I wish I loved people as much as Jerry Weintraub.

Then Billy Crystal would do shtick about me, George Clooney would imitate me, Matt Damon would tell personal stories about me and Paul Anka would personalize the lyrics of “My Way” for me.

It’s a long way to the top if you wanna rock and roll. And that’s where Jerry began. Oh, he had traction before that, most famously with his wife Jane Morgan, but Elvis made him a legend. Led Zeppelin too. He promoted both and managed John Denver and ended up in the movie business and then died prematurely and what is left?

An incredible amount of good will.

People loved Jerry. He called Gerry Parsky every day at 6 AM and told him it was his friend on the line. Never mentioned his name. That’s when you know someone, when no introduction is necessary. And we’re all looking for someone we can count on in this world, who will be there for us, who will make things right…and I heard that story told over and over about Jerry tonight.

I’ll be honest, I almost didn’t go. How many people would I know? Irving and…

Well, Jerry Greenberg was there. And Joe Smith. And a lot of people you see on the screen who I recognized but wouldn’t dare speak to. That’s what happens when you’re in between fame and famine… You don’t speak with anyone you’re not introduced to.

And I was introduced to the guy who owns Il Piccolino. He was so sad, he’s having a hard time carrying on without the man with his own dish on the menu.

And Jeff Wald. Remember Helen Reddy’s husband? He was intense and didn’t want to know me but not only did his countenance befit the legend, I could tell why Helen had been successful…we all need an advocate.

A manager, an agent, we need someone to believe in us or we’re not gonna make it.

And there’s a very thin layer at the tippity-top, those who can get anybody on the phone and make everything happen, like Jerry Weintraub.

“What do you want?”

Household names were constantly asked that. He’d deliver your heart’s desire. And you believed him.

Kind of like Matt Damon. They were out playing golf, Jerry, Matt and Matt’s dad. And Matt’s father was ribbing his son about failing to graduate from college. Jerry asked Matt where he went. I thought this was a set-up for a put-down, the uneducated like to piss on the Ivys. Instead, Jerry said he could arrange a diploma, if that’s what Matt wanted. If not Harvard, how about Princeton?

Yes, Jerry had a sense of humor.

After all, he was Jewish. We Jews have been persecuted for 5,000 years. We deflect it, cope via jokes, throw our hands in the air and say WTF. You just laugh and carry on.

And keep talking.

That’s another Jewish trait. Jews can hold up their end of a conversation. You may not want to hear what they have to say, but boy do they have material.

So if you come from little and have the gift of gab you can make it all the way to the top.

Jerry was George Bush’s consigliere. The first. The one with credibility. Jane read a long missive from the ex-Pres. Who said much, but marveled that Jerry could deliver so many famous names, ones the Pres. had no pull with. Bush wanted that doctor from “E.R.” to fly to a devastated town and Jerry got Clooney on the plane. Jerry delivered first run movies, whatever the Pres. wanted, he just had to decide.

And then there was that great story about the Presidential party, at Blue Heaven, Jerry’s abode. Barbara Bush was seated at a table with Warren Beatty and a coterie of other famous Hollywood men. Jerry put his hands on Warren’s shoulders and insisted he not work his magic on Barbara, that he keep his sword sheathed. Cracked Billy Crystal up.

Who completely cracked us up.

Billy was never cool, never hip. Had two moments of transcendent greatness, with “When Harry Met Sally” and “City Slickers,” but thereafter was so busy playing nice that we couldn’t believe him.

But we believed Billy Crystal tonight. It was like the Oscars, but he was playing to a room that got the jokes. Instead of playing to tens of millions, Billy was doing his act for a few hundred, and he killed. The best story was about going to the Lakers game, sitting on the floor during Showtime (and if you don’t know what I’m talking about…you’ll never survive in Hollywood). Billy saw Kirk Douglas approaching and Jerry told him there would be trouble, because Billy had taken his seat. Kirk complained. Billy was star-struck and tongue-tied. Jerry told Kirk that Billy was hotter and deserved the seat. And that settled that.

Fleet on his feet. Quick with a comeback. Some people are born with it.

Like the ability to get along.

Unlike me.

My social anxiety kicks in, I don’t think I belong, I’m afraid of saying something dumb or something not at all. I get so uptight I don’t go or I leave.

