Oh, baby don’t it feel like heaven right now
Don’t it feel like something from a dream

He’s in heaven, and we’re dreaming, but it’s a nightmare.

I woke up to the Las Vegas tragedy. And what’s so weird is I was with one of the touring honchos last night discussing this possibility and he said it was just a matter of when.

And I saw Tom Petty, live, in the flesh, JUST TEN DAYS AGO!

So I’m at lunch with my mother, at Brent’s Deli in Northridge. She came out for Yom Kippur. I’m hoping she’s written in the book of the living. With her marbles intact. And my phone, which I’d turned to vibrate, since I wanted my mom to know I was paying total attention, started to go berserk. And ultimately I told her to hold on a second, I slipped my plus-sized device from my pocket and was confronted with a text on the home screen, “Is Tom Petty now dead?”

Huh? There are people who are ill, people who are aged, but like I said, I just saw Tom last week, it did not compute!

I didn’t believe it. The internet is laden with rumors. I told my mother to give me a minute. I searched for news.

And then I found the TMZ story.

And TMZ never gets it wrong. They’d be sued out of existence. Tom had cardiac arrest, he was brain dead, and…

I still did not believe it.

I don’t know what your life is based upon. I don’t know what it’s about. The sixties were about sports, my transistor told the stories of Mickey Mantle, Whitey Ford and Tony Kubek. I dreamed of playing in the big leagues.

And then the Beatles hit.

There’s been nothing like it since. I wasn’t the only one. It happened to Petty too.

Just like the nineties, when everybody bought a computer to play on AOL, everybody bought a guitar, formed a band, we were infatuated with the music.

And our heroes were British.

But in the seventies…

The Americans penetrated.

Petty wasn’t there first, but by time he broke through…

He had history, he had gravitas, he had insight, he was the antithesis of a prepubescent rocker, all poses and no substance. He’d lived, played bars, gone to shows, and when he finally put out a record…

It was the one he wanted to make.

Those are the ones that last. Not the ones made for a market, chasing a hit, but personal statements, of truth.

Have you ever heard “Luna”? It sounds like a steamy night on a rooftop, that’s what music does best, not tell a story, but instigate your own, set your mind free to remember, to think, to envelop yourself in this thing we call life.

But now Tom Petty is dead. How can this be?

We don’t know exactly why, but one thing’s for sure, most rockers don’t last into old age. John Lennon was killed. The Big C got George. And history is littered with O.D.’s and casualties of the lifestyle. They thought they were gonna live forever, but they really didn’t live that long.

And by time Tom’s second LP was released it was the heyday of AOR, with tracks codified to formula. Corporate rock killed the record business. But Petty was never corporate rock.

And then he stood up for low prices, he didn’t want to be the poster boy for ripping off the customer, and after declaring bankruptcy, taking too much time off, he exploded on the radio with “Refugee” and everybody had to own “Damn The Torpedoes” and suddenly he was the biggest star in the land. He didn’t come from nowhere, he just needed the timing to be right, to get his story across right, kinda like the Boss with “Born To Run,” but that single was never as big as “Refugee,” there was not another hit on Springsteen’s album, whereas Petty dominated the radio and sold tonnage and got little respect for it, because when you dominate, when you score, it looks easy.

Yet it’s anything but.

And how do you follow this up?

Frampton gave the public what it wanted and it killed his career.

Petty kept searching, kept mixing it up. And then came the solo album and the Wilburys.

Tom Petty? He wasn’t old enough to be in that concoction. He was a junior member, the JV, but Jeff Lynne, et al, knew something we did not, that Tom Petty was a superstar, just because he started in the seventies as opposed to the sixties didn’t mean he wasn’t worthy.

He was the worthiest, the only one who continued to have hits. The only one who continued to dominate. The only one who continued to reach the masses.

Sure, Roy Orbison died. As did George. And I don’t want to take anything away from Dylan, but if you think his work of the last twenty five years is equal to the twenty five years before it, you’re lying to yourself.

And Tom Petty never lied to himself, he was all about honesty.

And his shows were not nostalgia. He did that stand at the Fonda where he played deep cuts. And I’ll always remember him plucking a golden oldie from the country world and labeling today’s country music “the rock of the seventies.” And in most cases it is. I’ve been quoting him ever since.

