They want Bob Dylan to talk.

But he listens.

That’s what was so astounding about his 2015 MusiCares speech. He’s been listening all along. To the naysayers, the phonies, those heaping false accolades. He’s been on his own journey, beholden to no one, and that’s why he’s both pushed the envelope and become revered.

But that’s not enough, because he doesn’t talk.

Prizes are for chumps. When you’re young, you want to win, you’re envious and jealous of those in the spotlight. Age and you realize it’s all a game, winners are rarely the best. As for longevity… Try naming the Grammy Albums of the Year, good luck.

Not that there’s anything wrong with winning, but it’s about the work, it’s about your life. The triumphs are all personal. You realize this if you stay in the game long enough, you’ve got to realign yourself, otherwise you’re a slave to the audience.

Bob Dylan is not a slave to his audience.

Anybody who goes to a show knows this. He reworks the material, plays piano when you expect a guitar. He’s on his own journey and you can decide to get on the bus or to stay off.

I’m off.

But I respect what he’s doing. Trying to keep himself happy, test his own limits. He’s lucky to have an audience, but he’s not worried what it thinks.

That’s an artist. In an era where there’s far too little artistry.

An artist takes in, synthesizes, filters, then throws it back to us in a way that our own lives become illuminated. That’s what broke Bob Dylan through to begin with. A Dylan who probably wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for some simple twists of fate. Most notably, employing manager Albert Grossman, who got his songs covered by his charges Peter, Paul & Mary. Dylan wasn’t ready for prime time, with his reedy voice singing folk songs.

And then he was.

I don’t think “Like A Rolling Stone” is the best rock song ever recorded, more false accolades, but in an era of tumult it triumphed. The song wasn’t that odd on the radio in 1965. Although many believed his voice was substandard.

But that voice became iconic.

Hit singles followed, “Positively 4th Street” twisting our perceptions, weren’t you supposed to be nice in songs?

And then he disappeared and returned as a country crooner and ultimately wowed us with “Blood On The Tracks,” when we all but counted him out.

Then came Christianity and so many twists and turns… The man was living his life in public, but that wasn’t enough, it still isn’t enough, people want him to EXPLAIN IT!

But Bob never did. And famously said he did not know better. That he was no seer, that you had to look to yourself for answers. I know this now, I didn’t as a teenager. We’re all here temporarily, none of us will be remembered, if you’re living your life for show the joke is on you, and each of us has his own special gift.

That’s what Dylan sang in “Dear Landlord.”

I could curse the faux followers. The johnny-come-latelies who quote second-rate lyrics. But the best of us have followers amongst all walks of life. That’s when you know you’ve made it, when the looky-loos, the people you abhor, are on the train too.

That’s rock and roll. I was there first. Your music sucks.

But Dylan never got into the wars. Well, he castigated reporters and then receded. Why would he talk to these same nincompoops now?

And then there are the novelists pissed he got the Nobel, that they don’t get Grammys. That’s right, and you don’t get a fraction of the attention Bob Dylan does. Because you didn’t write a classic, you’re just jealous. There’s no more jealous person than a rejected artist, one whose sun has been usurped by another. It’s not a competition, be your best self, and if you’re looking for accolades…

Now we’re back at the beginning.

Nine hundred grand. A week’s touring for Dylan, he doesn’t need it for the money.

And if you can name three Nobel winners, you’re lying.

It’s just that…one of us was recognized. We had a boomer President who played saxophone on television but we still feel inadequate, we still crave plaudits, we want people to know we lived through the best era, we changed the world.

We did. Because we had artists like Bob who marched to the beat of their own drummer. He was hungry, you can’t make it without desire, but your goal is to keep the public at bay, while entrancing it.

The rabble-rousers want him to be appreciative. Want him to drop words of wisdom. They want him to be just like them.

But he’s not. He’s Bob Dylan. He’ll probably fly to Sweden to accept the award, he’ll say one word or a plethora of them. Because he also understands it’s show business, you make the most of your moment, and you do this by not giving what people want.

They want him to talk.

Which is exactly why he’s staying silent. The absence of words is deafening. It’s a bigger statement than any sentence.

As Bob put it so eloquently in “I And I”…

I got nothin’ to say, ‘specially about whatever was

You see he made shoes for everyone, even you, and you’re angry he’s still going barefoot.

Then again, no man sees his face and lives.

When did concerts become tribal rites?

It was not like this back in the sixties and seventies, when classic rock ruled. There was a gulf between performer and audience, it was a show, now it’s an EXPERIENCE!

