Radio is killing the music business.

Alta kachers and record labels pay fealty to this antiquated medium to their detriment. In an on demand society where the playlist is king the business keeps focusing on getting airplay and there are not enough slots and not enough people listening. It’s like they’re coal miners fighting for market share in a world that’s become about natural gas, solar and wind.

The revolution has happened. It’s just that those with power refuse to acknowledge it. Sales are a dead metric, like counting the number of landlines in a mobile world, it’s all about streams. But how do you get people to stream if they don’t know what playlist to check out?

Paul Simon put out a new album. Reviews say it’s good, I haven’t listened to it. Where do I start?

Same deal with Tom Petty’s Mudcrutch.

The acts make LPs in a singles world, get traditional publicity in an online social world, and then they blame the system when their new projects gain no traction.

Used to be we tuned into the same radio stations.

Then we all tuned into MTV.

These outlets pruned the wares, they told us what to listen to, they gave us clarity in the face of chaos.

But now there’s even chaos in the playlist world!

We need fewer playlists.

But even more, we need a handful of targeted playlists, that would allow listeners to check out new music.

That’s right, the baby boomers, who are active consumers…where’s their one playlist with the best new work of the old and the work of the new they should be aware of? I’d listen to it, you would too. Instead, the whole scene has been hijacked by non-comm stations who believe they’re arbiters of quality, but are really gatekeepers of the graveyard. Yes, these stations have some active listeners, but they’re a zit on the ass of the total populace. And, at best, they feed us track by track over a period of years whereas an act might have a few good cuts worth listening to all at once.

So…

Spotify. This is your job. Apple Music is moribund, a vehicle for the industry to complain that someone moved their cheese. And YouTube is for youngsters and it’s about subscriptions, not playlists, so…

The Swedish outlet has to lead. Has to create one playlist for old people with the best new stuff. To give not only Paul Simon and Tom Petty a chance, but Neil Young too, who’s been bitching on Marc Maron’s WTF.

Right there on the homepage. A veritable radio playlist, only this time it’s on demand, on a streaming service, and you can scroll through and sample and discover.

Sure, Discover Weekly is good, but those playlists are too personalized. They can’t break an act. We crave community, and the streaming services have done a piss-poor job of giving it to us. But this could change, and benefit everyone, acts and listeners alike.

Then again, oldsters hate streaming. But that’s the only way to get paid for recordings! And the more acts promote it the more listeners will clamor for it.

So, create an Adult Playlist.

Sure, I could comb through Spotify and see which of the Simon and Mudcrutch tracks got the most spins, but that’s way too much work in an overwhelming world. Can’t you get a curator, like a programmer of yore, to cull the best and serve it up?

It’s the job of Spotify to break acts now. Radio’s the last hurrah, even in pop. It’s time for the streaming service to step up.

How rich is Donald Trump?

One of the first rules of Hollywood is to ditch modesty, whether true or false. In a land where no CV is necessary, where hustlers reign and people lie about their educations if they went to college at all, he or she who doesn’t say they’re the best ever is instantly ignored, we don’t have time for that, there aren’t enough hours in the day to weed through those who beat their chests claiming they’re the best.

“After one Cohn coup, Mr. Trump rewarded him with a pair of diamond-encrusted cuff links and buttons in a Bulgari box.”

“He did get to keep the cuff links Mr. Trump had given Mr. Cohn. Years later, Mr. Fraser had them appraised; they were knockoffs, he said.”

That’s from today’s front page “Times” story on Trump and Roy Cohn, the pugilistic barrister who viewed the world as his oyster.

What Donald Trump Learned From Joseph McCarthy’s Right-Hand Man

That’s what they don’t tell you, the rich and powerful believe the game is to be manipulated, that the rules are an amorphous amalgamation they can bend to their will. Which is why despite Ivy League graduates being pillars of society they rarely effect change, they so often don’t rule, because this is anathema to their being.

You see on the east coast where you went to college is important. And sure, you try to pull strings, if you’re wealthy enough you donate a building, but mostly you do what’s expected of you, you play by the rules, you get good grades, study up for the SATs, do a ton of extracurricular activities, and when you’re accepted at the august institution you think you’ve made it.

