I discovered the Four Seasons on the jukebox at the Nutmeg Bowl. After a few strings and polishing my ball I ordered krinkly-kut french fries and poured my remaining dimes into a machine that held very few records, the best of which were played incessantly and are as memorable to me today as they were back then. There was "Dawn (Go Away)" and eventually "Rag Doll". And I can still hear the intro to "I Get Around", which the jukebox, unlike radio, never cut off.

Although my transistor radio was first used to listen to the Yankees, when the Beatles exploded it became my trusted companion, it lay aside my blotter while I was doing my homework, I placed it under my pillow when I went to bed. I needed to hear these hits, as a member of a club, pursuing excellence, bowing at the feet of players who made us sing and swoon, who positively thrilled us.

But those days are gone. The jukebox is rare and radio is inauthentic and no one believes those artists can play live. That’s one thing we assumed back then, that the people making those records could sing and play. And yes, the Wrecking Crew might have provided the background, but they didn’t go on the road, every band could play enough to convince us. And although we were horrified the Monkees didn’t play their own instruments, it turned out the band felt the same way, and learned how to play.

With the implosion of recorded music revenue, the mantra has been that you make up the money on the road. This concept has not been embraced by the old guard, from the songwriters to the performers. They believe the highest form of the art is embedded on plastic, purchased for an exorbitant price and listened to or thrown away, they don’t really care, you bought it, you own it, you can do with it what you like.

But this leaves the public out of the equation. A public with limited time and limited finances and a plethora of diversions. One overwhelmed by the cascade of music dumped upon them daily, most not worth an iota of listening time. This tsunami has become so unbearable that many have tuned it out completely. Newspapers review records ad infinitum, saying they’re good, but when you expend the effort to listen to them you scratch your head and vow not to repeat the process.

The old game still exists, but it does not work in the new world. Radio is about playing it safe, giving the public what it already knows, over and over again, so no one tunes out and a high rate for advertising can be charged.

Reviewers for newspapers are still in it for the perks. They want the free albums and concert tickets. They want to believe they’re intellectuals, handing wisdom down on tablets that they fail to realize no one is interested in anymore. People don’t want to debate what’s good or bad, argue the merits of that which does not appeal to them, what the great unwashed listen to, but to be served excellence, in a limited amount.

But we live in an unlimited universe. Imagine watching 500 TV channels if there were no rhyme or reason which outlet a show appeared upon, if there were no trusted guide. You’d give up. And many people have given up on new music.

And the labels and artists are no help. The labels used to have a lock on distribution. If they didn’t sign it, you didn’t hear it. They invested in the best. But in an era where the best might be extremely hard to break, where revenue might be years down the line, labels are no longer interested. Majordomos want to make the coin of bankers, whereas just being close to the creative process was satiation enough years back, the money was an afterthought, as it was for so many of the early classic rock acts.

And since the barrier to entry is so low, every artist is Tony Robbins or Gene Simmons, a huckster trying to sell crap with a smile. Artists are not to be trusted.

As for online recommendation engines, they’re not to be trusted either. Pitchfork is inconsistent and Pandora is inhuman. They satisfy some, but they’re like going to a restaurant where there’s a different cook every night. Sometimes the food might be good, but that’s such a rare event you ultimately withhold your money and your time.

In the old days, with radio and print breaking acts, we’d go to see one or two of them live, maybe a package bill of three at the Fillmore. There was a system driving us to the hall. But as stated above, that system is now bankrupt. Trying to get someone to pay to see a new act is nigh near impossible. Meanwhile, the acts are bitching all along that they can’t get paid, as if they’re entitled.

This inability to develop new acts is one of the primary drivers of the festival. Along with continued success of the format in the U.K. and European nations.

