And I wanna sleep with you in the desert tonight
With a billion stars all around

That’s when the polo grounds come alive, after dark, when the palm trees are swaying, the mountains are still discernible and the sky is covered with stars.

I didn’t understand Palm Springs. Hell, I didn’t even know there was desert in California, I thought it only existed in Africa!

And I never got it until a couple of years back, when my mother was spending the month there and I got up on a February morning and it was brisk and clear and invigorating. I thought Palm Springs was for oldsters…maybe I’m an oldster now.

I guess that’s part of the Coachella/Stagecoach experience, hanging at the house before you venture over to the gig. And while we were sitting at the table, Lisa implored us to go for a date shake.

I think it’s a Palm Springs thing. I’ve never had one anywhere else. Actually, I’ve only had one one time before, out by the freeway, twenty five years ago, and it was tasty, but not memorable.

Unlike the one at Shields.

You know those movies about Florida, where the paint has faded on the buildings and they don’t look like they’ve been touched since the fifties?

That’s what Shields is like.

Lisa, Felice and Claudia spotted it on the way back Friday night.

We detoured there on Saturday.

I wanted to see the movie. I’m a sucker for films and museums.

Yup, at the end of the building they feature a fifteen minute flick “Romance and Sex Life of the Date” in a permanent auditorium and those in attendance looked like this would be the highlight of their day, I was wet behind the ears compared to them, and Jay peeked in too, but we had to go, there was not time for nostalgia.

And by time I strolled back to the cafe through the date-themed novelty items the shakes had already been served, we were ready to go, BUT I WANTED MY OWN!

Felice said one was enough.

One is never enough. I’m about ready to go back to the desert to imbibe again.

$4.75 seems extreme. But the cup was huge. And what was inside was…

Thicker then the shake at In-N-Out. Not plasticky like the one at McDonald’s. You sucked hard and the elixir of life came up through the red straw.

It tasted like dates not at all, and I like dates!

It was smooth, ice-creamy and just a tad gritty. I kept sucking and sucking, to quote Depeche Mode, I just couldn’t get enough.

So the next time you’re venturing to Coachella, for the iconic festival or Stagecoach, be sure to make a detour to Shields.

Because life is not about acquisitions, but momentary experiences, the kind you can recall decades later, the taste on your tongue, the feeling down your throat… We live in a foodie era, but some of the best things in life have been around forever. Partake…

Shields Date Garden

Shields Date Garden – Shake Counter

Forget exulting in someone else’s success, the great American pastime is lamenting that you got screwed, that someone else has got your job, your girl, your plaudits, everything you deserve.

It’s hard to rise above in our country, because the minions are lined up to tear you down.

Sure, there are some who do it for sport, primarily those who were bullied in high school and are now taking it out on others. But mostly we find the great unwashed and in most cases undeserving tearing down the looks, talent and good fortune of those who have broken through.

Write about someone who’s made it and you’re gonna get feedback that they suck. And it’s driven by the small cancer inside that exclaims WHY WASN’T IT ME!

No one wants to admit they’re a failure, undeserving, never mind unqualified. They see the world as one of opportunities they were not fortunate enough to get.

Now I’m not talking about the disadvantaged, those who grew up without parents, in poverty. But if you read the pleadings of these people you’d think they were brought up in shacks, with outhouses, and they can’t afford pizza, never mind a new car.

Yes, for all the boasting rappers most Americans, especially artists, believe by demonstrating what they have not got, they will get what they deserve.

Actually, this is true, they get nothing.

Not everybody on top is a jerk. And there’s a reason most of them made it, one that you don’t want to know, because then that will illustrate…you’re just not good enough.

Do you know how to network?

Do you know how to kiss ass?

Are you smart enough to not only pick up on the street cues, but the business ones?

Can you read music?

Do you have a great voice?

Are you fun to hang around with?

Do you do others favors?

Are you willing to suffer without complaining?

Do you go to sleep not repeating affirmations of your deserving success, but planning a route thereto?

When the going gets rough, do you punt or keep going?

Then why do you think you deserve success when the others don’t?

