Halfway through, I thought the show succeeded in its mission, it made me want to go to the movies, I suddenly had a desire to run out and see all the flicks I’d missed, not on DVD, but in a theatre, savoring the separate location and the darkness.

But by time the final credits ran, and I saw the image of James Taylor singing "In My Life", I asked myself, didn’t he perform YESTERDAY?

Maybe it’s undoable.  Maybe you can’t make a good Oscar show.  You’re beholden to too many interests.  Pulled in too many directions.  So what you end up with is an endless mishmash, like those records with ten tracks and just as many producers.  It just doesn’t hang together.

Then again, when I finish watching the Grammys I don’t want to go out and buy the winning records.  And recently, neither has the public.  But at least the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences usually gets it right, unlike NARAS.  "The Hurt Locker" was the best picture of the year.  Yes, Taylor Swift’s "Fearless" was the best album, but that doesn’t make up for the abomination of handing mini-gramophones to Herbie Hancock and Steely Dan and all those others who won for their careers as opposed to their latest records.

Then again, Jeff Bridges won for his career.  Then again, he was the best actor in any film I saw this year.  Not that I saw many. Because somehow, despite the seriousness of the Oscar telecast, films are no longer serious business, or should I say serious art. They’re made for a market.  Usually teenage.  Oftentimes prepubescent.  Rarely adult.

But adults vote for the Oscars, and that’s why "The Hurt Locker" won.  And "Up" too.  Because somehow, the animated film could be about children and adults, for children and adults at the same time.  Taylor Swift accomplished the same goal, give her music a chance, she’s no NKOTB.  But in music, we expect you to continue the tradition, to get better and better, whereas films are sui generis.  Unless they decide to make a sequel, which hasn’t been better than the original since "Godfather II".  And that’s a heavy burden for Ms. Swift to carry, especially being unable to sing.

Then we’ve got Kathy Ireland, who’s unable to host.

Come on, you watch the pre-game show.  Was she terrible or what?  Posing like a model, and they don’t speak, in case you’ve been oblivious to the fashion-mania that’s coursing through our nation, Kathy fawned and asked dumb questions, making one wince.

And there was the focus on dresses.  As if the real stars were the designers, not the actors or the films.  Which way do you want it, irreverent and base or highbrow?  Because the Golden Globes do irreverent, informal and frequently base, very well, and end up with a much more watchable show.

Then again, with fewer people involved, the Globes know it’s about the show.  That unless the whole thing hangs together, the elements are meaningless.  Will you remember who won the Best Supporting Oscars next year?  Doubtful.  But you’ll remember who committed a faux pas at the Globes.  We need hooks to hang our memories on.  And in this show, there just weren’t enough.

The honoring of the actors by their coworkers/peers.  Just plain creepy.  Then again, it was so deep into the show ANYTHING would suck.

Not that Steve Martin and Alec Baldwin did.  But somehow, it didn’t seem to be their show.  They lost control of it.  Or never had it. Unlike Billy Crystal, they never came back with witty comments.  They were just part of the endless tsunami of Hollywood.  A duo doing a vaudeville skit in between the animal exploits.

And if you can eliminate the performances of songs, why do we have to have dancing to the scores?  Well, I guess everybody needs to go to the bathroom.

As for the ten best movie nominations…  That just made the show longer, with each one needing to be introduced.  It didn’t affect the winner whatsoever.  And it didn’t entrance the young ‘uns.  Although it did have us oldsters scratching our heads as to who some of the presenters were.

It’s like the Academy wants to do the MTV Movie Awards but feels it’s restrained by pomp and circumstance.  And like a major label, no one can mess with the underlying construct.  Eliminate so many of the awards and focus on ogling the stars, that’s what we’re truly interested in.  Even with some high quality lead-ins, like Taylor Hackford’s short film segment, ultimately these minor awards bring down the whole show.

