Kim Kardashian is the biggest star of the twenty first century.

Because she told us so. Because she and her family realized the way you win today is by being the story, day after day, month after month, year after year.

The hip-hoppers know this, it’s why Drake releases a steady stream of product. He’s satiating his customers. He’s the biggest star in their universe.

And Taylor Swift won not because she’s that damn good, certainly not since she went pop, but because she owned the news cycle, inviting reporters to her house, baking cookies for fans, the music was an afterthought, the campaign was king.

Kind of like Donald Trump. The reason he’s winning in the polls is because he’s dominated the news cycle, it’s all Trump, all the time. And like the Kardashians, the Donald knows that controversy sells, and that the audience knows you’re playing a game and gives you a break. Nobody thinks Kim Kardashian has any talent and few believe that Trump is really gonna build a wall and do the rest of the outrageous things he says. He’s just vying for attention.

And it works.

You might be living in the last decade, wherein quality could go viral. But now you’re the sucker. The audience has been buried in a tsunami of hype, of forwarded articles, there’s so much information that they ignore most of it, no matter how good the underlying content might be, they just gravitate to what’s been anointed by the media.

But the tail might still wag the dog.

That’s the story of the year, how Bernie Sanders got no love from the media but was revealed to own the youth vote and be a significant challenger to Hillary despite being labeled an irrelevant socialist. As for that moniker, does it mean anything anyway, since the Republicans have labeled Obama a socialist his entire term?

And then we have the surprise victory of Chris Stapleton at the CMAs. Turns out the voters were sick and tired of the formula, no calorie snacks known as today’s country music. They reacted.

So when there’s a vote…

Don’t trust the polls. People just say they like who’s being promoted, they figure no one else counts. Not that many people love Trump. But they do hate the establishment.

Do they hate the music too?

Maybe.

The self-promoting made by committee Top Forty stuff gets love from those still addicted to the old formula, the radio game. But is that really where America’s heart is today?

So there you have it. If you don’t control the discussion, if you’re not a media maven, you’re irrelevant. You’re playing the old game, releasing an album every other year not knowing it’s over in a weekend and people are wondering what you’ve done for them lately. You can’t bubble up from the bottom. And the other radio formats are nearly irrelevant, because except for the diehards, everybody’s abandoned them, there’s no there there. Come on, if you haven’t been amazed who’s number one at Active Rock or some other meaningless format you’re making your living chasing the meager returns in those genres from the brain dead people who believe that music still counts.

In the twenty first century you’ve got to tell a story every damn day. And if you’re sitting there saying you’re an artist and you want to do it like they did in the seventies…chances are you weren’t alive back then, when people of your ilk could not even get a record deal.

So start by creating and talking and pushing the envelope constantly. The press may not have cared, but Bernie was out stumping incessantly.

And Bernie’s the anti-Kim. She’s style, he’s substance. She’s plastic surgery, he’s Geritol. And it turns out in this topsy-turvy world we live in we’re looking for authenticity. That’s why Trump succeeds, he says what no one else will but we all know as the truth. We’re hungry for the truth.

Hillary’s a great politician, but she’s so busy polling she’s got no idea what the truth is anymore. Truth is intrinsic, you don’t need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows. You just combine your education with what comes across the plate and make a judgment.

I’m excited about the future. Turns out the American public has no time for b.s. And those who thought they were in control are not. You could wipe D.C. off the map and most people wouldn’t care. The elected officials are sold out whores who will do whatever it takes to keep their jobs. Meanwhile, those they supposedly represent can’t get a job, certainly not one that pays the bills.

And we’re so long in the tooth with meaningless music made by the usual suspects that a revolution is gonna come and wipe it all out. Don’t doubt me, just ask all the acts that disappeared from the chart after the Beatles came out.

But there will be very few winners. That’s what tech teaches us, we gravitate to the best, to where everybody else is. And we don’t need no me-too. Come on, is there a reason for Bing to exist? So there will be very few successful artists. And I say hallelujah, I’m sick of the cluttering of the airwaves and inboxes by the marginally talented who can play because the new tools have democratized creation.

But those few who win won’t sit on the mountaintop with their arms crossed. No, they’ll be part of the discussion, we’ll hear about them every damn day. Just like it was Adele all day long from mid-November until New Year’s.

But what has she done for us lately? Does anybody know anything but “Hello”? The soccer moms drove her album up the charts but she’s not even on streaming services. She’s thinking she won, but she’s losing. She should be on TV constantly. She should be doing covers on YouTube. She should get down in the pit and be one of us. Putting out an album we all buy and promptly forget? That’s so old school as to be laughable.