Oh, they had a rich father. Oh, the program director was out of town the day you went to the station. You’ve got tons of excuses and very little perspective, instead of looking inside you keep complaining that SOMEONE TOOK YOUR JOB!

Now maybe Asians have got your manufacturing gig, but those are faceless jobs. The ones that require personality and pluck…did you ever consider the fact that your bitching that someone else is less deserving than you is what is holding you back?

The guy with the hit record? He didn’t write it, they auto-tuned it, you could go in and whip out your composition and go straight to number one, only your song is not good and you don’t know how to get yourself into the place where you can take advantage.

You’re tweeting all day but some other critic with worthless opinions is getting all the ink. Ever cross your mind that your sour personality is what’s holding you back?

And these people all have friends just like them, who reinforce their opinions. Ever notice that losers hang together? And that the winners want nothing to do with them?

It’s hard to break away from your group, to lose weight when everybody’s fat, to stop smoking when everybody’s taking a drag. Yup, they’ve done studies on this, like-minded people hang together.

To emerge victorious in the war of art, you’re gonna have to leave your friends behind, because they’re not gonna like your attitude, they’re gonna complain you’ve changed when the truth is they refuse to.

If you don’t make the people around you feel good, if you can’t do something for them that they can’t do for themselves, if you’re not supremely talented…

You’re not gonna make it.

And this condition has always existed, but with the Internet it’s been amplified. Everyone’s fighting for attention and when they don’t get it they take it as a personal affront.

Do you really want to be a musician? Do you really want to be famous? Do you really want to get up at 6 AM to do endless repetitive interviews with people who know nothing about you?

Then maybe you’re not cut out for this work.

Are you willing to be nice to people you dislike? Connivers out to screw you who are necessary to your success?

Why does everybody just see the tip of the iceberg and conclude they deserve to be there?

Would you sit at home and surf WebMD and believe you’re ready for surgery?

Then why do you think you deserve someone else’s stardom?

And that’s why the successful want so little to do with you complaining wannabes. You’re not friends, but vultures, trying to drag them down into the hole you’re in.

That’s the number one e-mail I get. The act I’m writing about sucks and the person complaining could do it better.

And they oftentimes include a link. And when I click through I wonder if they’re e-mailing from a mental institution, because their composition is so far from the mark, it’s laughable.

Very few make it.

Luck is a tiny component of success.

Everyone’s got excuses for failing.

Try coming up with the reasons for your success, what you’re not doing that will help you, other than sending messages imploring others to help you climb the ladder whilst you bitch that the star on stage HAS TAKEN YOUR SPOT!

They brought swimming pools.

You want to watch sports at home, but nobody wants to sit on the couch and watch a concert. A concert is an event, where you go and soak up the atmosphere, and what you see is secondary to what you hear, music is unlike football or movies, when done right it enters your ears and sets your mind free, offering a journey into the past, the future and parts unknown. Despite living in a technological age, the consumption of music has not changed, it has maintained its mystery, and that’s its appeal.

And that appeal is undeniable.

I know twenty thousand people more go to Coachella. But they’re spread out, at Stagecoach they all end up in front of the main stage, there’s an endless sea of people, it feels so tribal, so powerful, as if music has recaptured its rightful place upon the entertainment landscape. Everyone has shown up to listen. And the artists delivering the message…

Resemble not a whit the rest of the entertainment icons.

In country, you can be thin, you can be fat, you don’t have to be good-looking, you just have to sing songs we connect with.

It’s a reflection of life. Where everybody has their own little clique, which orders their existence. That’s what you understand when you go to Stagecoach, life isn’t about Hollywood, it’s not about Silicon Valley, it’s about the people you know and the environment you live in. Which is why people are happy to stay home in Texas or Arkansas or Iowa or Pennsylvania…their comrades and environs give them order. You might think you want to be a TV reality star, but then you get home and find out your own personal cult has rejected you and nobody on the coast wants you and the choice you made doesn’t enhance your life, but detracts from it. Fame without portfolio sucks.

Then again, the young don’t know that.

But the old do.

And that’s one of the fascinating aspects of today’s country music. Sure, there’s Hunter Hayes, wet behind the ears, but the biggest stars are deep in their thirties, like Eric Church and Jason Aldean, they’ve got a few miles on the odometer.

