re in recession, just open your eyes. Drive down any commercial highway and you’ll see more for rent signs then anytime in recent history – drive down a residential street and you’ll see more for sale signs too. Everyone is waiting to see what happens next.
I’m commuting into the city via train nowadays and often you can’t get a seat at prime time – that’s a long ride without a place to place your bum, even mid-day and late night, the trains are crowded, at times the cars fill as if a New York Subway.
Back in the early nineties I lived outside of London. I often caught a commuter train into the West End – those trains were uncomfortable, crowded, unreliable. Metro North’s cancellation rate is much better than the UK performance levels, but the Connecticut cars are over thirty-five years old, the lighting is depressing, the ride sometimes bounces so much, I can’t read or write.
I bought gas at 4.09 the other day and thought, wow, what a bargain.
Wait till winter when folks have to heat their homes. Last year I capped oil at 2.79/gallon, that was up from 2.16 the year before. This year oil programs are all over the map – most require an upfront payment to secure a fixed price – one company wanted $80 to lock in at 4.69. Another wanted $300 to have a float with a not-to exceed 5.99/gallon. I needed an Excel spreadsheet to figure out what was what. I went with $80 up front for 49 cents over wholesale – today that price would be 4.09 – won’t know until next year whether it was a good call or not.
This weekend I was at SummerSongs, a songwriting camp celebrating its 10th year. I attended back in 2000, and for the last five, I’ve taught classes there. This year I didn’t have the time to teach, but I drove up to Woodstock for opening night to catch up with old friends.
Many of my full-time musician pals are having a tough time making ends meet. The economics for folk musicians was not great in the best of times, but the cost of gas has now made touring a challenge. One of the instructors, a songwriter that has made several contributions to the national folk canon was forced back to the factory job he left thirty years ago when he came on the music scene. He simply couldn’t eke out a living, though his material needs were not large; without health benefits, he lived by a tenuous thread.
It didn’t take much explaining to my friends as to why I returned to full-time work, some said they might follow if things didn’t turn. There’s been no loss to the world of music with my art on the backburner, but for these folks, the loss to our culture would be substantial if they had to redirect their efforts. It’s just another indication that this country has big problems, we’re in decline, like the British Empire circa 1950, some signs are visible, others go underneath the radar, if we’re not careful, we won’t reverse the trend.
July 28, 2008
A few months back Iggy Pop appeared in this John Varvatos ad sporting a $2,000 suit. For those not in the know, John Varvatos is a hip, high-end clothier, owned by VF, a corporation which controls such brands as Vans sneakers and Wrangler Jeans.
Varvatos occupies the former CBGB space at 315 Bowery and positions his expensive clothes as rebellious, cool, edgy; Mr. Pop certainly captures that essence, but if the Iggy of the late sixties had a glimpse of his 2008 future, he’d have puked all over that ad.
Last week I was with three old-time record people – the types who might have actually played a role in Iggy’s career back in the day. We spoke of how things had changed and about this very ad. They’d never heard of Varvatos, they couldn’t believe Iggy’s sell out; but if it was true, they felt confident the fan base would leave in droves. I love those guys for everything they were, but they’re dead wrong.
In 2008, aging rockers do what they must for a buck, and I’m okay with that – it’s the younger set that have me worried. They have the more difficult decision. With the music industry a train wreck, selling out is a viable way to breakthrough.
Landing a slot in a national commercial has become an important part of a band’s development, it’s often the only way since radio playlists are so tight and labels have slashed their ad/promotion dollars.
The person who once scoured bars for the next best thing, now works at an ad agency. Their criteria, by definition, is much different from the old time music guys like Mo Ostin or Ahmet Ertegun, who sold music, not product. That’s one reason we’re currently in a song driven business cycle (the iPod is another key driver).
Last week I was also at a small, cutting edge, ad agency. It was downtown in a loft type space and had the vibe of an indy record company – lots of young folks around, music playing, Macs everywhere.
The agency head had heard a singer/songwriter at the Living Room – a great NYC venue for singer/songwriters (yours truly has played the joint). They’d called this musician a year later to see if he was interested in working with one of their clients on a song. The kid said yes, the song ended up in a commercial, the kid’s career took off.