The breakthrough was Coachella. And then came Bonnaroo. But they both suffered by preaching to the converted. Both occurred in isolated places, that were hard to get to and could be easily ignored, whereas the best music of yore was positively in our face. Whether it be on radio or "Ed Sullivan" or MTV. Everybody watched, everybody listened, and they wanted to. Coachella is for hipsters. There’s always an old warhorse and too many wannabes. It’s like a hip restaurant you can’t get into. You’re aware of it, but you ask yourself, is this for me?

And Bonnaroo is for a younger generation that missed Woodstock, desiring to camp in the mud and do drugs. And although at first the bills were hippie fodder, now it appears to be a compendium of whatever can sell tickets, there’s no rhyme or reason as to who is booked, there’s no soul.

Now my inbox will fill up with promoters and fans telling me how wrong I am, talking about how much money Coachella and Bonnaroo take in. These knee-jerkers are missing the point. It’s not about money, it’s about bringing new acts to the public and having those acts sustain.

The two biggest festivals today are Austin City Limits and Lollapalooza. It doesn’t seem to matter who they book, people believe in "the brand". But more importantly, they’re both based in cities. This is the future. It can’t be hard to attend the festival, it must be easy. And the main selling point has to be curation, that the organizers are booking the best of the best.

Unfortunately, Lollapalooza is still booking way too many acts, believing that everybody’s a grazer and wants quantity, as if a Vegas buffet trumped a Danny Meyer restaurant. Future festivals will have fewer acts. Then again, not every act makes it to the YouTube stream, and those that do have an imprimatur of greatness, this is their big break.

Let’s revisit the formula. You hone your chops, barely able to break even until a festival organizer booking a city-based event makes a deal for you to perform. Then this same booker makes sure you’re featured on the YouTube stream. With this imprimatur, people pay attention.

Festivals are the new radio and bookers are the new deejays. It’s just that simple.

And to win in this world, you’ve got to have the chops, you’ve got to be able to play. And like a comedian on Carson, when you get your one big chance you’ve got to kill. And if you do, your career will be made.

Let me stress, there are limited slots. Most people can’t play. Those who aren’t good don’t get a chance. Like parents insisting their barely-athletic child get a trophy for standing on the corner of the soccer field, everybody believes they get to participate in the new music world. That’s just wrong. It’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock and roll and most people don’t have the perseverance, never mind the skill.

But we are interested in those who’ve got it. It’s the festival organizer’s job to make this match.

Being in an iTunes commercial or on "Grey’s Anatomy" ain’t bad, but those are records, everyone knows those can be faked, that you can suck live and probably do.

And although dancing and pyrotechnics can be interesting, that’s a different business than music, that’s spectacle, and the hungry music fan just doesn’t care to see it.

And recommendations online are cheap and voluminous.

But there’s something about seeing a band live. One that can truly play its instruments. That makes you get that tingling feeling inside.

It rarely translates to tape, the YouTube clip is just an advertisement… For the show, when the band comes to your town.

Grace Potter has a better chance of breaking through after performing at Lollapalooza than she does as a result of being on that Kenny Chesney record, as a result of any television appearance. Because performing live is like being at Yankee Stadium. You’ve got to deliver or you’re booed. And when you hit a home run, everybody knows.

But you play your whole life before you start for the Yankees. You spend years in the minor leagues. And if the Yankees field a crummy team, revenues will go down.

And a great athlete is poetry in motion. We revel in the movement.

But a great musician is more than that. The performance is not only external, but internal. Something inside is being translated from player to listener. And when it’s done without a net, with the possibility of mistakes, we revel in the humanity.

The more technological breakthroughs we develop, the more important it is to get back to our roots. I love my computer, but it’s the opposite of music. It’s cold and unthinking, whereas music is warm and fuzzy and positively alive.

And the best place to demonstrate this is live.

And the best place to do this is where everybody is watching.

We can spread the word so quickly online. But no one wants to hear about anything that isn’t great, that doesn’t have substance.

City festivals are the launching pad. Bookers are the linchpins. Food and amenities add to the experience, but the real drawing power is the music. When done right, it’s enough.