If only it were like the old days, when it was a party.  But now the party’s on the other side of the screen.  No one’s having any fun at the Kodak.  Except maybe for George Clooney, mugging away, the new Jack Nicholson of the annual event.

"The Hurt Locker" is serious business.  It’s so great it won.  But how lame is ABC for cutting away from the Best Documentary winner holding up the dolphin text number?  No controversy.  That’s what’s wrong with network television today.  Afraid that Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity and Sarah Palin are going to crack the whip, they’re afraid of taking a stand.  But that’s what we’re looking for.  If someone gets pissed off, just stand your ground.

The John Hughes tribute was heartfelt and touching.

It was a good idea to hold the light up to horror, even if the montage was done poorly.  And even though they were honored at a separate ceremony, the brief moment in the spotlight for Lauren Bacall and Roger Corman helped burnish their images.

What will I remember?  The endless Skechers commercials.  And the ones for Samsung 3-D TV.  BMW’s ads were better than Mercedes-Benz’s, because they realized eras have changed, and now Munich promotes joy, while Stuttgart still hypes exclusivity, elitism.

When done right, movies can change our lives, inspire us, help us to hang on.  But somehow, this awards show no longer inspires the same belief, the same reverence.

But there were choice moments.  The winner saying that creative pursuits were worthwhile, the speech of the "Inglorious Basterds" actor who won the supporting role.

But the show ultimately failed.  Like a wannabe blockbuster with too many stars and not enough plot.

I thought I could miss it.  But on a deep level, I still want to believe.  I think back to prior ceremonies, the victory of both "Godfather" movies, "Annie Hall"’s triumph.  "The Hurt Locker" wasn’t quite as much of a personal favorite, but the real tragedy is it’ll still go unseen by the masses who would rather be somnambulized by the fabulistic "Avatar" than confront today’s reality, which is just too scary…hell, as Jack Nicholson said so directly, we can’t handle the truth.

The truth is the Academy got it right.  The correct nominees won.  But whereas "The Hurt Locker" triumphed because it was made outside the system, with no test screenings and no extraneous input, this show had too many cooks and too many influences.  So, as a viewing experience, it fell flat.  At least the winners will live on in video.

People are buying "Soldier Of Love" because they’re planning on playing it.

This is not Susan Boyle hysteria, a media-fed frenzy where people want to belong to a cult, to something, to feel human, to belong.

It’s not even a holiday gift item.  Sure, "Soldier Of Love"’s release coincided with Valentine’s Day, but its sales have sustained. Because people want to hear the music.

Judge it if you will.  Equate it with Grover Washington, Jr.’s "Winelight".  But what a concept, buying a complete album so you can spin the thing again and again.

That paradigm hasn’t ruled since the seventies, before MTV triumphed and Top Forty on the FM band surged.  It became all about the hit.  Sade is not selling a hit, she’s selling a sound, an aural experience.  Not necessarily a concert experience, although some of her record-buying audience would surely want to see her live, but a lounging in the living room, a long drive enveloped by the sound listening experience.

This is much harder to sell than a hit.

You sell a hit by pounding it into people’s heads.  By publicizing not only the record, but the act’s visage.  You’ve got to get on the bandwagon, this is the latest and the greatest!

But most people don’t want the latest and the greatest when it comes to music.  They want something that’s established, something that they’ve got a relationship with.  Isn’t it interesting that today’s "stars" have to start over with each successive record and the classic rock dinosaurs can tour to large audiences ad infinitum?

Hell, go to the show.  At the classic show, you can remember your whole life.  At the show of the flavor of the moment…there’s only the moment.

So, labels trump up a hit, and are then pissed when people don’t want to buy the whole album.  Why?  That’s like saying if I liked the pepper in the grocery store, I must buy the cookies and the toilet paper too.  One has almost nothing to do with the other.  A hit is inherently unique, sui generis.  Whereas an album is a continuous sound.  The hit is the orgasm, the album is the lovemaking. Orgasms are great, but if that’s all there is…

Which is why if you’re in the business of hits, you should only release hits, you should possess no fantasy that anybody wants more than the hit.  And if you’re selling albums, you must be selling a listening experience.  And believe me, eighty minutes of your musings is usually more akin to torture than an enjoyable listening experience.