But the media propped the story up.

The media is where we now live. We don’t want the words of the unanointed, we want to know you’re somebody, with a track record, with veritas.

Trump won the media war.

Will he win the election? Even the nomination?

Only the people will tell you.

But one thing’s for sure, those who thought they were in control, who were telling us they knew, who were pulling the strings…

Are not.

We want story.

We want truth.

And we want to know that everybody else is paying attention and you’re important.

That’s how you win today.

And those who will win tomorrow won’t play the old game, and they’ll be a whole hell of a lot more trustworthy than the bozos we’ve been paying attention to for years.

That’s right, Kim Kardashian opened the floodgates.

But she’s gonna be washed away.

But who replaces her?

That’s gonna be fascinating.

I went to hear “Look At Miss Ohio.”

But I heard so much more.

When I was in elementary school we sang. We’d open up books of songs that I still remember to this day and then sing in unison, loudly. That self-conscious want to fit in ethos of the millennial? We didn’t have it. We were going to the moon, we were pushing the envelope, our futures were so bright we had to wear shades, even though no one did, we all squinted in the summer.

And when the Beatles hit we all got guitars and songbooks and learned how to play their songs which we sang. Would happen spontaneously a cappella. You’d be with a bunch of friends, hanging out, and one would drop a line and you’d all join in.

Just like you did at summer camp, when folk songs which were embedded in the national consciousness were vocalized around the campfire. Don’t ask me how I knew “Blowin’ In The Wind,” I just did. Even though Bob Dylan was not yet a household name and my family owned no Peter, Paul & Mary albums.

But we did have a piano. Music was important. We studied it at school, it wasn’t about money so much as being intertwined with the culture, part of the fabric of our society.

And I was brought back to those days when I saw the Dave Rawlings Machine last Saturday night.

There was no drummer. No backdrop. Some lights.

And a full house. Of people my age. How did they know?

You see boomers follow the scene, they’re less interested in trends than satiation, and they’ve decided Dave and Gillian are satisfying.

And they were.

Their act was filled out with a couple of fiddle players, and a standup bass. It reminded me of our old pharmacist, Marc Zimmerman, proprietor of Marc’s Drugs in Bridgeport, who’d schlep his double bass to a party, our parents were always having parties. No photos were posted on Instagram, but memories were made.

And memories were made Saturday night.

I loved hearing Dave append Neil Young’s “Cortez The Killer” to “Method Acting.” And he sang that number he cowrote with Ryan Adams, the opener to “Heartbreaker,” “To Be Young (Is To Be Sad, Is To Be High).” Dave’s an in demand producer, those who are looking for authenticity employ him.

And Gillian started off on Almo and then went indie, she got to do it her way, but the truth is her audience supported her, it’s all about fans.

And the best song was the second, “Bodysnatchers,” which sounded like a summer night on the porch long after dark with little light. There was amplification, but the instruments were acoustic. It was the same as it ever was.

And when we all helped Willie Watson now solo after Old Crow Medicine Show sing “Stewball”…

I was brought back to what once was, I remembered how much fun, how satisfying it is to SING!

“Bodysnatchers“

If tech is the new music, David Gilboa and Neil Blumenthal are rock stars. They’re founders of Warby Parker.

You know Warby Parker, the eyeglass company that undercuts Luxottica and sold their frames through a bus and is now opening shops across America. A ragtag band with an idea that they brought to fruition.

Only David and Neil are not ragtag, they’re graduates of Wharton.

They had the idea but they were insecure as to its success. They didn’t drop out of school, they did a ton of research, and the results exceeded their expectations.

A far cry from the braggadocio of music, wherein everybody’s a star with no experience.

Neil worked at a nonprofit. Warby Parker gives away a ton of frames. But unlike musicians who asked to be looked at, they’re not leading with that message.

It’s all about the idea. Just like it’s all about the song. Great execution is irrelevant if it’s a lousy concept. And once you go down the path you’ve got no idea where you’ll end up. Does Warby Parker need a retail store in every metropolis? Should it raise the prices of its glasses? THEY DON’T KNOW! You put one foot in front of the other and when you enter the maelstrom you adjust.

Like Troy Carter.

It’s his company, the Atom Factory. And if you enter the premises on Washington Boulevard you’ll think the music business recession never happened. It’s not down and dirty, not even funky, it’s modern and designed and it’s the best office I’ve ever been to.

Troy was the manager of Lady Gaga.

That ended.