But I’m a secondary player here. I’m not Barry Diller or Les Moonves or Terry Semel. I’m not even Super Dave Osborne. But I know Paul Anka. He closed the show. Am I really gonna leave without talking to him?

So I wander to the front, evade the household names, I don’t want to look like a looky-loo in search of his brush with greatness, and I introduce myself to Paul and he says…

I KNOW WHO YOU ARE!

And he insisted we take a picture and he started telling me about his latest venture, a hologram production, and I’m asking his connection to Jerry and he went all the way back to Irvin Feld.

The circus guy? From Ringling Brothers?

Yup, that’s the guy. He ruled the arena circuit before Jerry. Paul started out with Irvin, doing one nighters. And they stayed together.

Loyalty. It’s about all you’ve got in show business. Because you’ve got to count on someone to get the job done.

And it is show BUSINESS! Sure, talent is necessary, but it’s not the only thing that gets you to the top, it’s rarely even the most important thing! There’s perseverance, and the ability to get along with people, and your team. Spearheaded by the one person who can always get it done.

Like Jerry Weintraub.

The king of relationships.

The king of favors.

There’s no one he couldn’t get on the phone, nothing he wouldn’t do. And sure, he got paid, but he let the light shine upon others, and he gave back, the list of charities he supported was endless.

A man’s man.

A citizen of the world. Filled with insight, which allowed him to triumph.

It’s not what you know so much as how you put it all together.

Not that Jerry lacked information. It’s amazing how the giants work the e-mail and phone for bits of gossip.

But it’s not just gossip, it’s people. Their fantasies and flaws. Figure out people and you can rule the world.

Jerry figured out everybody he came in contact with. And either they were a friend or a foe. You’re either with me or against me. It’s a jungle out there, I’ll treat you right, but I expect to be treated right in return.

Jerry Weintraub treated so many people right, delivered so much, that a who’s who of the entertainment business showed up to pay fealty, to watch Steven Soderbergh’s movie, to listen to stories told by those who run the culture.

But the truth is Jerry ran the culture, he pulled the strings, the public barely knew him and soon he will be forgotten.

But not by those he propped up, put forward, presented, gave advice to.

Those people know that without Jerry there is no entertainment business.

Do what you do to the best of your ability. Try not to be someone you’re not. Put one foot in front of another, unafraid to play the game.

And then if you’re lucky someone like Jerry will notice.

Jerry noticed me.

And I still feel the halo upon me.

I didn’t buy the LP because of the cover. Any band that refuses to put its mugs on its debut…makes me suspicious. Meanwhile, that girl in the photo…she seemed to be from a different era, not 1978, when New Wave was ascendant.

And then I heard the record.

That’s right, I passed up a chance to buy a promo because of the cover and the band’s lame name. And then on a long drive up from La Costa, after visiting my girlfriend’s parents, KMET, or maybe it was KLOS, played the whole first side at 10 PM on a Sunday night and I heard “Good Times Roll.”

GOOD TIMES ROLL

Let them brush your rock and roll hair

Huh?

The magic in this track is encapsulated in its sound. The lyrics are just a dollop of irony laid on top, along with the Beach Boys harmonies…WHAT EXACTLY IS THIS?

Billed as the aforementioned “New Wave,” the Cars’ music was not. Rather it was rock with new sounds. They may have been wearing skinny ties, but this sounded nothing like the angry young men coming out of the U.K., never mind the leather-jacketed youth from NYC.

And there hadn’t been a new hit band from Boston in years.

But it was really all about those synths. Before they became overdone and burned out.

How could you employ one of the most famous song titles of all time and create something brand new?

That’s the magic of “Good Times Roll.” Never mind leaving out “Let The”…

And the irony was they didn’t sound like such good times. It’s as if the most alienated man in the world was sitting on a couch reflecting. This album with the obvious cover was suddenly the coolest thing around, it resonated.

MY BEST FRIEND’S GIRL

Like a Shadow Morton production transposed into the eighties. Street, yet the more it played on the more fully-developed and modern it became.

And when Ric Ocasek sang…

But she used to be mine

That was the hook.

Simple, yet so right.