And speaking of the odometer, one thing I love about country music is the way they paint their trucks, it makes my heart beat faster. Because, you see, I get excited about music and the show and the experience, it makes me feel alive.

We started off with Jason Isbell… If only his album was more consistent, like Ryan Adams’s “Heartbreaker” or “Gold,” everybody would know his name. We’re waiting for alternative country’s superstar. We had Steve Earle with “Guitar Town,” but now when the whole world could be listening, the scene is a bit too insular, it doesn’t realize the album must be spectacular through and through, but Isbell’s a start.

And I spent a long time talking with Jeff Hanna of the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. I loved hearing the band’s history, but even more his personal history. Yup, we’re old enough to have had multiple wives and children and to gain perspective, we boomers may be ragged in appearance, but we’re rich in experience.

And then we went to the RV village.

That’s where they had the pools. Filled up at a $1 a gallon.

They start drinking at 8 AM, supposedly curfew is 1:30, everybody’s got a cornhole set, no one’s wearing many clothes, if you grew up on the east coast the freedom was palpable. These people drove to the godforsaken desert, they’re not limited, where they went to college and who their parents are is irrelevant, it smelled like…freedom. And fun.

Then back to the tent to hear Don McLean do “American Pie.”

Turns out everybody in America knows it. No matter what their age. It’s like you’re born with a chip with the lyrics.

Most aged acts get tired of performing their hit. I don’t think McLean does, because of the crowd reaction.

And they also knew all the lyrics to the Dirt Band’s “Fishin’ In The Dark.” They’re not gonna know the words to what’s on Top Forty now decades in the future, but infectious stuff like this, which has deeper meaning, or a sense of humor, because you see, what’s smart sustains.

And then Hunter Hayes.

And he was good, but what stunned me was the sea of people. So far back that the video screen was way out of sync with the sound. Not that anybody was complaining, they were all singing along.

Same deal with Jason Aldean. Who looked like he had just been in the backyard drinking beer and barbecuing.

Yup, the country artists have not only appropriated the old rockers’ music, but their ethos. They don’t dress up, but down. They let the music do the talking. Production at Stagecoach is nearly nonexistent. It’s all about the music, baby.

And palm trees. And mountains. And yes, dust.

Oh, and also legs and breasts and sunglasses and smiles. While everybody rich is running behind gates, it’s thrilling to be amongst the people, who are harmless, they keep apologizing if they bump into you, they’re not your enemy, for they realize we’re all in it together.

So, so long manufactured media. Wherein the “New York Times” and the “Wall Street Journal” refuse to give respect to this scene, despite it dwarfing those of the inner city. Just because it’s in the paper, that does not make it true, never mind important.

And so long music you can’t sing along to. How did we get so far from melody…

And so long giving lip-service to fans while doing your best to avoid them. Try getting a meet and greet with Top Forty titans. They don’t want anything to do with the audience, they’re too busy courting corporations.

Not that today’s country music is pure. It’s a machine. It sometimes has lowest common denominator lyrics. It has its own media infrastructure.

But in the desert, you don’t see it. In the desert, it’s about the music. The acts and the fans bond as one and it doesn’t matter what anybody else thinks or does, whether they acknowledge the scene or they don’t.

The world is run by women. And at Stagecoach they outnumber men. And sure, they’ve all put on their look. But what they want to do most is hang on the fence and sing along with songs they know by heart.

Got a problem with that?

I certainly don’t.

It’s thrilling!

The moon comes up and the sun goes down
We find a little spot on the edge of town
Twist off, sip a little, pass it around
Dance in the dust, turn the radio up
And that fireball whiskey whispers
Temptation in my ear
It’s a feelin’ alright FRIDAY night
And that’s how we do it ’round here
Yeah, that’s how we do it round here

So I’m in the middle of a dusty field in the California desert and Thomas Rhett, cowriter of this gigantic hit for Florida Georgia Line, drops out and from behind me I hear this giant noise as the thousands sing the chorus, in time, every word, at the top of their lungs.

Brings tears to my eyes.

This ain’t no Coachella.