He’s got new music clients, like Meghan Trainor, he even took his family on the bus with her last summer, but Troy is also one of music’s leading tech investors, he got in early, before the mania, before record labels had incubators and talent agencies had funds. He knows the players.

And he’s fascinating to talk to.

We started off discussing the Oscars. Should Chris Rock punt?

Troy said no. He has a job to do. Whatever he decides is cool with Carter, but Troy referenced Doc Rivers during the Sterling saga. You play the game.

And then we shifted to politics and the chances of Bernie Sanders, Troy told me he went to a Clinton fundraiser just after Ferguson and Hillary didn’t mention it. Troy hasn’t decided who he’s backing, but the younger generation, whose future has been stolen, aligns with Bernie.

And the younger generation was in attendance.

The Academy may be male and white, but not the people at this dinner. Not only were women well-represented, but there was more than a smattering of color. It was so different from the dinners the fat cats in the music business attend. When you speak with the same people you get the same message. Whereas these other voices edified me, opened my eyes, and that’s incredibly stimulating. Like Moj Mahdara of Beautycon, there are a ton of women in the world, you’d do best to understand their wants and desires, especially if you want to make money.

And everybody at the table wanted to make money.

But not at the expense of social good.

Troy called Michelle Papillion his pusher. She’s a gallery owner/art dealer, and she specializes in emerging artists and she keeps her business in Leimert Park and is as networked as they come. She wants art to change culture. Strange when everybody just wants art to make them rich.

Bobby Kim is more focused on personal satisfaction and consumer connection at his clothing company the Hundreds.

Not that there weren’t music people there, and we got into a deep discussion as to where it was all going, which made me anxious, since Apple Music people were there and I was asked my opinion…

But the reason for the get-together was that the Warby Parker people were in L.A.

They never wanted to be the cheapest company. Style is key. You establish a relationship with the customer and nurture it, which is the opposite of the old school I’ve got your money and now I’m gone paradigm.

And they learned a lot at business school. And I knew not of what they spoke. Art is different, it’s edgier, based more on instinct. It’s just that…

Warby Parker is cooler than the acts that are associated with it.

They did a deal with Beck. I never heard about it. That’s right, America’s most credible glasses company has greater mindshare than this Grammy-winning act. Because today we believe in corporations as opposed to bands, and that’s sad.

The musicians could change this. By following their muse and standing up for what’s right, not paying fealty to the man. But, unfortunately, the man is much more educated and aware of what’s going on, it’s like our whole world has gone topsy-turvy. I didn’t think I cared about eyeglasses, but when you stick it to the man, in this case Luxottica, you’ve got my attention.

Did you see that “60 Minutes” piece? The Italian eyeglass company bought every brand and then jacked up the price, you’re paying, whether you’re nearsighted, farsighted or just like sunglasses. They own everything from Lenscrafters to Sunglass Hut, from Armani to Oakley.

So I’m on Warby Parker’s side.

I used to be on the musicians’ side.

I’ll come back. When they’ve got my values, when they build upon experience, when they create something so new and good that I find it without advertising.

So most of what happens in L.A. never makes the news. The Kardashians may own the tabloids, but don’t think there aren’t young thinkers out there, changing things up.

I felt privileged to attend.

I was the oldest guy there.

There’s so much to learn.

We live in exciting times.

“60 Minutes” – “Do you know who makes your glasses?”

He lived the American Dream.

You know, wherein your wits, smarts and pluck, never mind the gleam in your eye, take you from nothing to everything, in this case not only accumulating riches, but influencing the culture.

And there were those who hated him for it.

They lionize Steve Jobs. And Mark Zuckerberg. The techies that changed the world.

But they hate Glenn Frey and his flock of Eagles for being so damn successful, for worming their way into women’s hearts. And let me be clear, it’s always guys complaining about the Eagles, girls loved them. Because females are not into pecking order, not married to the past, they can embrace that which truly satisfies, casting preconceptions aside.

And the preconception was that you had to be English, with bad teeth and little education, or American and challenging cultural commandments, or else you didn’t matter. Gram Parsons might be the father of country rock, but he could never compose a song that penetrated the public consciousness to the point that radio stations could not stop playing it and none of us could ever forget it.

Like “Take It Easy.”

That acoustic guitar came out of the speaker in the dashboard and in the summer of ’72 all of America felt good. It was a different country back then, divided for sure, but we still believed we were winners, that if we put our minds to it we would come out on top. We were never gonna be here again, so we opened up and took across this great country of ours, lived life to the fullest, with the radio blasting all the while.