Ignore the virtual reality hype, there’s nothing like being there, observing the assembled multitude, watching the women sway and sing at the top of their lungs, mesmerized by the act giving all it’s got.

I was with Larry in the Chairman’s Room, he was waiting for earplugs, I was getting antsy, I was afraid of missing something, the set list said he was going on at 9:10, I checked my phone and bolted, told Larry to meet me at the back of the hall and…

The lights were flashing, Keith was coming down the riser picking a banjo, the bass was thumping, the synthesizer was oozing all over the bottom and the building began to levitate. The cries were loud for Brett Eldredge but this was a frenzied peak, this was what they’d been waiting for, and Keith Urban was delivering.

This was not a nitwit television contestant. It became rapidly evident that this dude could PLAY! Just like we watched “Ed Sullivan” and picked up axes a younger generation is being infected by the show and doing the same thing, Nashville’s ridden with structural problems but the ability to play is not one of them, NashVegas is a hotbed of musicianship, and to be in the presence of this man-made sound is elating!

Larry arrived and we walked up to our assigned seats, on the side of the stage, the lower loge, where we felt like we could reach out and touch Keith. It was the same show, but the experience was now tactile, my insides started to buzz, this is the feeling I live for, this is what is selling all those tickets, people are overpaying on StubHub because they want access, they want to be CLOSE!

The roar of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd. In a world where we’re beholden to our machines, where our best friends are rarely seen in person, to be inside the venue for a live music show is positively thrilling, more human than human.

And over the years Keith has gotten deeper into tattoos. They now creep up his neck. You can’t work in the boardroom with these. But that was never Keith Urban’s path, he dropped out of high school, he was going to do it his way, and he endured umpteen frustrations, he got a deal with his band the Ranch but it failed, and then he succeeded.

I know, I know, there are tons of faded rockers covered in ink working in the shipping department, but those who make it are still an inspiration. They’re confounding convention, ignoring boundaries, doing it their way in a world where we all feel like automatons.

And then he extracted a woman from the audience. Her sign said she’d get an A if she sang with him. She did. On “Gimmie Shelter,” a song the band hadn’t played in years. But they decided to wing it. And it was rough and the mix was off and that’s when I realized this was not a lie, it was like being in the basement for a rehearsal, and we all want to glimpse behind the scenes. The pre-programmed dancing show is a relic of the MTV nineties, now you want your gig to live and breathe, be imperfect, accessible.

And it was surprises like this that kept the audience on its toes. The audience participation on “Jack & Diane,” the segue into the Bob Marley classic “No Woman, No Cry.”

That’s the difference. We didn’t use to sing, not in unison, but it’s a staple of the modern show. We don’t pay fealty to the act, we’re in it together, it’s a religious revival, all of us praying to the SOUND!

And there were further surprises, the emergence of Nile Rodgers to play “Sun Don’t Let Me Down.” Funny how we’ve got a Presidential candidate trying to win on divisiveness, denigrating immigrants, demonizing people of color, but he missed the MTV revolution. Blacks and gays, they’re included now. When you see Nile on stage you don’t see an African-American, just a really talented icon, who’s jumping around on stage picking the strings of his Stratocaster one step removed from Chic. All the sounds have melded together.

And the one thing missing was danger. There was an absence of meaning. When Merry Clayton sang “Rape! Murder!” it was scary, mommy and daddy were nowhere in sight, we were on our own, it not only could get weird, it did. Whereas last night’s show was completely safe. And there was no standing up to the man, no explication of the human condition in today’s topsy-turvy, income inequality world.

Then again, there are no leaders. The TV contestants pay fealty to Mariah Carey and the classics who are still alive play the old songs to old farts overpaying in the desert. Used to be music pushed the envelope, but not right now.

But where we’re at is not completely nowhere. The show is where people want to be. There’s an energy, a communication you cannot get anywhere else. We’re primed and ready for someone to break it wide open.

Then again, records are secondary to shows. The gigs are less about the songs than the experience of being there, with like-minded people, exulting at the top of your lungs as the ringleader eggs you on.

Not that there were not musical peaks. The number one being the acoustic encore of “Stupid Boy.” Wait long enough and they play the songs you want to hear. This was special. Different from the recording. It’s what we’re looking for, moments.

And the confetti cannons shot their load and the lights came up and people started to leave but Keith could not. He stayed on stage, continuing to wave and shake hands, it had been five years since he’d been in the building, he was so grateful.