You’ve got to stand for something.  You’ve got to be good.

It amazes me not at all that Sade is selling.  Because she’s selling romance.  What is Britney Spears selling…train-wreck?

There’s a constant blaming of the audience.  Whereas the purveyors must first look at themselves.  Both artists and labels.  They should ask themselves why people should buy their music.  What’s the old cliche, if you don’t stand for anything, you stand for nothing at all?

If your live show is hit after hit, you’re reliant on more hits.  Or spectacle.  Like Madonna.  That’s not about music. And even U2 is no longer about music, otherwise they wouldn’t be utilizing that claw and playing to a hundred thousand.  That’s spectacle.  And evidence that U2 has lost the plot is how shitty their new album sold.  People don’t want to play "No Line On The Horizon" because they don’t think they need it, because they don’t think it’s any different from what came before.  Artists can take risks, like U2 did with "Achtung Baby", or else the audience just wants what came before.  Hell, give Coldplay props for working with Brian Eno…  At least they were TRYING something different!

But, you tell me, Sade is no different!

But she was never about hits.  U2 has become beholden to hits in the last ten years.  Whereas Sade is more like a posh resort, that you don’t want to change.  That you’d like to visit again and again.  And believe me, there’s more money in creating a fine destination than opening up another fast food outlet next to McDonald’s and Subway.  But that’s what the modern labels do… Create me-too product, expecting the public to lap it up.  But most people don’t think fast food is that great…it’s got its devotees, but most people pooh-pooh it, would rather save up for a fine restaurant or cook at home.  Just like most people would rather buy and listen to Sade than the complete opus of some nitwit like Ke$ha.  I mean how long can you use a hula-hoop?

But Sade has been doing it for a long time.  Longer than many of today’s hyped artists have been alive.  Hell, she’s been at the label longer than most executives.  We want careers, we want people to follow, we want to invest our time.  But we don’t want to waste our time.  Which is why the music business is in such dire straits.  Tell me again why I should go to the local club to hear that lame act that has a desire to make it but plays mediocre, at best, music?

Sade’s audience is enamored with her, not a track.  People have to believe in you.  You might have a hit with Max Martin or Timbaland, but no one thinks it’s about you, which is why if you’re lucky you can get a gig at 7-11 thereafter, or get into a good graduate school.

Sade’s audience did not forget her.  Even though she had not only not been jammed down their throats, but seemed to have completely disappeared.  They were just dormant, like daffodils, waiting for spring.  This is the antithesis of the "what have you done for me lately" ethos.  The press talks about comebacks for acts that haven’t even been gone a year.  Pitchfork decries and derides the second album before most people have even digested the first.  As if life were about a moment instead of years.

So it all comes down to the music.  Not the marketing, not the train-wreck.  Good music does sell itself.  And the litmus test is whether you want to play it.  If I want to hear your music again and again, you’re a winner.  If not, you’re a loser.  If I only want to hear your track, then you’re like the fruitcake at Christmas…a fixture on the oldies circuit if you’re lucky, mocked by most.

So set about creating a sound.  And releasing no music before its time.  Unless, maybe like Lil Wayne, the sheer plethora of output is your calling card, people enjoy watching you woodshed.  And make no mistake, Lil’ Wayne is an artist with a lifespan, whose fans want to play all his music.  All that free music…it only worked if people listened to it.  And they did.

Listening…  What a concept.

Our business has come down solely to selling.  And that’s why it’s in the dumper.

I just finished reading the Millennium Trilogy.

It wasn’t easy.  Richard Griffiths had to send me the "The Girl Who Kicked The Hornets’ Nest" from the U.K.  It was six hundred pages long.  But I savored every line.  As I was introduced to a new world that was eerily similar to my own.  Because, as Depeche Mode once sang, people are people.

