We’re in New York for the Mr. Holland’s Opus Foundation Teacher Awards at Carnegie Hall.  They’re not until Friday, but we flew in early so we could have dinner with Malcolm Gladwell, the rest of our time being totally booked.  He told a great story analogizing the world to David and Goliath, but that’s his routine, so I won’t rip him off and replicate it here.

We had lunch with Cliff and Dan from Razor & Tie.  Fascinating hearing Cliff’s story of his start.  From being the stand-in cantor at his old synagogue to a Wall Street lawyer to starting the "70’s Preservation Society" to sell compilation CDs via television ads.

And after having a cupcake at that bakery the guys on SNL made famous, we rode back uptown in the rain and I went to the Apple Store.

I know, I know, you can go to the Apple Store in Santa Monica.  But it’s not the same as this one.  Where they had a special contraption to bag your umbrella so not only did it not get the equipment wet, it didn’t harm other patrons.  And there were zillions of them.  There’s no recession at the Apple Store.  In fact, there’s mania.  And a ton of products I’ve seen nowhere else.  Like Focal speakers for your iPod, and those Dr. Dre Beats headphones.  They sounded pretty good.  Heavy on the bass.  Are you surprised?

And there’s a new power adapter that’s so tiny.  You just plug in your USB cable and jam the white plastic module into a socket.  I felt I needed one, but I figured I’d buy it online.  But if I’d been shopping online, I’d have never found it.  Retail can be entertainment, it can be informative, if the products are excellent and the merchandising is done right.

The product was right at the Nintendo outlet, but it was empty.  I tried playing Tiger Woods Golf on the Wii, but gave up, I couldn’t figure it out and I felt I was being eyed by the employees.

But then I went down the street to Manny’s.

Back in the sixties, after everybody saw the Beatles and picked up a guitar, there came a time when you had to cash in your Japanese axe and get a real instrument, a Fender, or a Gibson.

This required a train ride into New York, and a walk from Grand Central to 48th Street, where all the musical instrument stores were lined up side by side. Only a few remain.  Sam Ash and Manny’s.

Sam Ash now owns Manny’s.  Has since 1999.  Maybe that’s sacrilegious, but it’s Guitar Center’s world now, history has wiped the slate clean to such a degree that one can no longer lament the change, it’s necessary to own it.  And the change is truly dramatic.  Because Manny’s is closing.  For good.

It was almost empty.  There was even less buzz than there was at the Nintendo emporium.  The workers didn’t care, they knew soon they’d be out of a job, they let me wander.

Which is not how it was in the old days.  In the old days, you’d be accosted immediately, asked what you wanted.  And after saving money for years, after emptying your Bar Mitzvah bank account, you’d say you were interested in a Stratocaster, they’d ask what color and it would be delivered downstairs almost instantly, where you’d be expected to pay for it.

At a rock bottom price, but you got none of the thrill of the purchase, none of the satisfaction.  You expected to be able to strum the strings, tweak the knobs for an hour or two.  But not at Manny’s.  Manny’s was like Best Buy.  Or a BMW dealership without salesmen.  This was expensive equipment, but it was sold like supermarket items.  Just that fast.

But if you were famous, and I saw Gene Cornish on the street way back when, or if you had chutzpah, they’d let you try something out.  You’d pick up this yellow Danelectro guitar…

It was still there.  Now in a glass case.  Broken down and put on exhibit.  I’d seen so many musicians play this schmutzy yellow electric guitar.  It’s weird when your memories come back, flowing with not only the experience, but the people you were with.

And on the walls are signed pictures from every act every to ply the boards.  From the Del Vikings to Todd Rundgren.  I even saw a signed photo from the Steve Gibbons Band.  I own that record, does anyone else?

What I was experiencing was the last vestige of sixties culture.  When music set the agenda, when you listened to the radio to know what was going on. Now it’s happening over at the Apple Store.  Times have changed, but the music industry has played a huge part in its own demise.

Music became about winners and losers.  Our heroes were no longer admirable.  They played the role of rock star without any of the intellectual trappings. The sixties stars broke the rules for a reason, not just because they could, not just because they were rich.

I don’t know if music can come back.

Oh, don’t inundate me with the names of new bands I’ve never heard of that I probably won’t like anyway.  They’re never going to be as big as the Beatles, not even as important as the Dave Clark Five.  No one’s ubiquitous anymore.

But maybe we can have a scene.  Before the Beatles it was folk, there was even a hootenanny show on TV.  We’ve got to stop flailing, looking for saviors and start rebuilding.  Fading publications trot out tour grosses, but those acts are all long in the tooth.  The solution is new acts, that start off small, and not only don’t go for the brass ring, but don’t even see it.

New York City never dies because of its pulse.  This is where people come to make it.  And others with wherewithal come to leave their mark.  The concentration of people and the opportunities inspire.

If you can locate the pulse of music, I’d like you to tell me where it is.  Sure, there’s a throb at Coachella.  And Bonnaroo.  But they’re closed scenes.  Name one band that’s broken from Coachella, hell, they’re signing old ones to perform just to bring up the gross.  And Bonnaroo is dependent on Phish.

Don’t tell me how great it is, but how great it can be.  That’s what I’m interested in.