But Tom won’t be uttering any more gems. He won’t be utilizing his drawl on Sirius XM. He’s gone.

But that can’t be! This is not Elvis, past his prime and decrepit. I don’t even want to play the records, I don’t want to remember what once was, I still believe it can be.

BUT IT CAN’T!

How do I explain an era that was cottage industry, when the music business was built. When all the action was outside the home and you went to gigs with terrible PA’s to hear bands that oftentimes couldn’t replicate the records. Does anybody even remember Frank Barsalona? He deserves a hell of a lot more credit for building the modern concert business than Bill Graham, and my goal is not to piss you off, and I don’t believe art, never mind business, should be ranked, but Petty was the last person doing it the way they used to, sans attitude, with a smile on his face, with the band intact. He didn’t whore himself out to corporations. He didn’t take the easy, expedient money. You could believe in him! In an era where everybody’s doing it for themselves and the audience is the odd man out. You want to feel included, you want to believe the artist is doing it for YOU!

Not that Tom didn’t take risks, didn’t stretch, don’t you remember him dropping in on “It’s Garry Shandling’s Show,” on Showtime, when the classiest thing on HBO was “Dream On”? Tom didn’t play a song, he just lived in the neighborhood, it was so bizarre.

But now Shandling is gone and Bowie is gone and Frey is gone and Prince is gone but Petty?

HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HERE FOREVER!

You don’t want to outlive your children. Going on without Tom Petty is too painful, it wasn’t his time, he still had a lot of living to do. He wasn’t calcified, he was still pushing the envelope.

And he’d already surprised us so much. Solo albums bigger than band albums? The aforementioned Wilburys? When done right, music is a journey, you’re not a prisoner of your hits, Tom was on an endless hejira, all the way from Gainesville to the promised land, and if you don’t think Hollywood is that, the L.A. basin, you’re too scared to come out here and compete where who your parents are and where you went to school are irrelevant, where it’s all about the hustle and the talent, and some make it, very few, but almost nobody sustains.

Tom Petty sustained.

So it feels like a family member died. I’m numb. In shock. And eventually it will pass, and I’ll march on, it’s the nature of humanity.

And that’s what Tom Petty’s music had, humanity.

My girlfriend slept with another guy and I played “A Woman In Love (It’s Not Me),” over and over again.

And when I heard the drop in “Here Comes My Girl,” I felt powerful, like I had game, like I could impress the opposite sex, that’s what music does, ride shotgun, turn you into your best self, help you get through.

And I don’t want this piece to end. I want to keep on writing. Because as long as I do, Tom is still alive, I’m distracted, I don’t have to confront that giant hole inside me that can only be filled with music, too often not the music made today, pabulum, researched stuff for a market. Once upon a time music was art.

Tom Petty made art.

Today I was in Reseda.

Tonight I drove down Mulholland.

But one thing’s for sure, I’m free fallin’. Out into nothin’.

But tonight Tom Petty didn’t leave this world for a while, but for all time.

And I just don’t want to accept that.

But I have to.

Now it’s down to us. We must carry on his vision. March into the future. Knowing that the music counts and not everything is right but when you build a catalog of hits you’re not only part of the firmament, you live forever.

In people’s minds.

Where rock music resides.

Where Tom Petty forever shall be.

She told the audience to shut up. That she was 56 and might never come back so they’d better let her talk.

It’s not that they were rabble-rousing, lost in their own personal world, the assembled multitude was in thrall, shouting, interrupting, wanting to connect.

And you’d want to connect too.

The only other time I saw Alison Moyet in person was at a party in a backyard on the outskirts of London. She was standing alone, under a tent, sipping a drink, and I recognized her instantly, but I wasn’t about to talk to her. You learn not to, unless you’re introduced. You might get a warm hello, but you’ll get no conversation, none of what you need. She seemed an iconic, untouchable beauty, living on a pedestal.

But that’s not who she is at all!

I bought those records. That was the badge of honor, ownership. And you could not know the music unless you owned it. And your friends never did, nobody you knew was as into it as you. There were those Yaz albums, “Yazoo” in the U.K., and the solos, but then she disappeared, but I never forgot her, and neither did the rest of those in attendance.