The agency gave me the CD and said with pride, "a major TV show anchor told America this kid was the best singer/songwriter in the country."
Whenever I hear ‘best’ in the context of art, I cringe. In the ad world, ‘best’ is part of the vernacular, it’s all about sales, market share, shelf space. Being number one is important in music, movies, and books too, but the 'best' movies are rarely the highest grossing films. Anyone in the singer/songwriter genre knows there’s no such thing as best.
The agency sponsored CD was great, there were lots of things to admire, but I can cite ten obscure singer/songwriters in my iPod equally as good, if not, dare I say, better.
But the world needs a filter. The internet has not leveled the playing field, it has only made it more crowded. Ad agencies have assumed a gatekeeper role. If this trend continues, artists unwilling to work with products will go undiscovered, and that means we are in danger of living in an era lacking raw originality at the very time we need music to spit in the establishment's face.
But all is not lost. Somewhere, someone is doing something so outrageous, so original, it can't be denied no matter how restrictive our system becomes. One day this sound will force itself upon us in the way NY punk grabbed us by the collar in that very space now occupied by John Varvatos.
Me and Jimmie Dale Gilmore this weekend at Omega.
July 23, 2008
This weekend I attended the advanced songwriting workshop with Jimmie Dale Gilmore, a weekend retreat at Omega Institute, in Rhinebeck, New York. 80% of the attendees were folks I knew well. It was more a family reunion than writing workshop – Jimmie’s wife, Janet, was there, and together, with a small group of dedicated song writers, we celebrated songs by sharing and critiquing our work.
I took my first Jimmie Dale workshop in 1998, a month after I left the corporate world to pursue a life of writing. Ten years later, I’m back at work, but still writing.
It wasn’t a straight shot through the decade. I took a lot of detours, hit some dead ends, had some terrific highs, awful lows too; but through it all, I kept writing. I also kept returning to Jimmie’s workshop.
As someone said this weekend, the experience gets richer each year, which is not often the case with such things. Jimmie said that leading this workshop changed his life profoundly; it certainly has affected me too, and in many expected ways.
This weekend we talked about intent and motivation – Back in ’98 Jimmie asked us what motivated us to write. He said there was no right answer, but being aware of what drove you would provide insights on how best to go at it.
Ten years later Jimmie’s talking about intent – the driver behind motivation. Intent often comes up in yoga – what is your intent for this class the instructor will say. Setting an intention provides focus – my intention this weekend was to get back in-touch with my creative side.
I just returned home and wanted to get this off – the weekend took an unexpected turn that appeared headed for disaster, but it ended up becoming not such a train wreck after all – I came out with an incredibly powerful experience – I’ll provide more details next week…
Buddy, can you spare a dime?
July 14, 2008
Times are tough. Two friends lost their jobs this week. Another had their assistant let go, now they’re responsible for both jobs.
A notice arrived from the oil company on Friday -- last year I was capped at 2.69 a gallon, almost double from the year before. This year they want $389 for the privilege to lock in for .49c over wholesale with a ‘not to exceed’ of 5.99 a gallon.
The market for fiction and music wasn’t great in the best of times, so I’m not feeling bad about my decision to go back to work full-time. I’ve got health benefits now and I promptly got my ears tested (I had a studio accident back in March, my hearing hasn’t been the same since.) Still, I’m doing what I can to not lose touch with my creative self.
Wednesday night was typical. I got home at nine o’clock. After cleaning the litter boxes and feeding the cats, I strummed the guitar and watched SportsCenter. I worked on a new song. I combed the cats and tossed their toys and they chased after them. I was asleep by midnight.
The sun poked through the bedroom window around 6:00 am. My cats hopped on the bed hoping I was ready to get up. I went downstairs, fed them. While they ate, I did a few morning stretches, splashed water on my face.
I let them out and threw on some clothes, grabbed my yoga mat and pulled out my bike. I zoomed downhill toward the beach. In the shade, there was dew on the grass, the air was cool; under blue sky the sun was already warm. The weatherman said today would hit 90 with a chance of thunderstorms.
I got to yoga fifteen minutes later. Technically I was still asleep, but over the next hour the class brought my mind and body into a state of awakening. Then I retraced the coastal route and rode back up the hill to the house.