Only you haven’t. Sure, you can get into medical school, or law school, maybe even get a gig at the bank, but that’s not where the action is today. Finance might make you rich, but it rarely gives you power, and power is everything.

Which is why those seeking it can be found outside the traditional system, in Los Angeles, in San Francisco, not in Miami, a haven of hedonism. Hunger is palpable on the west coast and it’s pooh-poohed by the east. Whether it be the slimy entertainment types or the Silicon Valleyites wreaking havoc on what once was and never more will be. The revolution is effected by the can-dos, and most of those playing by the rules are the can-nots.

And they cannot fathom Donald Trump. The east coast intelligentsia has its knickers in a twist, how can this be? Very easily, if you get out and see how the world really works. Whether it be YouTube stars or anybody else who hustled their way from the bottom to the top.

Most of what you read about entertainment is wrong, pure fiction, lies, drummed up by publicists for effect. But the media repeats it and the public buys it and the perpetrators have the last laugh. You don’t become the biggest star in the world because you have the most talent, but because you’ve been anointed by the machine, that’s the dirty little secret. And you get into position by hustling, telling everybody how great you are, making loyal friends and working the angles. Of course luck counts, so many projects end up failing, but not all of them.

Donald Trump knows the value of publicity. That’s how he earned his name, by cutting through red tape and funding the reconstruction of a skating rink. He branded himself as a can-do guy.

The same way a singer gets a duet or an appearance on an awards show…you’re in the public eye and then you capitalize on it.

And despite protesting that you’re warm and friendly, you’ve got sharp elbows, you keep others down, there are only a limited number of places at the top.

And then you leverage your success and suddenly where you came from and how you got there has been forgotten, or forgiven, we love winners. Isn’t that the American Way, picking yourself up by your bootstraps, even if you were born on third base?

Now that Donald Trump has won the nomination, true scrutiny has begun. You couldn’t depend upon the right wing to do this previously, there are no reporters at Fox News, only talking heads, and Rush Limbaugh is a gasbag who gets his talking points from the “Times.” And the “Times” detailed how Trump was a failure in Atlantic City.

But he told everybody he was a success.

And if you call him on it, he’ll blast you back to the stone age, possibly suing you in the process, or denying your press credentials along the way.

And the wimpy left wing establishment just doesn’t get it. They believe you build your resume honestly, that you play nicely with others…but that’s a route to the middle, and Trump needed to be on the top.

Trump kept leveraging his middling success, piling on publicity for more fame, getting his own television show, knowing that publicity is everything, that the news is subservient to those making it. And he hoodwinked the entire nation.

As performers have done before.

This is Entertainment Business 101 folks. Smoke and mirrors. Becoming a star because you say so. To the point where naysayers look like haters and you win in the end.

So much has changed in the past few decades. Most wealth is newly-earned, income inequality has burgeoned, there’s more media than ever. But what has not been acknowledged is the entertainmentification of our country. It started with Reagan, an actor who got Alzheimer’s who’s been recast as a god, with public places named after him ad infinitum. Do you think he earned it? Then you’ve got no idea how the game is played.

And then came MTV, which showed us stars could be bigger than we ever thought possible.

And despite techies owning all the systems and making all the billions, the content creators own the hearts and minds of our society, entertainment rules.

And Trump is an entertainer.

Are you?

P.S. “How Donald Trump Bankrupted His Atlantic City Casinos, but Still Earned Millions”

I don’t expect you to read this article, no one ever does. We don’t want facts, but talking points, we skew the news in our favor, we model it after what we want to believe. And our beliefs are most malleable when it comes to soft news, as opposed to wonky subjects. And that’s how Trump has succeeded, by focusing on soft topics we can repeat and discuss. He may ultimately fail at the polls, but this is a sea change, we’re never going back to what once was. Expect Mark Cuban to run for President and win. No one cares how he made his money, few even know, but he made a basketball team a success, standing up to the NBA all the while, and is on television every week. Mindshare is everything. Clinton thought she could succeed with Saturday debates and no press conferences, and Trump’s such a bad candidate, whose faux pas are catching up with him, that she probably will, but she’s the last gasp of a dying paradigm.