Mikael Blomkvist is all about the work.  He may get laid in the midst of his passion, but romance will not get in the way of his pursuit.  For truth, justice and what we used to call the "American Way".  Something Tea Partiers have bastardized to the point where socialistic Sweden is closer to what we used to be than their vision for the future.  One in which we live in a society where everyone is included and the government makes sure no individual gets an unfair advantage.

Lisbeth Salander is an outcast, an outsider.  No different from the pierced, tattooed denizens making up the audience at a punk show.  Desirous of playing it their way, skeptical of anyone who wants them to conform, who wants them to play by their rules.

Well, this was before today’s punks went home after the show and wrote software to become rich and famous on their laptops.  Actually, Salander does become rich utilizing her computer skills. But fame?  No, she’s lurking behind the scenes, like a real artist.

A real artist doesn’t do it for public adulation.  If the unwashed masses love you, then what you’re doing can’t be too good, can’t be very edgy, can’t be testing too many limits.  Great art makes people uncomfortable, yet ultimately draws them in.  The Beatles were laughed at in America, they sounded nothing like Elvis or the Four Seasons.  Then, suddenly, seemingly overnight, people threw off their mental constructs and embraced the four lads from Liverpool.  They were born to follow…young men who were not restricted by convention.  John Lennon was chastised by oldsters for stating the obvious, that the band was bigger than Jesus.  Isn’t it interesting that we remember him and his work yet not his detractors…

Stieg Larsson, author of the Millennium Trilogy, died before its publication.  Do you get that?  He wrote three books alone at night, not wondering all the while why he didn’t have more Facebook friends or Twitter followers.  He wasn’t checking his bank account, he was following his passion. The passion of people who call themselves artists today is too often for riches and fame, not utmost personal expression.  An artist does it for the work, too many of today’s "stars" do it for the aftereffects of the work.

In today’s L.A. "Times" there’s a story about the infiltration of corporations in music.  If you think this is the future, you’re probably sucking at the tit.  You too, want to get paid.  That’s what’s wrong with too many agents, too many middlemen brokering corporate deals, they say they’re about the music, but really, they’re about the money.  Do you really want to trust these people?

Who do you want to trust?

Lennon said he could only believe in Yoko and himself.  That’s the essence of an artist.  You can’t believe in the label or the promoter.  They’re necessary evils.  But their interests are not aligned.  You are the creator, they are the exploiter.  So you end up with Clive Davis telling you how you should make your music to please him.  That’s like having Mickey Rourke over your shoulder telling you how to screw.

Maybe you don’t get that reference.  How Mr. Rourke supposedly had fourteen women in one night.  It was all over the Web last week.  Just like GaGa shopping in that ridiculous outfit.  And the exploits and meanderings of too many little-talented but ultra-famous.

And then we’ve got the OK Go Rube Goldberg video.  An incredible achievement sponsored by State Farm Insurance.  Is this a victory or a loss?

In the world of music, it’s a loss.  Because if the underlying song, whose name escapes me, was that good, we’d already know it, and certainly remember it after seeing the clip.  Unfortunately, the clip was more creative than the music.  Damian Kulash’s expertise seems to be as a performance artist more than a musician.  And that’s fine, but what about the music?

And there was some more hype about Phoenix in today’s "New York Times".  But at least the music led the way there.  SNL wanted the band because it heard the new record, not because Procter & Gamble threw its weight behind the foursome.

It’s hard to put an ad in a book.

No, let’s restate that.  It doesn’t work too well.  Or, most companies won’t pony up, unless the author is already ubiquitous, and then the company’s money isn’t needed.  The book stands alone.  What makes the Millennium Trilogy work is the work itself.  The writing.