While putting away my bike, both cats appeared. The three of us reentered the house. I hopped upstairs into the shower. It was 8:20 and I was in the kitchen making breakfast, putting fresh water in the cat bowls, filling my briefcase with what was needed for another day in the city.
On that morning bike ride I’d heard new melodies in my head for that song I was working on last night. I looked at my guitar on the stand in the living room. It’s a custom Martin, they only made 24. It has a flamed maple back, it produces a rich earthy tone; it’s a joy to play. I wanted to work on this song, but I had a train to catch in twelve minutes, the station was eight minutes away. I had to leave without touching that Martin, but the melody was still in my head and I jotted a few notes down on the commute -- this weekend, I promised myself.
And Saturday night, while most folks were out partying, I stayed home and worked on that song. I wrote this essay too and savored every moment.
July 7, 2008
I’m not convinced that mobile communication has made me more productive or smarter. When I call someone, I now leave messages at home, office and cell, not knowing where someone is, or what they might check. Friends and colleagues do the same, covering the bases with extraneous messages – by the time I work through the extra messages, the timesaving is gone.
There is one piece of technology, however, that definitely makes me more efficient – the DVR.
I’m not a huge TV watcher, but I’m not a TV snob either – I love the medium in moderation, and now that I have a DVR, I enjoy television even more because I’ve got control. I rarely watch ‘Live’ TV, I go straight to ‘My Recordings.’
Here’s what’s programmed:
Two and Half Men – admittedly, this show is misogynous, shallow, and predictable, but it still makes me laugh. It keeps me coming back because it’s a humorous look at divorce and dating, two things I now relate too.
The Office – you either hate this show or love it, true snobs think only the English version is worthy – I loved the original, but I’ve developed a weekly fix for the crew at Dunder Miflin too. Of course I have a soft spot for Pam.
30 Rock – Tina Fey rocks – writer, producer, star – I went for ‘Studio 60’ that first season which was a mistake -- perhaps given time, ‘Studio 60’ would have found its footing, but ‘30 Rock’ got it right on day one – the key, it didn’t take itself seriously.
Lost – I’m not into hour-long dramas – the last one I watched was ‘24’ – but the last season was a bore. During the writers’ strike, ‘Lost’ was one of the few shows that ran new episodes -- I caught the four-hour recap of the first two seasons which included the explanations utilizing VH1’s pop-up video concept. I got up to speed and was hooked. I just hope it doesn’t go the way of ‘Twin Peaks’ by pushing the storyline beyond the point of absurdity.
Saturday Night Live – I dropped out of this show for years, but the DVR brought me back because I can speed through the dud routines, currently running IMHO 50/50. The DVR is great for blitzing through the second half, which always had too many commercials.
The Daily Show – I love Jon Stewart, but I don’t tune into anything daily. Colbert is funny too, but I had to draw the line somewhere. I probably catch 10% of ‘The Daily Show’ each month.
Meet the Press – Sunday morning was the treadmill and Tim Russert. Will see if ‘Meet the Press’ stays in my programming now that Russert is gone.
The News Hour – I tape the Friday show – although Brooks and Shields can both be annoying, I still like to hear their weekly rants.
When HBO airs Bill Maher, Larry David or ‘Entourage,’ I grab them. I also had the last season of ‘The Wire.’ I’m hoping this Ed Burns/David Simon show will be good, otherwise, HBO Summer 2008 is a complete washout. Now I’m wishing I had Showtime so I could catch ‘Weeds.’
I also love to catch the Philadelphia teams when they play NY, but I rarely tape those games, I catch that ‘live’ – and mostly it’s the ninth inning, the last quarter, the third period – to watch anything for three hours is a luxury I don’t have any more.
Oh yes, I almost forgot:
Swingtown – the only new summer show to get a program nod. I will admit that it was the sex that caught my attention, but 1976 was the year I graduated high school. I didn't like the 70’s show because I never knew those characters. The teens in this show have more issues, they're more like the crowd I hung out with; the adults seem more real. Until Swingtown, I never gave consideration to how the social upheavals of the sixties affected the older generation. I’m not saying this show got it right, but it has already shed some light on why my world was so upside down back then. I even asked my mom if she knew any swingers, figuring that she’d roll her eyes and say, please – but she actually knew someone. Hopefully this show will do for the 70’s what 'Mad Man' did for the ad world in the early 60’s.