That’s why I love living in the city. The opportunities. The other people who got the memo. Live in the hinterlands, the suburbs, and you’re a party of one, the only person in the know, alone, but move to the city and you find like-minded people and it’s so reassuring, but I did not expect Alison Moyet’s show to sell out, the hits were long ago, when was the last time she ever appeared here?

But the place was full. With a Gen-X demo, men and women, who remembered when. Not hipsters, there were some lumpy bodies, some people who’d sold out to the straight world, but when Alison opened her pipes they were in rapture.

So first and foremost it’s the voice.

And then it’s the charisma.

Everybody’s faking it. They can’t really sing. Your favorite acts have support, both live and recorded, and you go to the show and it’s a facsimile of reality, not the real thing.

But this was positively the real thing. Who is born with a voice like this? Who can develop a gift like this? Who can still do it as they grow older? If Alison Moyet were an American she’d be a household name, she’d headline all those galas at the Hollywood Bowl and the Kennedy Center, because that’s just how powerful and intriguing her vocalizations are. Husky and full. They’re not from another world, but ours. It’s like she embodies life. You’re astounded.

And then there’s her personality.

Some people don’t talk at all.

Others squeak out a few words uncomfortably.

Then there are the people who do the same patter every night.

But Alison was comfortable in her own skin. In between numbers she’d tell us what she felt, maybe a short story, and it was so INTIMATE! Like a friend coming over and sitting on your couch. But really more than that, the girl you always had a crush on, the one you viewed from afar, who you were suddenly in the room with, who fulfilled all your dreams, who was not airy, but breezy, you’d swoon.

And so did we.

The show was very basic. Alison and two men on keyboards, with one occasionally playing guitar. Along with excellent lighting. But there was no production, no big screen, nothing other than…

The music.

Just when you think we’ve lost touch…

We reconnect.

With recorded revenue substandard, with so much money on the road, people play the biggest venues available, for the gross. It’s a spectacle. And some music fits that paradigm, but most doesn’t. Most music is personal. You want to connect with the performer, be taken away from the everyday world, so many shows are assaults, circuses where they’re selling you stuff, notches on your belt documented on social media, but once upon a time music was just that, you went to the show for the sound, not the penumbra.

It was like that last night.

You’re sitting in the audience trying to figure it out, what makes Alison Moyet so appealing. She’s too old, her hits are behind her, why do she and her performance seem so positively NOW?

It’s her identity. She’s not stuck in the past. She’s in the present. Just like us. As opposed to acts taking you on a nostalgic trip to when, looking like they once did as you inhabit your sagging body.

She exudes charisma, you can’t take your eyes off her, as she dips, twirls and twists, but very subtly, sending the message she’s moved by the music, but she’s not dancing to impress you.

And she played all the hits. “Situation.” “Only You.” But the highlight was a song from the new album, “Lover, Go.”

It’s a slow march through the doldrums with a central power. We got it immediately. And you will too, when you listen now:

Lover, Go – Spotify

But I was waiting for one song, the opener from her debut solo LP “Alf.” The show was going on and on, and then…

The synths started to pound, the hook was indelible and irresistible, this was LOVE RESURRECTION!

What can I do to make light
Of this dull, dull day

We’d get home, in that pre-portability era, and we’d drop the needle on our favorite LP. We had massive stereos, with enough power and throughput to make the walls shake and the floors pulse.

What switch can I pull
To illuminate the way

It’s all so disheartening. Politics is fascinating, but endless retreads, nothing seems to change.

Show me one direction

And that direction is always art, we live for art, it’s the special sauce of life. Sure, nothing is more powerful than sex, but you don’t do it with the TV on, but you will put on your favorite record.

We all need a love
Resurrection, just a little divine intervention

God was shining down on the Fonda last night, intervening in this boring, overbearing, mixed-up, muddled world. He intervened in the audience’s lonely life and lifted listeners up via his disciple Alison Moyet. I may not believe in God, but I did last night!

I got a warm injection that calmed the pain. What more can you ask for?

Chalk one up for music.

Moe pulled away in his Ferrari.