P.P.S. Are you a leader or a follower? If you think self-help books and websites can turn you into the former from the latter, you’re dreaming. Either you believe the world can be bent in your favor or you don’t.

P.P.P.S. Fame eclipses money every day of the week. An actor tragically gets pinned by his automobile and it’s front page news, Tom Perkins dies and most people have no idea who that is.

P.P.P.P.S. Say something long enough and loud enough and most people believe it, even if it’s untrue. John Oliver specializes in revealing this, tune in. Either you’re gushing for dollars or speaking the truth, you can’t do both, sorry to say.

P.P.P.P.P.S. No one blows the whistle because the government is in bed with the rich and you only get ahead by being in bed with the rich. So if you think someone is looking out for you, the common man, you’re wrong.

P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Before income inequality, some of those east coast hoop-jumpers went into music, believing they could gain power and make some coin in the process. But now those people are in search of safety, and there’s less of it in entertainment than anywhere. The establishment doesn’t like long odds, and is always flabbergasted when those who apply themselves triumph. This is the story of Elon Musk and Tesla. Despite the “Wall Street Journal” carping the company is the beneficiary of government subsidies, people don’t care, they glom on to those who break barriers and test limits. But in music all we’ve got is the uneducated unwashed who believe money is everything. Isn’t it funny that Shawn Fanning, Tim Westergren and Daniel Ek are bigger heroes than most of the players. Because these techies leveraged their smarts to break barriers and satiate the public. The music business hates YouTube, the public does not. And if you think you can win without the public on your side, you’re probably Marco Rubio or Jeb or the rest of the Republican wannabes who just could not see the game had changed. Kanye may be hated, but he’s gained tons of power by being in the news every damn day and scaring away critics who he excoriates every time they question him. He’s the biggest star in the land because he says so. Same with Donald Trump.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Business follows the money, absolutely. Whether it be P&G or Pfizer. A record company doesn’t care what it sells, as long as it sells. Trump got a TV show because he had a brand name and was a tireless self-promoter. TV would give Hitler a show if they thought it would garner good ratings. And isn’t it interesting that record labels support acts that shoot each other, never mind do drugs and get arrested.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Trump’s not that rich. But since he said he was we believe him. Now THAT’S the American Way.

Jimmy Page is 72.

I don’t know whether he ripped off Spirit, whether he and Robert will be held accountable by the jury, but I do know there will come a time when both of them won’t be here anymore. Or they will be, but they’ll be too infirm to play.

Been a strange year out there, from David Bowie to Glenn Frey to Merle Haggard to Prince. With Dan Hicks and a bunch of lesser lights extinguished to boot. They defined a generation. And now they’re gone.

My mother just told me she’s the last one standing.

Do you have a deceased parent? It’s a club you don’t want to be a member of. If you’re lucky, you’ll end up an orphan, although I’m not looking forward to that day, when there’s no context, when I realize I’m next.

Last night I had dinner at Amy’s. Her son David is moving to Philadelphia to attend medical school. His UCSB girlfriend is gonna follow him. They’re at the beginning, I’m at the end.

Not that anybody my age acknowledges that. That’s the problem with baby boomers, they always think they’ll rule, that they’ll be here forever. But even Sumner Redstone is gonna pass. Ray Kurzweil too. And as much as Steve Jobs changed our culture, Apple no longer even introduces one more thing, his signature style is gone. Kinda like the bands of yore, either you saw them or you didn’t. But what’s even worse, so many of them have not survived into the second decade of the twenty first century. Does anybody under twenty know who 10cc was? Or even Gerardo? They’re bleeding edge, they’re on the oldies circuit, they become ill and then they die. Meanwhile life keeps moving forward.

Geri is in hospice. Lois’s cancer has returned. My mother has always said to pull the plug, but she positively lives in the present, that’s the key to longevity supposedly, along with good genes, but when she starts reflecting on her mortality…

It creeps me out.

I look in the mirror and see gray hair. I’m told I’m irrelevant every day. Even worse, I can now see the end, what do I want to do with my time, what do I want to accomplish?

Weird to pick up the Travel section and realize there are places you’re never gonna go. That you’re never gonna be rich. That more doors are closing than opening. You don’t see yourself going over the hump, but suddenly you realize you passed it. And nobody wants to acknowledge it.