June 30, 2008
I was in eighth grade when I first heard George Carlin. I was awkwardly lodged between childhood and the teen years, more somber than most kids because my parents were newly divorced. It was 1971 and I was sharing a bedroom with my little sister in the apartment we’d moved to when our house was sold.
At that point, I was still more of a jock than a freak – already a die-hard Philadelphia fan – the Flyers were only a year away from the first of two consecutive Stanley Cups. I was also an all-star little league third baseman – Brooks Robinson of the Baltimore Orioles was my favorite player. But a new side to my personality was emerging. I was learning the guitar, listening to FM radio, I was hanging out with a girl a year older than me. She was into the Buffalo Springfield, The Band, Dylan.
One day she put on the stereo a comedy album by George Carlin, Class Clown. We sat down that afternoon and listened to both sides. I’d never laughed so hard; the material also made me think about ordinary life in ways I’d never imagined. We were still years away from pot smoking, but listening to that record was like taking several bong hits – Carlin had blown our minds.
I went to the Echelon Mall and bought Class Clown, the following year I bought Carlin’s AM and FM. I played them over and over and over, and each time, they seemed funnier, his words a code that folks over 30 didn’t understand. When my grandmother came over from England that year, I played her some of the less subversive tracks. She politely nodded, but it was clear Don Rickles was more her cup of tea. I decided to turn her on to Al Sleet, the hippy dippy weather man. She was baffled. Then I player her the seven words you can’t say on television.
With hands on hips, she scowled, “Does your mother know what you’re listening to?”
This week with the passing of both Tim Russert and George Carlin, I’m feeling my age -- I remember 27-cent gasoline, 8 tracks, and my first digital watch. I remember listening to George Carlin and thinking that there was something revolutionary coming out of my Hi Fi. It was an awakening, unexplored territory, a fresh perspective, it was my coming of age, and looking back, Carlin’s sense of irony and perspective influenced me in profound ways that even now, as I pause to reflect this week on his passing, I hadn’t realized.
June 22, 2008
When I was in Haiti in 06, I learned that only Afghanistan had worse roads. We pushed a Range Rover to the point where I swore it would flip. We traversed rivers we had no business crossing, we bounced down steep, gutted, mountain paths in torrential tropical storms. The Range Rover performed admirably.
Although most suburban SUVs are not created to the specifications of this field Range Rover, our domestic gas guzzling cousins are equipped to handle more than just a trip to the grocery store or a cruise on the Interstate.
Westport, Connecticut, where I live, is home to one of the highest per capita SUV ownership in the world. With the exception of a few nasty snow storms each year, the SUV is more vehicle than any of us require.
I bought mine back in 1994. In my defense, they weren’t so popular then, and I really did think a lot of off-road activity was in my future.
The reality was much different. I’d say 95% of the 120,000 miles I have driven was on asphalt.
I get 14 miles to the gallon. In a five dollar a gallon world, this vehicle is too expensive to drive – but I’ve got no car payment, insurance is almost non-existent, the car has been well maintained.
Still, I plan on trading it in for a hybrid when I can afford it – in the meantime, here in Westport, the Gods decided it was time to put all those SUVs to use.
Over the past two years, the electric company has torn apart the Post Road, the main drag that cuts through town. The key pipe that carries electricity from the generating plants to our homes and businesses runs underneath this road. Because of increased demand, they are putting in a higher capacity conduit.
They are tearing up the road to replace this piping while at the same time, keeping the lights on and traffic moving.
Come sundown, construction crews emerge, traffic gets diverted, bulldozers and drilling equipment dig in. Come sunrise, the crews pack up and steel slabs are thrown over the holes where the pipe runs. These metal covers are sealed with temporary asphalt.
The Post Road has run rougher than some of the roads I saw in Haiti, God’s way of paying Westport back for its conspicuous consumption.