Not that there aren’t beautiful women in skimpy outfits, it’s just that you don’t know their names. Oh, I saw Ashton Kutcher and Mila Kunis at Shelby Lynne, but truly, the only famous people in attendance were on stage.

In case you missed the memo, country is the number one radio format. You might think Miley Cyrus is a star. Or Avicii. But the truth is, in America these young pickers singing songs sans beats are the biggest players in the market, and if you went to one of their shows you’d say…THIS FEELS ALL RIGHT, I RECOGNIZE THIS!

Yes, Tom Petty is right, much of what emanates from Nashville resembles nothing so much as the rock music of the seventies. But this is the sound so many love. Write a new song, put in a fiddle or banjo, and voila! You’ve got modern country!

Now I’m not saying I saw no bad bodies. But if you’re into ogling, Stagecoach is your thing, boy or girl. I saw hunks walking around sans t-shirts who looked like they just came from the gym, and if your idea of attractiveness is cowboy boots and cut-off jeans…COME ON DOWN!

And they’re here for the music.

Not the undercard, but the headliners.

I was stunned how few people showed up for Shelby Lynne and the Wailin’ Jennys. Isn’t that what festivals are supposed to be about, grazing? You know, you go to Coachella, see the band of the moment, and forget about it. No one ever broke out of Coachella. And no one’s gonna break out of Stagecoach, but if you’ve already made it, you’re gonna go on a victory lap nonpareil.

And it is rock. Lynyrd Skynyrd started off with a full play of AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck.” Unfortunately, it was better than their performance, because there’s only one Ronnie Van Zant, and rock music should not be played in a tent, it doesn’t sound so good, bouncing off the walls.

And when Eric Church took the stage and sang his hit the girls were leaning against the fence with their arms in the air, noggins pointing to the sky singing…

Give me back my hometown
‘CAUSE THIS IS MY HOMETOWN!

Is there anything more fun, more enjoyable than singing along with a song you know by heart as its performer blasts the sound from the stage so loud you can’t hear yourself?

Come on you pill-poppin’ dancin’ fools, admit it, you remember grammar school, sitting in the car with your beloved as the radio played, it’s as American as apple pie, as life-affirming as an A on the test and riding up PCH with the top down and the wind blowing back your hair!

A giant sea of humanity on the exact same page, exulting…

THIS IS MY HOMETOWN!

Yes, I saw anti-Obama t-shirts, too many American flags, I heard a bunch of jingoistic lyrics, and I winced, but I did feel included, it felt like…America.

Society is unfathomable. The right and the left fight in Washington. People shoot and stab each other. Every week there’s a new tech invention. Making sense of it is essentially undoable.

And then you go to the country show and it all comes clear, you’re right where you belong. You say to yourself…THIS IS THE MUSIC BUSINESS I KNOW AND BELIEVE IN!

Come on, we don’t want to pay extra to be down front, we want to be part of the assembled multitude, feeling as one as the energy ripples up and down the crowd.

The people-watching is incredible. Like that old song, there are short ones, tall ones, big ones, small ones…

And they’re all here not to make the scene, see and seen, but TO HEAR THE MUSIC!

I’d say it’s refreshing, but it’s been this way for years, and the coastal establishment continues to ignore it, Top Forty radio banishes it, but it’s the sound that is truly underpinning our country.

When Katy Perry’s hits run out, I hope she has an acting career, because no one will want to see her.

But even though he’s still wet behind the ears, people will want to see Thomas Rhett for decades, because he didn’t sing about how he was better than us, he didn’t play to a glitterati we’ll never be a member of, rather he sang to and about US!

Life is so confusing.

The rich have all the money and tell us how much better they are, creating our jobs, all kinds of hogwash.

We can’t pay the bills, we’re worried about the future, hope flickers.

And then we turn on the country radio and we say…WE RECOGNIZE THIS!

And there’s too much about babies and Jesus and trucks, but if you hang in there, you see guitars and songs, no dancing, no backdrops, only music.

And the power is palpable and undeniable.

See Eric Church on stage and you won’t want to be a techie, neither banker nor doctor, you’ll pick up your axe and practice, because your heart’s desire will be to take the stage in front of tens of thousands, singing your heart out as they sing your message BACK TO YOU!