This too is a difference. Back then it was take it or leave it. Legends could play shows with their backs to the audience. They might feed off the energy but usually they evidenced no need for those in attendance. They were gods descending to blow our minds, but now we too are on the pulpit, we too are testifying, and it feels so GOOD!

We’re on our feet. He’s playing the hits. We’re thrusting our arms in the air, our eyes closed as we go into a trance, thinking about all the times we played these songs at home, how they got us through, and now the guy who made ’em, he’s right there on stage, and he cares that we care, he’s giving it his all, it’s anything but wasted time.

We want to go deep.

I just spend 95 minutes listening to Howard Stern interview Sarah Jessica Parker and I didn’t hear the whole thing. How did he keep my interest in a short attention span economy?

That’s a lie. We’ve just got incredible shit detectors. We want nothing but great, we’ve got endless time for great, we’re pushing the button for great and when we find it…WE STAY THERE!

How else to explain the binge-watching phenomenon. People want more, you’ve just got to serve them the right thing.

Howard Stern used to be crippled by terrestrial radio, beholden to time breaks and advertisers, a format so moribund there’s no wonder there are no breakthroughs. He went to Sirius for the freedom, little did we know he would become the new Barbara Walters, at even greater length. You change the format and you’ve got no idea what will result. The 33 1/3 LP gave us the concept album, but that’s an expired paradigm, who can utilize the new distribution media to their advantage? So far, only Drake amongst the superstars. He knows it’s about a steady spew of product, that the relationship is key, that it’s not about spending time reaching the last customer on earth but satiating the core, who will become indoctrinated and spread the word.

I watched “Square Pegs.” Loved the breakthrough in “Honeymoon In Vegas.” Really enjoyed “Sex and the City.” I’m not infatuated with Sarah Jessica, yet I want to know who everybody is, their victories, their struggles, we’re all in this together and we’re looking for clues that we’re all right, that we’re all screwed up and have more questions than answers. She talked about being intimated by true movie stars, that she’s anxious for two weeks on a new flick. That made me feel better about my own spilkes. Everybody’s projecting an image of being calm and collected, but that’s a fraud. We’re all uptight.

So as the usual suspects have become about the hit and run, selling us in ever more bite-sized portions, the winners in the new economy are those who stretch it out. This is why TV has eclipsed movies. We want to go deeper. Ad rates for link-bait keep going down, but if you want to advertise on the Bill Simmons podcast, if you want to tie up with the winners, you’re going to pay a multiple, because their audience tunes in, their listeners care.

Sure, you have to build trust. Sure, you can’t wander and expect people to follow you willy-nilly. But if you’re a pro and have built an audience it will follow you anywhere. And it is about the work and not the penumbra. We’ve been sold social media nonsense. That everybody’s a brand and if you’re not advertising, spreading the word, you’ll never make it. No, it’s about doing the work and letting your fans spread the word.

We live in an alienating society, with too many marketing messages. We’re overwhelmed. We want to be soothed. And nothing soothes us more than long form content. As society goes ever faster, we want to slow down, we want to dig in deep. Wander into the wilderness and we may follow you, as opposed to trying to give us what we want, you usually have no idea what we want. I had no interest in the secondary players in Howard’s canon, then I listened and got to know them and now I worry about Richard Christy’s drinking, Sal’s marriage, focus groups will never tell you this, they’re snapshots, whereas truth evolves over the long term, we’re malleable characters, who knows what will grip us.

Mastery is everything. We want to practice, we want to get good, we want to know. You can’t do much with a few bits and bites. But when you build an edifice, you can live in it.

This is the essence of Howard Stern’s breakthrough, the long form interview. And every time I decry that he’s just part of the endless promotional gravy train he’ll elicit nuggets from those I thought I didn’t care about. Like Kate Hudson’s biological dad not knowing her children, having no real contact with her at all. You don’t have to be famous to understand this, only human.

Somehow Howard has figured out the future. And he morphed to do it. Today’s show barely resembles the shows of yore. The Sybian’s been banished. And this is less about cleaning up than evolving. You experiment, you build on your skills, you find out what works, you get comfortable. And when you’ve put in the hours you’ll find people care.

That’s the true long tail. Not the money involved, but that there are so many rabbit holes with avid fans. The internet has allowed us to go deep. Some are getting rich, others are just getting the naches. Nothing makes you feel better than helping people. And when you display your wisdom online…

Your life is complete.

Don’t expect anybody to care at first. But when you get the hang of it, when you get good, after not giving up, most people give up, after pivoting to what works, you’ll find you’ve built an audience that will follow you anywhere.

Because they want to know you.

Phoniness is dead.