We keep hearing about an afterlife, about medical breakthroughs, as if this story is not going to end.

But it is.

I saw Led Zeppelin, twice. Back when Jimmy Page was still dangerous, before his hair had turned white. The goal was to get inside the Riot House, to become part of it. Musicians even had groupies. But in today’s tabloid world nobody does anything untoward and we hear endlessly about nerd power and I don’t even recognize the landscape anymore. And when they talk about the money “Stairway”‘s made they never reference the cultural impact, how rock radio ruled and the tune was always number one, the most famous, the toppermost of the poppermost.

Doesn’t matter whether the intro was nicked or not, it’s part of my DNA. And yours. A cultural institution.

But I don’t think Justin Bieber has it on infinite repeat. I don’t see it on the Spotify charts. Everything meaningful fades. Whether it be Johnny Carson or Jay Leno. And when they try to keep the franchise alive it just makes you squirm. Cancel SNL. Once upon a time it was dangerous, John and Danny tested limits we didn’t even know existed. And Jimmy Fallon does David Letterman’s show, poorly, and the press gives him a pass. Makes me want to scream at the screen like Grandpa Simpson, but we laugh at him, I don’t want everybody laughing at me.

Everybody’s got something wrong with them. The body mutates and rebels and no one gets out of here alive. But when you’re twenty five, you think you’re immune, but you’re not.

I never thought my mother would live forever, but I never envisioned a day when she was not here. We don’t speak every day, but when we do I’m rooted, I know who I am. And I’ll be somebody when she’s gone, but I’ll be somebody different.

She jumped off the phone. The ending was abrupt. I heard about everybody’s illness and then she had to go before she started to cry.

I cry for Glenn Frey.

I lament my brethren going on a desert trip to see has-beens, however gigantic they once might have been. I don’t want my memories tarnished, I want to remember how it once was. Thank god for Robert Plant refusing to regroup. It’d be like Magic and Bird, Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen, playing basketball. Sometimes the era passes.

But the memories and feelings live on.

Once upon a time “Stairway To Heaven” was brand new. You dropped the needle and went on an aural adventure. You enjoyed hearing it on the radio, it made you feel warm and fuzzy, it set your mind free.

But now it’s just a signifier of what once was.

Who even cares if it survives, we won’t.

We think everything we do is important, we build a resume, acquire assets and try to climb the ladder when the truth is no ladder exists. We’re here and then we’re gone. And intellectually I knew this, but today I feel it.

They were so untogether!

We think of the Stones as a seamless machine, all-knowing, hoovering up cash from all over the globe. But back in ’69 they had a personnel change, they hadn’t performed in America since ’66, and they just weren’t sure they were relevant, that they’d be embraced by the newly-hippified States, having missed not only the Summer of Love, but Woodstock too.

So they embraced Rock Scully, manager of the Dead, whose new business manager Lenny Hart re-signed the band to Warner whilst Rock was on a plane to London, where he got busted, despite Scully having negotiated a much better deal with Columbia. Isn’t it interesting that the Dead ended up being signed to Clive Davis’s Arista down the road.

Not that I can vouch for the veracity of all this. It’s evidenced in Joel Selvin’s new book about the rock tragedy, and he who writes down history owns it, and despite us knowing so much about the Stones it’s amazing how little we do know. Selvin has reached into the bowels and uncovered not only who was sleeping with who, but how the gigs played out across the States before the tragic day.

Security for the tour was provided by someone no one knew who said he was in cahoots with both Chrysler and the NYPD. He provided his services for free, so no one probed.

The Stones blinked and confirmed the free concert because they were goaded into it by a critic, Ralph Gleason, who was complaining about high ticket prices, which weren’t even close to ten bucks.

And the Stones were nearly broke. Getting paid was the main motivation for doing this tour. Which began with operations on Oriole, in the Bird Streets, high above L.A., with the band finishing up “Let It Bleed” and ended with them recording “Brown Sugar” and “Wild Horses” in Muscle Shoals.

You know that.

But what you don’t know, unless you lived through the era, was how different it all was.

We were making it up as we went along.