JUST WHAT I NEEDED

Just what we need right now. A track that starts off in your face, grabs you by the neck and won’t let go. There’s no crime in writing a perfect hit. It might seem obvious, but it’s so hard to do. A 3:46 minute ditty, “Just What I Needed” is irresistible, and it attaches itself to you and won’t let go the more you play it. You could crank it on the radio and it would fill the space. It was new, but it was not thin, “Just What I Needed” hooked all those who weren’t paying attention. They were suddenly fans. This is how you make a star.

YOU’RE ALL I’VE GOT TONIGHT

It was heavy. This presaged the hair band ballads of a decade hence, but sans the calculation and the wimpiness.

Well, it isn’t exactly a ballad, it’s not really slow, but it’s not really fast either. Beavis & Butt-head might make fun of “You’re All I’ve Got Tonight,” but they would be unable to stop themselves from banging their heads to it.

And there you have the magic of the Cars. Whatever you thought of the band intellectually, you couldn’t resist the music, you were drawn in.

BYE BYE LOVE

I actually prefer this to “My Best Friend’s Girl.”

It’s denser, yet even more simple. It’s a blend of modern and the Beach Boys, except for that magical pre-chorus. Where did they come up with that?

This was back when it was no crime to be catchy. Why does everybody who doesn’t make Top Forty music refuse to be catchy today? When did catchy get such a bad rep?

Those synths, those drums, those guitars, that vocal, that chorus. A pocket symphony a decade and a half hence!

MOVING IN STEREO

Slower, darker, made for your bedroom more than radio, it showed the Cars’ range. I got into this track last, but that was the pleasure of diverse albums, when LPs weren’t over an hour long and you could comprehend and digest them, that which you passed over ultimately became your favorite.

Dark and dreamy, with an underbelly you wanted to caress and lay down next to…”Moving In Stereo” is subtle yet it enraptures you.

The very next day I went to the record store in Westwood. I was afraid I’d missed my chance, was that promo copy of “The Cars” still available?

It was. Word had not yet gotten out.

I came home and dropped the needle and fell into immediate bliss. That was the magic of the Cars, their music wasn’t obvious, but it did not require repeated listenings to get into.

At this point we did not know that Ric Ocasek was the genius, even if Ben Orr was the face. Ben sang some of the songs, but not all. And that was David Robinson on drums, to the cognoscenti forever the man behind Jonathan Richman.

The band had cred.

They’d also paid their dues.

In the late seventies paying your dues still counted. We were not inundated with wet behind the ears pre-adolescents, pop didn’t rule until MTV dominated in the eighties. Rather this was the age of AOR, the behemoth stations that were hip and owned their marketplace. They were not eager to move on from corporate rock, but bands like the Cars eased the way, made it easier for angrier stuff like Elvis Costello and Joe Jackson. Then disco came along and blew the paradigm apart.

Not that the Cars helped themselves.

Every album got worse.

And then, when it looked like it was nearly over, they hooked up with Mutt Lange and released “Heartbeat City,” which was all over MTV and the airwaves back in ’84.

But the debut was produced by Roy Thomas Baker, before he lost the plot, before Mutt inherited his mantle as the go-to guy.

And on one level the Cars’ debut sounds dated.

On another, it exists in its own ether. Nothing ever sounded exactly like it, either then or now. As a result we’re left with this masterpiece which gets no accolades, that seems to have been lost to the sands of time, but will never be forgotten by those who were alive and aware back in ’78.

It was just what we needed!

Rhinofy-The Cars

He was a team player in a world where stars dominated. The press was all about Mickey, but it was Yogi who we loved. And kept on loving long after his playing days were through, because although he was a member of the jockocracy, Yogi danced to the beat of his own drummer, he was not beyond feuding with George Steinbrenner, because winning isn’t everything, it’s how you play the game that counts.

But back then the Yankees were winning everything.

It was so different from today. No one flew, never mind went to spring training camp. But we couldn’t wait for the season to begin. We’d camp out in damp basements watching exhibition games when the snow had already melted but it was still too cold to go outside. We flipped baseball cards. We bought books. Baseball was the National Pastime.

Before the players grew moustaches and gained free agency. Before we discovered their foibles. Sure, Joe Namath transcended the stars who preceded him, he played both on and off the field and won in both arenas. But before that athletes were two-dimensional.

And then there was Yogi.

Maybe it’s because he was involved in every play, catching the ball. Sure, Bill Dickey had preceded him, but at this point stars were outfielders, pitchers, maybe shortstops, catchers were just part of the battery, integral but insignificant.