It’s hard to explain the SoCal lifestyle if you don’t live here. The warm fall evenings. The emphasis on out instead of in. But when you find yourself perched on a cliff in the hills, overlooking a sparkling San Fernando Valley, in your shirtsleeves on September 26th, you wonder how you got here, how so few know, and how life is exceedingly good.

I met Jake at EDMbiz a few years back. This twentysomething manager was the talk of the conference. Can I hang with twentysomethings? It’s kind of like the Chris Rock line, about getting married, you don’t want to be the oldest dude in the bar. I wonder if these cats don’t think I’ve got something better to do. After all, baby boomers are notoriously self-centered, believing they have all the answers, and are all about lifestyle, fine wines, exotic vacations, they appear bulletproof, like they have all the answers.

I don’t have all the answers. Sometimes I don’t even know the questions. Especially in today’s diverse world. So I’m curious to hang with the youngsters, it’s so stimulating, and wavering I remembered that Irving will take a phone call from anyone, once. Because he’s like MTV, continuing to stay young for if you don’t, you eventually lose touch, and you’re out of the game.

This is happening now.

First was streaming. The boomers hate it. The youngsters embrace it. And overnight, all the new stars are young acts. Hip-hop dominates and the oldsters are touring to decreasing audiences, unless they’re on the verge of death, and the media keeps talking about the value of recordings when the truth is they’re just a tiny piece of the pie. That’s right, the internet has opened up so many other avenues of revenue. If you’re willing to shut up about CDs and Spotify you can employ the new tools to make bank, like Marshmello.

He sold out three Shrines. That’s 15,000 people people. And you’ve probably never even heard of him. I had, but I can’t say I knew his music, that I was aware of his impact.

He was a struggling EDM artist, where you’re confined to your lane, and he was making a different kind of music, and his manager, Moe Shalizi came up with the concept. Of an alias. Found someone on Instagram to make the first helmet. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Moe broke up with his girlfriend because he’s working all the time, he’s the one who drives the Ferrari. He grew up in godforsaken Riverside, for heaven’s sake, got a degree at the UC in that burg whilst living at home and hosting DJ parties in a bar. That’s right, the only innovators, the only pioneers aren’t in Silicon Valley, where the rewards are big but the work is often drudgery. And eventually Moe transferred to management, after some hair-raising affairs at the bar, where he was pulling down $1500 a night, net, and went to work for Red Light Management, where they thought they’d manage and he’d do the day to day.

But you can’t keep a millennial down. They’re competent, know how to work, despite the crybaby stories you read in the press. Hell, it’s like the sixties all over again, the press is clueless.

And the pre-Marshmello Marshmello is making 80k a year, but then he becomes the character and… Skrillex makes contact. They get lucky, Marshmello gets to town and Moe makes him call Sonny and he’s in the midst of an interview with Katie Couric, who Marshmello is clueless as to the identity of, and the end result is his call ends up in the final piece.

And fans find it.

It’s a veritable web out there I tell you. All interconnected. You get lucky one place and people spread the word other places.

And now Marshmello has done a deal with Hostess, I mean come on, who wouldn’t laugh about that, it’s a match made in hilarity, and he’s still sans major despite having eight singles with household names lined up and it’s all been done slowly and under the radar and… Marshmello and Moe don’t need the cash, do they even need a major?

It’s unclear. Sure, a major can deliver terrestrial radio, but is that where Marshmello belongs, does his audience even care?

And Moe is relatively quiet. Get him going and he’ll tell you his story. But he’s not interrupting and boasting, it’s only when you listen and hear the facts that you realize how successful he is.

Whereas Jeff Levin is just the opposite. He’s selling from minute one, like a traditional manager. And I’ve heard it all and I take it with a grain of salt but when he showed me a video of pandemonium when his client Logan Paul opened a pop-up shop in Manhattan, it was impossible to be unimpressed. Everybody came out, everybody was cheering, for this guy most people have no idea of.

But he’s got 3.6 million YouTube subscribers. And is in movies and on TV and this is a new star. Accessible. AND IN YOUR FACE EVERY DAY! Logan jumped from Vine to YouTube and has posted a new vlog, usually fifteen minutes in length, every single day for 380 days straight. God, no one else has the CONSTITUTION! Musicians are always bitching about doing the heavy lifting, they need someone to help, the system is against them, whereas this guy Logan is making the system work for him!