As I bump my way across town, I realize how much of what keeps us comfortable is conveniently kept out of sight. One peek at what lies beneath the road and I gain a greater appreciation of the infrastructure that keeps my lights on, my house warm in winter, my recording studio possible.
I also realize how invasive humans truly are on this planet, how much we demand of Mother Earth to keep us comfortably numb. Each time I bounce down the Post Road in my SUV, I realize I’m as much to blame as anyone else.
As a hobby, my father was an extra in lots of films and TV -- just like Ricky Gervais, always on the hunt for a line -- just before he died, he got a few on an A&E tribute show for Batman...
Me and my step dad at the Super Bowl -- 1999
Father’s Day, 2008
I was fortunate in that I had two fathers, but when I was a kid, I didn’t see it that way. My parents got divorced in 1970. I was twelve, and at that time, few families broke up. I remember praying every night for months that they would get back together. They didn’t and we were forced to sell our house and move to an apartment in a neighboring town.
Both parents were remarried within a few years, and each second marriage lasted longer than the first. It took me awhile to appreciate the significance of that. My father and step-dad were very different, but in an odd way, complementary. In combination, they were the perfect dad – but of course there’s no such thing as perfection, and a dad as two people, obviously isn’t ideal.
My dad died back in 2001. My step-dad is still going strong. With the passing of Tim Russert on Friday, we are all reminded of how fragile life is, how precious our time is, how fleeting even the most successful life can be.
As I write this on Father’s Day 2008, I take a few minutes to honor my father’s life and memory, and to reach out to my step-dad, who’s friendship and wisdom I value, and who I love very much.
Happy father’s day to all Dads.
On another note:
Between work and my ear problem, I haven’t played guitar in ages. I’ve missed holding it, hearing it, getting lost with it.
Back in March, I blew my ears out in the studio with a low frequency synth pad – everything seemed louder than it was. I went to the doctor and then a hearing specialist – the prognosis was positive, but further tests were needed. My five-grand deductible insurance plan kept me from following up. Instead, I wore silicon plugs, the kind swimmers don – since I started wearing them, I’ve noticed a big improvement.
I can once again listen to music, talk on the phone, have a conversation without having serious pain. You have no idea what joy it is to play without a sharp, shrill shooting through my head. I will never take hearing for granted again.
Ironically, last weekend I picked up my Martin acoustic and played a few chords. It was a joy to hear the ringing overtones of an E chord, the rich swirl of an open tuning. But the calluses on my fingertips had softened and although my ears were okay, my fingers were now killing me. It hurt so much I had to stop playing.
I couldn’t believe it.
The hearing issue was only part of the reason I haven't been playing. I’ve been too busy with my consulting practice. This week I made a point of finding fifteen minutes each day to play a few songs, work out a few new progressions. By Saturday, the calluses had returned, the fingers stopped hurting.
Hooray!
The old world often collides with the new...
June 9, 2008
Last month I’d issued a press release involving a family business – there was a father, his sons, other relatives and friends. This cast of characters had worked together across several generations. Think old world Europeans: the elders were off the boat with heavy accents and little understanding of English; the offspring, American, but still bound by tradition and the old country.
The father was retiring, the sons were setting off on their own. I was hired through a third party to promote the boy’s new opening. It sounded like a great story: human interest, family, very sweet, just the sort of thing that garners great local press.
I don’t do primary research on such releases because this isn’t investigative reporting, there’s no controversy, minor errors have little consequence anyway.
The story ran in a business journal. I learned after it ran that there was bad blood amongst the players – the sons were now competitors, their business had impacted the former establishment. Both sides held grudges.
There was one incorrect fact – the father had not owned the old place, he and the sons were employees – it turns out the father and two sons had set out on their own. When the wife of the owner read that the sons’ father owned the store, she flipped.
The paper issued a correction, the person that gave me the bad info contacted them and apologized, but the wife wanted more. She claimed that this article had caused her husband’s store damage.
Common sense would say that anyone reading that article would not have stopped shopping there based on this misstatement. The more likely reason for the sales loss was much more obvious – the new business. They’d opened up down the block with a newer, more modern offering.
I’m not sure how my source got his fact wrong, but I figured being old-school, these folks could use a hand. I called the wife to offer my services for free as a way of reconciliation. I could do a release, tell the great story of their 30-year run. But this woman never let me get a word in, she told me she didn’t care what I had to say, she was suing the paper and my client.