But Yogi could not only field, he could hit. You could count on Yogi.

He won the first game I ever went to.

That’s right, I was a baseball fanatic. Every day after school I walked down to the park for a pick-up game. I practiced with this contraption made of mesh and rubber bands that bounced the ball back to you. I owned my own glove and my own bat and my own ball. And although this made me privileged, it was a way for my dad to make up for the fact that he was the least athletic man in the neighborhood. We stopped playing catch in kindergarten, I’d superseded his ability. And he never came to my Little League games.

But he took me to Yankee Stadium.

When Schaefer ruled and no one you knew had season tickets and even though the bleachers were under a buck you never sat there. The outfield was for city kids. You can hear their stories everywhere, about a hardscrabble life of collecting returnable bottles so they could go to the game and get the autograph of a player. I grew up in the suburbs. After all, it was the sixties. When the economy was flourishing and our first generation parents wanted to provide a better life.

My father owned a liquor store. And brought home the wares for us to consume. And there was Cott grape and Schweppes ginger ale but also Yoo-hoo. With Yankees on the bottle. Gil McDougald, others just before my time, and then Yogi.

Whose fame only grew with the namesake bear. Being first, everyone believed the Hanna-Barbera animated character was a direct reference. Forget having your own video game, even your own E! show. Yogi was bigger than the Kardashians because you never saw him working it, he just was. And he didn’t take a victory lap and he didn’t pooh-pooh the accolades, he just laughed.

He was our favorite.

Because he endured.

Roger Maris broke the home run record. My dad took me to that game too, October 1st, 1961, the very last day of the season. It was a line drive to right, it didn’t clear the wall, which wasn’t even chest high out there, by much. I felt I’d witnessed something special, long before attendance at Woodstock was a badge of honor. The stadium was far from full. The game was meaningless, the Yankees had already sewn up the pennant. Mickey had fallen out of the race, he’d gotten hurt and his production went down and Roger was carrying the flag. Unloved Roger, who was challenging Babe Ruth’s record. He was soon traded away and forgotten, but no one alive back then didn’t know he broke the home run record. When the NFL was still a fledgling sport and if you made news, we knew it.

My mom and dad took me to Old Timer’s Day that year too. Three games in one season! Tickets were scarce so we had to sit in the upper deck. This was long before escalators, you had to walk up. And I stopped halfway and refused to go further. Because I’d been to the stadium and I knew on the third deck the seatbacks were bolted to the concrete and your legs swung free. At least it looked that way to me, the only other time I’d been at the ballpark. Lord knows how my ‘rents convinced me to keep climbing. And I felt embarrassed I’d cried, but I ultimately felt triumphant that I’d been there.

But back to that first game. In the spring. The women went somewhere else, the men went to the game. My dad and me and Harry and Michael. My dad’s long gone. He lived long enough to see cell phones in the car, but not the internet. He loved to talk on the phone. If he’d lived he would have died in a car accident, he’d have been distracted talking on the phone, yelling into it, making a point. My dad rarely listened and was rarely calm. He cared too much about what he was saying. Harry lived a lot longer, even though he had multiple heart surgeries. They drank beer, we ate hot dogs and the game went into extra innings.

This was New York, not L.A. No one ever left early. But it was a doubleheader, did the length of the first game preclude staying for the second?

No and yes. We stayed for half of the second game. Didn’t leave because the Yankees were losing but because we had to meet the girls. That’s what they called them back then, before feminism hit. And sure, there was discrimination and a glass ceiling and it was tough being an African-American, but this was before Vietnam, long after World War II and Korea, we were in a momentary state of bliss.

But the game was tied. And it was the bottom of the 14th. And it looked like no one was ever gonna win.

And Yogi pinch-hit.

I’ve seen Mickey Mantle strike out. It’s so weird when the game turns upon their appearance. If only he could drive one over the fence the Yankees would win. But Mickey never came through in the clutch, not when I went.

But Yogi did.

There were a couple of men on base. But we were no longer on the edge of our seats, it felt like the game would go on forever.

Then Yogi hit one between the infielders, took off towards first, touched the bag and then immediately circled back towards the dugout and ran right in.