Now Jeff was an entrepreneur back in college, he started a laundry service. That’s right, these guys didn’t grind and then wake up and decide to be entrepreneurs, they were ALWAYS entrepreneurs. Then he paid his dues at ICM and at Awesomeness TV and now at the ripe old age of 31 is managing Logan. Hell, Moe is 27. Jake 28! Think about that, Jake and Moe weren’t even 10 when Napster launched, they’re not burdened by history, shackled to the past.

And Jeff talks about brand partnerships and advertising and the more you hear the more you’re convinced that this couldn’t all be true until you Google it and it is. Logan’s video today was launched two hours ago and already has 472,555 views, hell, I doubt that’s accurate, because YESTERDAY’S already has 4.1 million! Yup, the clips average 5 million views a day, and let’s be clear, there are musicians accumulating this number of streams, but they’re the ones ruling Spotify that the oldsters hate. But the joke is on the oldsters. The youngsters have tapped into the zeitgeist, and the oldsters are in the self-satisfied rearview mirror.

And now you’re saying that social media stars fade. There’s no there there. But Logan is selling story and has already been on “Law & Order” and “Stitchers” and has done a video with the Rock and even if it all ends tomorrow, he’s made money, and proven the paradigm…the younger generation will embrace a new kind of star, one outside the traditional actor/musician paradigm. Hell, they think they KNOW Logan. Do we really know the people on the big screen?

And speaking of a younger generation, Jake manages 13 year old Grace VanderWaal, winner of “America’s Got Talent” in 2016.

He pursued it. Was a joke in the competition. People wouldn’t even take his phone calls. But after getting Grace a gig at the Special Olympics in Austria and hooking her up with Cirque du Soleil she ultimately signed with him.

Took six months. And when he finally flew to meet Grace herself, previously her attorney wouldn’t allow it, she was bored and thought he wasn’t big enough until…

He asked her what she wanted to do.

Everybody was TELLING Grace what she should do! She felt caged. She was unhappy with the choice of single, well Jake said they could make their own video of another track and put it online. WE CAN DO THAT? Yup, you can build your own website, communicate with your fans, she was afraid of the label, no one was on her side, and that’s what a manager does, protect the interests of the artist whilst brainstorming opportunities.

And the truth is the oldsters are consumed with the old opportunities. Get a record contract and sign a deal with Live Nation or AEG. But there’s so much more. And it’s all online. And it’s all data. And it’s all incomprehensible to the old guard, their cheese has not only been moved, but stolen, and they don’t like it, these youngsters running circles around them, debating the value of Facebook ads, leveraging the power of their stars in heretofore unseen ways.

It’s exhausting just hearing about it.

But not every millennial is triumphing. Jake’s old friends are becoming professionals, doctors and lawyers, they’re playing it safe. Moe doesn’t even talk to the guys he grew up with, who are now cops. Jeff knows some successes, but it’s not everybody. That’s right, we paint millennials with a broad brush, but the truth is they’re individuals. And they’re excited about the entertainment business and the opportunities. But they’re not bitching and they’re not confined by the system, they’re doing it THEIR WAY! AND THEY’RE YOUNG!

If you’re in your twenties you’ve got forty years ahead of you. They know all the players, Scooter, et al, and they’re less into personal glory than power and money, changing the world.

And they are…

There’s something wrong with him. We keep thinking Larry David is the odd one, but it’s Jerry.

Used to be Howard had no friends. Now he hangs with the rich and famous. And to be honest, you want to too. Not to brag, but to hear the stories. When Stern laments being unable to go to dinner at McCartney’s house you can hear the pain in his voice, the same pain you’d have if you had the opportunity. But you don’t. That’s what fame will deliver….opportunity. And that’s what psychoanalysis will deliver…friends.

But Jerry refuses to go to the shrink. Believes it’s a sham.

But he’s happy all the time, thinks everything is great, and it pisses his kids off.

Now it’s hard to explain 80s TV. Especially late night. When only Letterman was doing a comedy show, whereas Johnny was truly interviewing people. But you’d watch for the comedians, knowing that if they were good, Johnny would motion for them to take a seat, where they normalized. And this was before the goal was to have a sitcom, everybody was just doing their act.