And from the east coast, California might as well have been Mars. And so many Americans were first or second generation, their parents weren’t lawyers or bankers, but barbers and blue collar workers. Not only did you not know what everybody else was doing, no one knew what you were doing, there weren’t security cameras everywhere.

And that’s the big story of Altamont, how security was provided by the Hells Angels, the Stones unaware that the faction in the U.K. was a wimpy version of tribe in the Bay Area.

But…

Were the sixties dark or light? Upbeat or tragic?

Today’s right wing wants to deny their existence, wants to roll back all the advances made during that era. But the left wing papers over the drugs and debauchery, the people wasted along the way. You didn’t smoke dope with your parents. Hell, I was shocked when a kid in my Boy Scout troop stood on the high school stage and told everybody he’d dropped acid every day of the previous year. It was an era where you knew so much yet knew so little. You wanted to belong, and it was music that was the glue. We were addicted to the radio, it told us not only what to believe, but what to do. It was the radio that had everybody showing up for a gig that was supposed to be somewhere completely different just days before.

Actually, it was supposed to be in Golden Gate Park. But rather than get a permit through well-greased channels, the Stones’ operative went straight to the mayor and got bounced.

Sears Point Raceway would have been good. There was infrastructure, and maybe enough time. But after the stage was being built the owners freaked out, Filmways, which controlled the speedway, I know, sounds insane, wanted a piece of the movie. Jagger said no and the show ended up in a wasteland with no cops and no highways, talk about a disaster in the making.

But that was a different era.

Kind of like when you expected your computer to crash. My Macs haven’t crashed in years. But there were days back in the eighties, even the nineties, when if you wanted to compute you had to know how the machine worked, everyone was a hobbyist, everyone was on their own, there were no help lines and no internet to aid you. But today my mother’s got all the digital equipment, we excoriate a company if its product doesn’t work right out of the box. But it didn’t used to be that way.

It didn’t used to be this way in music.

Sponsors, schmonsers. The gig took place at some building you rented where the owner had no idea what was going on. It wasn’t until the nineties that concert promotion was consolidated. It was all territorial, and you didn’t cross lines. And the people who owned those spaces…were renegades triumphing on will and intimidation, it was not about education. It’s still not about education, the winners succeed on personality. But education buys you safety, and the established always want safety, especially for their children. That’s what happens when you get a mature society, that’s what happens when you get a mature business, like music.

It’s not new folks. It was all codified between ’64 and ’79. Not only how to do a show, but who got the money. Credit Peter Grant, an intimidating wrestler, for making the acts rich, with 90/10 concert deals. And record royalties went up and the MTV era just showed the power of promotion, how much money could be made.

And nothing’s changed since.

Three labels control recordings, as Steven Cooper said, you can’t get on one of his playlists without being signed to Warner.

And there are two huge concert companies.

And you wonder why there’s stagnation.

But it didn’t used to be this way.

And now tech’s hit a wall too.

What’s next?

I don’t know, but change is coming, from somewhere we cannot predict.

And if you want to know what it’s like to be in the maelstrom, the cauldron from which the future brews, read “Altamont: The Rolling Stones, The Hells Angels, And The Inside Story Of Rock’s Darkest Day.”

P.S. It’s not coming out until 8/16, don’t shoot the messenger, the book business hasn’t gotten the memo. Peter Gabriel releases a Muhammad Ali song today with no advance warning and every newly-reviewed book is unavailable.

P.P.S. It’s the details that will freak you out. A full delineation of Meredith Hunter, he becomes three-dimensional. That’s what makes the book powerful, the raising of the story from the dead.

P.P.P.S. Everybody’s googlable. That’s right, read about a poet or Mickey Hart’s girlfriend and you can immediately see what they look like yesterday and today, so many are still living. It was a different era, you didn’t buy insurance, rather you lived your life to the fullest. Funny how these people are our heroes, as opposed to those who jumped through hoops.

P.P.P.P.S. It’s all about judgment, and planning. Yet, the bleeding edge is populated by those on hejiras of personal fulfillment as opposed to wallet-lining. Success lies on the razor’s edge of risk, a place those with experience and wisdom too often refuse to tread.

Altamont: The Rolling Stones, the Hells Angels, and the Inside Story of Rock’s Darkest Day