I wasn’t sure what had happened. I was too young, too inexperienced. It had all occurred too quickly. But Yogi knew it was all over, that he’d sealed the deal.

Long before he was famous for malapropisms, Yogi was famous for clutch hits.

No one ever hated him.

Rather all of us loved him. Because he was always there and he always delivered.

Yogi’s success was not about statistics, most fans can’t recite his numbers. They’re actually wowed when they find out they’re so good. But Yogi contributed to the victory.

Sure, Whitey Ford mowed ’em down, but he didn’t play every day.

And Moose was an iron horse at first, and occasionally unloaded at the plate, but he frequently struck out, his average wasn’t that good.

Bobby Richardson was a choirboy. An incredible second baseman, you admired him, but you didn’t love him.

Tony Kubek and Clete Boyer were dependable. Never screwed up. But their personalities were not strong.

And by this time, Elston Howard was frequently behind the plate. As solid as Yogi, but without the persona.

In the outfield were Roger and Mickey.

And by this time, usually Yogi was in left, they needed his bat in the lineup and his arm was strong. He might have been a famous backstop, and not a legendary outfielder, but his rep didn’t take a hit, he could play the position.

The ’61 Yanks.

Who was better, them or the ’27 edition with Gehrig and Ruth?

I don’t know.

But I do know that although Joltin’ Joe showed up as an old timer, Lou and the Babe were dead, they’d played in a bygone era, it was now a modern game.

It was on TV, all the time, there were no cable channels.

And you played for all the marbles. There were no playoffs other than a World Series which took place in the afternoon, on weekdays while we were still at school.

It was all over long before the snow fell. They were truly the boys of summer.

Back before the Beatles. Back before long hair. Back before the assassinations. We had no idea the sixties would be an era of such turmoil. We thought it would be the same as it ever was. With ballplayers the biggest stars in the land. Regular people, selling cars in the winter, not relaxing down in Florida, our best selves. Or so we thought.

I’m not sure the younger generation has any idea who Yogi Berra was. At best, they can compare statistics. Then again, he wasn’t at the tippity-top, and that’s all that anybody cares about today.

But we cared about more.

And those of us who were there look back and can’t remember who won.

But we remember who was there.

And at this point, we recall Yogi just as much as Mickey. Mantle was the star, but Yogi was the Yankees’ soul. He not only played with dignity, he played for fun. Because, after all, it’s just a game. Simple, with rules. One that we all paid attention to.

So, so long Yogi. You’re in our hearts, it’s sad you’re gone, but you had a long run, you carried the torch of what once was, which so many of us baby boomers still want to believe in. You illustrated what life was about, giving your all in service to the team. Because without others, we’re nobody.

Without Yogi Berra, we’re so much less.

He was the American Dream personified. Making it from the lower class to the mainstream.

With Yogi goes some of our hopes and dreams.

But he entertained us along the way.

Without making an effort to do so.

Yogi never played to the crowd, all his attention was focused inside the diamond. We felt hanging with him would make our lives complete.

But we never got the chance.

He may not have had matinee good looks, he may not have been educated, but Yogi Berra had the goods.

He was anything but the average bear.

They broke Clayton Christensen’s rule.

The other night, I decided to play some MP3s. Retro, I know. But I heard a song on the radio and I wanted to hear more by that artist and I didn’t want to pay for bandwidth when I knew I had most of his canon on my phone and…

There started my problems.

Finding the artist’s MP3s was far from simple. I had to navigate to my music as opposed to streaming, I had to search, and when I hit shuffle I kept on hearing the same songs again. Did I press the wrong selection, was I only listening to one album? No, shuffle in Apple Music is broken. It’ll play the same song multiple times before it plays all of them. Furthermore, my artwork is screwed up. And this is frustrating. I want a separate Apple Music app for my MP3s and another for my streams. And that’s when it hit me, Cupertino had broken the rule outlined in the “The Innovator’s Dilemma.”

When you encounter disruption, you save your enterprise by building a cheaper, less-profitable operation across the street. And eventually there comes a tipping point when the new enterprise subsumes the old. You don’t mix them together. If you’re trying to placate your old customers, you’re screwing the new, and that’s death.

Steve Jobs never did this.

Mac aficionados know that when OS X was introduced you could boot into either it or OS 9, but they did not work on the same screen, that would be too confusing. Just like you can run Windows on your Mac today, but not without closing down OS X and rebooting into it.