Stieg Larsson sketched out a landscape of events, with assorted characters and motivations. Unlike "Avatar", the key wasn’t the surface, but what was underneath.  Today mainstream art is about the sheen.  But it used to be different.  Used to be art was edgy and oftentimes ugly.  And the conflagration surrounding it brought the mainstream to it.  And that’s quite a difference.  One is made for a market, the other creates a market.

Used to be it was almost impossible to get attention.  When Andy Warhol uttered the famous aphorism, the average punter could not get on TV, not even in the newspaper.  But now people put themselves and their wares up on MySpace and YouTube and expect endless attention and adulation.  When most of us shrug.  Because there’s no reason to pay attention.  Unless you’re Tila Tequila showing us your boobs and alternately claiming pregnancy and miscarriage

I kept hearing good things about "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo".  I saw it seeping into the public consciousness.  I checked it out.  Over a year after it was released in America.  Ever play last year’s pop hits?  They sound as dated as a Pinto.

And when I entered the world, I was alone.  Just like I was listening to great records in my bedroom.  There was no club I could go to to try and chase women while someone read from the book in the background.  I was drawn in, gave up my regular life to read, in thrall to the work.

"The Girl Who Played With Fire" wasn’t quite as good.  Because it ended abruptly.  Little did I know its loose ends would be picked up in the third edition…

It was like following a band.  You’re dedicated.  You wade through the morass, buy the not as great second album to get to the third.  Because the band is on a mission, of exploration. Reaching for the Holy Grail of expressing themselves, of their art.

Music will be relevant once again when it is purveyed by people like Stieg Larsson.  Doing it not for the fame, but the experience.

Do not confuse GaGa and Lucian Grainge and all the other tools trying to make a buck with music.  That’s commerce.  And no wonder big corporations want to play along.  That’s what they want, money.  No corporation wants to be involved with something unknown, edgy and dangerous.  It can’t risk its reputation.  Whereas all the artist has is his reputation.  So he won’t do one thing that compromises it either.  Even after he’s made it.  Because the audience knows.

All of America is a sham.  Because the media and the politicians make like the audience doesn’t know.  It does.  It knows that the Democrats are almost as bad as the Republicans and Obama can’t lead and you can’t trust Fox News.  And the story of the decade is how the Internet is undermining the establishment and the old institutions can’t cope.  That’s you, "New York Times". To think that a newspaper should be relevant in 2010 is to believe that we should all be driving Model T’s and using electric typewriters.  Times change.  And you need to change with them.

And like I said, the people have changed.  They know the music on the hit parade is vapid, evanescent and insignificant.  They know who’s selling out.  They know, like Frank Zappa claimed, most people are only in it for the money.  And they also know, just because you know how to use GarageBand and are hawking your music, that doesn’t mean it’s worth listening to.

Everybody wants to be famous.  Everybody wants to party with the Hiltons and the Kardashians. Everybody wants to be atop the pecking order.  As if we could truly live in Lake Wobegon, where all the children are above average.

But this is untrue.  There are winners and losers in the world.  And great artists speak of both. They don’t tell us about their exotic lifestyles, in song and on TV, they speak about honest emotions, heartbreak and financial ruin.  Because this is the fabric of America.

Sure, there are entertainments that provide escape.

But what we draw close to our bosom, and what truly lasts, is the unsullied honesty of the lifer, someone doing it because he has to, because he’s got to get his message across, who will continue even if no one is paying attention.  And believe you me, when most of today’s failed "artists" realize no one cares, they jump ship immediately, into marketing something else. Because it’s not about the music.  It’s never about the music.  And to be valid, to be interesting, to draw us away from our smartphones and PlayStations and flat screens, it’s got to solely be about the music.  No dancing, no playing to hard drive, just expression, warts and all.

That’s "Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives" to the uninitiated.

Food porn.  That’s what the Food Network is.  And it’s SO successful Scripps is dialing up another outlet, the Cooking Channel

Another Cable Helping for Food Lovers

You see the public just can’t get enough.

Yes, that used to be a famous Depeche Mode song, from an era when music was king on TV.  Now food rules.  It’s like we’ve closed the door on Woodstock, everyone’s laid down his guitar and picked up a frying pan and is innovating like crazy.