I doubt very much she’s suing, there are no grounds.
The families have probably been feuding for centuries. I could have turned this into an opportunity for them, but they were too angry to see straight, and that doesn’t bode well for their future.
Some folks need to blame others for misfortune, others just get on with it. When new competition comes to town, they sharpen their game, they make things happen, those that don’t, fade away.
At first I felt bad for the old woman, but when I spoke to her, I lost all sympathy – karma comes in many forms. I have no idea what the true source of that feud is, but my guess is, those families will be going at it for centuries to come. I plan to stay out of the line of fire…
June 2, 2008
Over the weekend I attended my 20th reunion at Harvard Business School. Reunions come every five years, and each time, I debate whether I want to go. As many of you know, I’m not your typical HBS grad. I hemmed and hawed before the fifth, tenth and fifteenth, but appeared at all three, and was happy that I did.
Naturally I put myself through the same gyrations this year, but I showed up, and not surprising, I was glad.
Coming out of business school, the Harvard degree was something I quickly shelved. Nobody in a record company wanted to know what school I went to, in fact, it worked against me with those that knew. But that was based on the school’s reputation, some of which is deserved; but by far, the negativity is the exception, not the rule.
For every Enron that business school grads have contributed to, there are far more success stories, companies that provided jobs and innovation that we all benefit from. Even musicians have reaped the fruits of HBS grads -- two Harvard Business School guys rejuvenated Gibson guitar in the late 80’s when that company hit rock bottom.
One doesn’t require a business degree to commit egregious corporate acts, but no doubt, MBAs in some respects have replaced lawyers as bottom feeders.
There were people at school that you couldn’t pay me enough money to work with, but others that would be a privilege to work alongside – but the same is true for people without an education. One of the best marketing folks I know doesn’t have a high school diploma.
Having said that, I often forget how much power and influence Harvard has over our economy, politics, and global affairs. The years I’ve spent as a struggling artist, barely making enough to pay groceries, it had made me on occasion lose sight that once I too was in a position to make an impact.
But my time away from the corporate world has also showed that often it is the random act of kindness that is the most powerful gesture -- rescuing a stray cat, donating time to a soup kitchen, even just throwing a buck in a street musician’s hat.
This weekend I made a point of talking politics, the war, global warming, rising gas prices – I also spoke about health care and how expensive it is for folks not on a corporate benefit plan. I shared firsthand experience. I also urged classmates to remember the privileged place they occupied, the responsibility that they had -- but these words were meant as much for me as they were for them.
It’s time to get off my ass, stop moaning about how hard it is for artists to make a buck. It’s time to do something about it.
The reunion couldn’t have come at a better time. I won’t stop writing or playing, but I’ve got to broaden my perspective, the agenda, I have to stop thinking just about me.
Now for a whole new generation of fans...
May 26, 2008
I’m finishing up year eleven of serious writing -- 1998 – 2008. I can’t believe how fast it went. But when I take a look at my writing back then, I wonder what I was thinking, given how awful I was. But I did possess the most important ingredient an artist needs, a deep, to the core passion for words and music. It has been that love that gave me the discipline to learn the craft. I put in endless hours of work, weathered thousands of rejections, and had the courage to face my true self.
I sing, play and write better than I ever have, more important, I found my voice, but I still firmly believe I am nowhere near my potential. Sadly, I don’t make enough to even pay weekly groceries. With gas going up almost daily, I’ve been confronted with a harsh reality, soon I will become the living embodiment of the term, ‘starving artist.’
Last year I had an incredible opportunity – to study with one of America’s great writers, Barry Hannah – part of me still thinks that I blew it, not jumping on that – but it would have meant selling my house, and risking absolutely everything – nearing fifty, with no shot at a pension, I had to honestly look at the next 20 years. I had no doubts that the experience would have been a once in a lifetime opportunity. I had a shot at realizing my full-potential, but I also knew that the odds of translating that into even a modest salary was a long shot – most writers, including Barry, earn little from their writing. It’s Barry’s position at Ole Miss that enables him to write – at my age, finding a tenured position