Apple realized MP3s were dying. At least I hope they realized this. But they were fearful of not only cannibalizing said business, but alienating iTunes customers. Instead, Apple decided to hamstring both old and new listeners, which is important, because companies that do this fail.

You jump over the fence and join the revolution. You don’t bring the old to the new. It’s what hobbled Microsoft. So busy making sure old machines and software could work with the new operating system, PCs became clunky and the spaghetti code in the OS became untrustworthy. Instead of just working, it didn’t.

And now Apple is doing the same thing.

And this is death in tech. If you’re not willing to destroy the old business model on the way to the new, you’re gonna lose in the long run.

Yes, Apple has zillions of credit card numbers. Yes, Apple is the world’s most valuable company, a juggernaut. But IBM is a shadow of what it once was, as is Microsoft. Nothing is forever. When the great disruption comes you’ve got to sacrifice what once was, however profitable it might be, or you will die in the future.

The problem with streaming in the United States is that most people just don’t see the need to subscribe. Furthermore, they don’t see the need to experiment. Getting someone to try something is the hardest part. And when they do try something and they get less functionality than before, they’re out.

This is what’s happening with Apple Music, and this hurts not only Apple, but the music business at large.

It’d be like having a CD player that spins vinyl. Actually, they tried this. Needless to say, it failed.

As for streaming sound quality, Clayton Christensen went on to say that the new solution may not equal the quality of the old, but it’s good enough and it’s cheap. If you’re an iTunes customer you’re going to go to streaming, you just don’t know it yet. Because streaming is cheaper if you’re a heavy buyer, and owning nothing you can gain improvement along the way. Imagine if you were hobbled by your internet speed of fifteen years ago! But you kept paying the cable company and you kept getting higher speed.

As for DSL… It failed in the marketplace. Everybody moved on to cable. Verizon only succeeded with a whole new delivery system, FiOS. It wasn’t about improving copper wire, but abandoning it, which is what telephone companies are now doing.

The point is not that musicians are complaining about royalty rates. It’s not even about Neil Young’s rants about sound quality. They’re roadkill on the way to the future, diversions at best.

It’s about the world’s most valuable company trying to hold on to its customers.

We’re beholden to corporations. We follow them more than bands. They’re peopled by the best and the brightest. We study them to see when they succeed and fail. When they sacrifice credibility, when they miss innovation.

When hip-hop started to gain traction did record companies insist that DJs and MCs include rock elements to satiate the old audience?

OF COURSE NOT!

You leave the past behind.

Streaming is a disruptive technology. It’s already killed purchase. YouTube demonstrated this. The goal is to capture as many people and generate as much money as possible.

YouTube didn’t care about MP3s. Didn’t even care about copyrights at first. And so far, YouTube has won. It’s easy to navigate and easy to play. But Google was protecting no legacy interests, they started with a clean slate.

Apple Music’s interface is too cluttered. Functionality is hampered. And this scares me, Apple was once a fountain of innovation. But now that it’s protecting its past, it’s screwed.

In Silicon Valley, Clayton Christensen’s work is gospel.

How did Apple miss out?

P.S. In case you’re not using Apple Music… The app both streams and plays your MP3s. The dividing line is blurry, nearly incomprehensible, and whereas the old Music app synched only the songs you chose, the new app lists all of the tracks in your iTunes library, and you can’t find those that are actually synched! And you’ve got to keep clicking back between streams and MP3s, and even though some may say they love Apple Music, the truth is early adopters always yell loudest, but not everybody follows their lead.

P.P.S. I don’t expect Apple to break out the number of paying Music customers, it’s not their style, when they lose they obfuscate.

P.P.P.S. Just because you downloaded the app, that does not mean you use it. Look at Twitter… Massive sign-ups and little usage. Furthermore, Apple pushed Music updates, and people now download these without thinking.

P.P.P.P.S. With customers and momentum Apple still might win the music streaming wars, but based on their ignorance of Clayton Christensen’s rules one doubts the company will win in the future. You need someone to say no, you need someone to make the hard decisions. Autocrats lead the best companies, consensus builders fail, pleasing everyone ultimately pleases no one. In other words, Tim Cook knows how to make the trains run on time, but can he get them to the next destination?