And despite the hit single, it was the era of album rock. So upon hearing the mellifluous tune you went out and purchased the Asylum LP and…you played it over and over again. Thirty seven minutes long, the debut had no clunkers, it begged to be heard. Take that modern music.

But the follow-up was a commercial dud. “Desperado” got no traction, not the LP nor the title track. The press had primed us for it, back when “Rolling Stone” was the bible of a generation, but without a hit single “Desperado” faded in an era where music dominated and we couldn’t afford to buy all we wanted.

And then “Best Of My Love” went to number one. Credit a deejay, who rejected the two authorized singles in favor of it. Suddenly, the Eagles owned the airwaves.

Of course Glenn would tell us they were called “Eagles,” and was unhappy that everyone appended the “the,” but he and the rest of the band were thrilled with the attention and the dough. They were rock stars. Raising funds for political candidates and partaking of the goodies that accompany the success. It’s one thing to be rich and famous, it’s another thing for it to be based on your creativity, your art. These are the people we exalt. The Eagles were at the pinnacle, especially with the following year’s “One Of These Nights,” they were a stadium act, the biggest band in the land.

And the hatred ensued.

But unlike today’s wimpy musicians, the Eagles barked back, owned their talent and success. Funny how we give Kanye a pass, despite not having made memorable music for years, but we excoriate the SoCal band that was bigger than the rest.

But no one was prepared for “Hotel California.” When you dropped the needle on the record you heard a sound foreign to the catalog. The guitars screamed and if they were big before, the Eagles were now America’s band.

It was “Life In The Fast Lane.” A term every baby boomer knows and said for decades, when they snorted coke, when they did what they should not do. The Eagles blasted open the highway and then we drove right down it.

And now Glenn Frey is gone.

I felt he would make it. It had been weeks, he’d made it through the dreaded holiday period, but then he passed.

And America was shocked.

The press didn’t know how to react. Because they had to be cool, they couldn’t attest to what data tells us, that the Eagles are the biggest American band in history.

Their “Greatest Hits” jockeys with “Thriller” for number one. And unlike so many albums of the past, it still sells. It’s not in the rearview mirror. The strange thing about the Eagles is they never went away. They inspired the country pickers and they still own the bars and the radio. That’s what you get what you’re that damn good.

And there’s no one better.

I know, I know, you’ll cite artists breaking convention, your favorite player, but the truth is writing catchy songs with meaning and singing them with exquisite harmonies is damn hard to do, it’s just that the Eagles made it look easy. Hell, half of Nashville walks in their footsteps, but no one’s done it nearly as well, and so many of those stars don’t even write their own material.

But the Eagles did. With help from J.D., Jackson and Jack Tempchin. But they weren’t guns for hire, but members of the club, a roaming group of musicians who owned the hearts and minds of America throughout the seventies, and didn’t let go thereafter.

So you’re either sad or you’re not.

But if you are…

67 is way too young. And although Don Henley had more solo success, it was Glenn’s band. He started it, he guided it. And every group needs a driving force.

So it’s the end of an era. And it’s a great loss. You’ll never be able to see the Eagles again. But if you did…

The sun would be setting behind the stage.

And at the appointed time, with no wait, they would take the stage and Glenn would say…

They were the Eagles from Southern California.

And the guitars would strum, the bass would pluck, the drums would pound and as the sound washed over you you’d become your best self.

America runs on California. That’s where the innovation begins, where you go to test limits, where there’s no ceiling on either creativity or success.

And people hate California the same way they hate the Eagles.

But what they really want to do is get on board.

And we all got on board with the Eagles. Even those who say they do not care. They only wish they were standing on that corner in Winslow, Arizona, with a girl checking them out.

In a flatbed Ford, made in Detroit. Where Glenn Frey emanated from.

But he remembered his roots.

And built upon them.

Want to be successful?

Need it. Study. Make friends. Seize opportunities.

And take no shit as you ascend into the stratosphere.

That’s what Glenn Frey did.

You cannot make a big enough deal about his death. Because what once was is now gone. Doesn’t mean we can’t create something new, but so far we haven’t  minted stars as big as those from the seventies, never mind create music as memorable.

Glenn Frey was here for the long run. He got stuck in the Hotel California and he wasn’t eager to get out. But we all meet our demise, his as a result of side effects from arthritis drugs, he just didn’t want the pain.

None of us want the pain. We’re self-medicating every day.

But years ago the music was enough. We just turned on the stereo and a smile crossed our face.

Glenn Frey took us there.

Now we don’t know where to go.