And you can see some amazing dishes on the other Food Network shows.  But I love the cuisine on Triple-D.  Not only because it’s basic and understandable, but because of the raw creativity of cooks who are doing it not to become famous, not to franchise into billionairedom, but to satisfy their coterie of customers, who are thrilled to the point where they contact Guy Fieri and tell him he’s got to visit their favorite joint.

Cheeseburger soup.  That was one of the specialties at the roadside establishment Mr. Fieri visited the other night.  Upon tasting it, Guy said…"Tastes just like cheeseburgers!"

Mmm…  Made me want to fire up my car and go.

Hell, screw going to see Bon Jovi one more time, I’d bet more people would sign up for a bus tour schlepping them from one of Triple-D’s haunts to another.  It wouldn’t be about social stratification, everybody would walk into the dive and partake just like everybody else. Oohing and ahhing…  What do they say, we all put our pants on the same way?  Well, we all eat the same way too, it’s a common denominator.

Not amongst the stars.  They don’t eat at all.  Their public does.  Which is one reason why no one can relate to today’s stars.  Who’s got the time to work out six hours a day and then walk around lightheaded on celery?  In other words, there’s more honesty on Triple-D than any show on MTV.  I’d rather own the Food Network than the outlet that dropped "Music Television" from its name any day.

But the reason I’m writing this is because the cooks, and they don’t need to be called chefs, and many aren’t trained whatsoever, are endless fountains of creativity.  The way local bands used to be.

Going to music school?  Shit, our favorites never walked the halls.  They listened to a ton of records, they practiced ad infinitum, at first copying legends and then making up their own sound.

And there were a zillion different sounds.  Everybody didn’t sound alike.  Hell, dial up today’s Top Forty radio, you’ve got no idea who the acts are, and it doesn’t even matter.  And it’s not much different in country radio either.  There are rules.  Ain’t that ridiculous, music was about BREAKING RULES!

These cooks are breaking rules left and right.  Experimenting.  You’re drawn to them and their food, you want to visit their establishments, the same way you used to be addicted to FM radio and needed to go see these bands live.

Yup, you now go to a concert once a year.  But you go out to eat on a regular basis.  It’s cheap theater.  Everyone partakes.  The way live music used to be.  Before music became about beats with inane, oftentimes misogynistic, lyrics dolloped on top.

People know what a great restaurant is.  They can’t stop talking about it, they bring their friends, tell acquaintances they need to go, the same way they used to testify about bands.  Sure, people still testify about music, but music no longer drives the culture, because most people see it as faux, evanescent entertainment that is ultimately meaningless.  And who’d go to a restaurant with only one good dish? Sure, an establishment like that could do some business, but in order to succeed EVERYTHING on the menu’s got to be good.  And at the Triple-D places, they are.

Used to be you percolated in your own backyard, established a sound that your neighborhood became addicted to, and then word spread. Now you go on "American Idol" to try to win the sweepstakes overnight.  And winning ain’t what it used to be.

You’ve got to be in it for the music.  You’ve got to love to explore.  You’ve got to be willing to take chances.  You’ve got to do it for the smiles on the faces of fans you know the names of, not for the unknown teeming masses.  It’s got to be personal.  Because we like nothing more than what speaks to us, what makes us feel human.

You know the feeling of eating something you’ve never thought of that knocks your socks off, that makes your taste buds roar in delight? That’s what hearing a great record should feel like.  Sure, it may be reminiscent of what came before, but ultimately it’s totally unique, you couldn’t even contemplate the sound before you experienced it.  Like hearing Marvin Gaye’s "Sexual Healing" or Gnarls Barkley’s "Crazy" the very first time.

It’s got to be more about the individual and less about the corporation.  Major players in music want it their way, when the renaissance will only come when the players do it THEIR WAY!

Diners, Drive-Ins & Dives