And that’s where I noticed Jerry Seinfeld. It was his routines and his delivery.

And it turns out those took a lot of work.

No one’s willing to do the work. Sure, you’ve got to have talent, but you’ve got to WANT IT! And few do that badly, because of the sacrifices.

Jerry had no friends and stayed home watching television. Believing there was a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, if only he could get there. This is contrary to the ethos of the modern day parent, the one with means, it’s all about enrichment and applying yourself so you can get into a good school and then go to a good graduate school. And I hate to say it, but it’s true…they end up beating the creativity right out of you. That’s one of the reasons so many of the greats are dropouts, not so much that they couldn’t wait to go down the path of their career, but they knew school was holding them back. I went to an institution of grinders. I’d like to tell you my cohorts at Middlebury are household names, but that is not true, except for Eve Ensler, who wrote “The Vagina Monologues,” they’re all just stand-up members of society, and we need those, but life would not be worth living it were not for the comedic standups, and the rest of the entertainers.

That’s what Jerry tells Howard. Instead of castigating himself over and over for his flaws, he should remember he’s a ray of light in his audience’s otherwise empty day, people live for entertainment, forget the haters, it’s about their deficiencies. (Well, that was mine, Jerry seems oblivious to the haters. And that’s how he’s gone through his whole life, oblivious, according to him, but he is sensitive to the audience…)

So Jerry had a joke that didn’t work. But then he twisted it around it got howls.

The essence is you’re nobody, meaningless, irrelevant, why would someone be calling YOU? And that’s the truth, none of what we do matters. You think it does, but it doesn’t. And when we’re reminded of this, we laugh.

And Jerry talks about the craft of a joke. How mixing up the words, getting it right, makes all the difference. And you can write a joke, but can you DELIVER IT? On stage? While waiting to see if it works? Jerry abhors comics who don’t leave that silence, who go right into the next joke, you’ve got to find out if what you said is…FUNNY!

And Jerry never expresses remorse and is unafraid of making pronouncements. He seems unable to feel guilt, and is always thinking about punch lines. The goal is to be sharp, witty, he doesn’t want to lay back and watch, he wants to PARTICIPATE!

And now he goes over to Howard’s for lunch, and vice versa. And they talk for hours. And while you’re listening, you realize that’s what you want too. Listening to their conversation was the highlight of my day. Sure, they’re both famous, but the way they played off of each other, explored, that’s what friendship is all about. You don’t want to talk about work, but feelings. You want to marvel at the absurdity of life. And every day Jerry calls his friend Barry and they do this for an hour or two. I used to have a buddy like this, but then his new wife and I didn’t get along and that trashed that.

So you end up envious of Jerry, even though you don’t want to be him and certainly are not him. Nothing fazes him. He lives in a tank of observation. And life is worth observing, because it’s so bizarre. You want to tell someone about the quirks and experiences of your day. Which Jerry does to Barry, with all the profanity absent from his act, with the opinions that would ruin his career and marriage if known. But you remember privacy, don’t you? And trust? Barry’s not gonna reveal what they say, it’s between them, and only them.

And when Jerry says it’s a miracle that people get along at all, at first you doubt that. Then he asks if you’ve ever driven cross-country with someone for ten days, and says at the end of the trip YOU HATE EACH OTHER! Why is it we overload on people? Why is it we can never find someone like us we like 24/7? Why are we ultimately so alone? What is wrong with our lives that we’re looking for insight from entertainers?

I don’t know.

But I do know if you’re servicing the public, don’t think about what they want, but what you want. Sure, judge their reactions, but when you play to the norm people know, they don’t have that heightened response, wherein their heart pitter-patters.

Larry David was the genius of “Seinfeld.”

But Jerry Seinfeld is the genius of standup.

You realize while you’re listening to this conversation. Larry thinks about situations, arcs, whereas Jerry thinks about insights. Which is why they were such a good team.

But the joke is they’re as good separately as they were together.

But Larry can relax and have friends, be somewhat normal. Whereas Jerry is always one step away, pretending to be normal, because he’s not.

And that’s why we can’t stop paying attention.

JERRY SEINFELD SPILLS WHO’LL BE RIDING AROUND WITH HIM ON ‘COMEDIANS IN CARS GETTING COFFEE’ SEASON 10