Depth is everything.

Display your hopes, dreams and warts. Your story is important if you want to make it in today’s media world. We not only want you to report the news, we want to know who you are. The world is shrinking. You can’t hold it at arm’s length. Sure, you move towards the center and you get burned by the heat, i.e. the hate, but every reward comes with a downside.

They’re jealous of your success. Which you toiled for years for.

Ignore the naysayers. Soldier on. Give me something I can sink my teeth into.

I’m hungry.

He needs a hit.

This is what happens when you put commerce in front of career, when you’re too inured to the old ways, when you try to have one foot in the old world and one foot in the new.

You fail.

Oldsters love Garth. He tours at low ticket prices to satisfied fans. It’s just that he’s left the public discourse. And Garth cares. He’s not Bob Dylan speaking not a word to the press, nor Def Leppard and Foreigner happily making their way through sheds every summer… Garth is a self-satisfied star who speaks of himself in the third person who believes he’s entitled to be front and center at all times.

But that only happens if you progress, if you move on, if you make a hit record and have it available EVERYWHERE!

The enemy is obscurity. You can put out an album and it can be over in a weekend. And that which happens in the morning doesn’t make the evening news, assuming someone’s tuned in at all. It’s what have you done for me lately, and we only care about that which rises above and access is everything, he who restricts availability ultimately loses.

Wouldn’t Garth want everybody checking out his new stuff when the buzz is hot?

Obviously not.

And whatever promo/hype Amazon is promising, the sales site is not where music lives, not now, maybe ever. How can a guy so caught up in the past be so invested in the future? If Amazon triumphs in music, it will be a long time coming.

Country fans love CDs and downloads. Streaming hasn’t been embraced in quantity yet. It will be. So, if you’re Jason Aldean and keeping your music off Spotify you might win today, but not tomorrow. We’ve got a whole business that looks at today and thinks it matters. If you believe Adele will be focusing on sales with her next release, “29,” you’re delusional. The marketplace moves. You need to move with it.

Amazon could never compete in downloads. That market is owned by iTunes. Selling on Amazon instead of Apple is like keeping your material out of Wal-Mart, a place where Garth had a previous triumph. As for keeping albums intact… Garth, you made a deal with Sirius, when you’re driving do you stay on one station and one station only? Not unless it’s Howard Stern, no way.

So Garth just boxed himself out. By trying to do it his way instead of the fan’s way. There’s not a fan in creation who thinks Garth’s Amazon move is friendly. Did Garth miss Napster? The public rules now. People want it all and they want it at their fingertips everywhere they go. And Garth ignores this.

Keep acting like this Mr. Brooks and next time the media won’t even care about your new release. There will be no press at all. Like with all those old acts who can’t get arrested. Timothy B. Schmit put out a new album and the only reason I know is I saw it on Spotify, otherwise I’d have no idea it came out, and he was in the EAGLES!

Imagine stumbling upon a good Garth track in your playlist. That’s how music is spread these days. But it won’t happen, the sound won’t go viral, because Garth’s music is unavailable. It’s like going to war with no rifle, how do you expect to win?

Radio!

But in a nation that’s rejecting the NFL on television how powerful is music radio anyway? At best it’s a starting point, someplace the conversation gets ignited. But today tracks drop on Spotify and Apple Music and blow up from there, deejays are the last to know.

As for Amazon doing this exclusive…

Reminds me of “Hit Men,” Dick Asher gets rid of indie promo and everybody else swoops in and pays. Want to gain a toehold, provide a better service, exclusives just piss people off and keep the masses from subscribing. But exclusives pay, and the artists can’t keep their hands out of the cookie jar.

But the payments hurt your career, you have a very brief window to gain traction, don’t mess it up. And the real money is in the live experience, and you want a giant lasso that ties up all, you want to close the looky-loos, but Garth Brooks just kept them out of the tent.

I’m sick of the aw-shucks act. I’m sick of everybody giving Garth a pass. He’s a self-centered mercenary prick who just can’t do the right thing. Who wants to do it his way as opposed to our way. Whose hits are in the rearview mirror.

Give me Luke Bryan any day. Who puts out themed EPs in between albums. Give me Kenny Chesney, who sells out stadiums. Give me Sturgill Simpson, who speaks the truth.

Don’t give me old dad who wants to go back to the last century and is only dragged into the recent past reluctantly.

Hey Garth, do you still use a flip-phone?

Ever been in a Tesla?

Then why are you releasing music like it’s 2003 in a bizarro universe where Amazon dominates?

Damned if I know.