“It turns out that for all their diversity, the strikingly successful groups in America today share three traits that, together, propel success. The first is a superiority complex – a deep-seated belief in their exceptionality. The second appears to be the opposite – insecurity, a feeling that you or what you’ve done is not good enough. The third is impulse control.”

“What Drives Success”

I didn’t want to change my personality. I told my psychiatrist I wanted to be me all the time.

He told me no one gets to be that way. That to be successful one has to assess situations and choose how to behave.

Let me restate this, utilizing the analogy we developed over time.

What club do you want to hit?

Maybe you’ve never played golf. I hadn’t since I got that hole in one, decades back. But we all know that there are clubs for long and short. Drivers for tees and putters for greens. And under the rules of golf, you get to carry fourteen sticks in your bag. Which one do you want to employ?

You’d never use the putter on the tee. Nor the driver on the green. You assess the distance and the wind, factor in your experience and make a choice. Does it always work out? No, but you learn from both your triumphs and mistakes and adjust in the future.

That’s what winners do.

I was a loser.

I mistakenly believed that life was about reaction. And my reactions were screwed up by…me being me. A bit of paranoia, a need to make sure I was not taken advantage of, an inability to see two steps down the road.

But no longer.

Now I read situations and react accordingly. Thinking about what I want to have happen.

Now let me be clear. Sometimes I want to take out the driver when a putter will do. Someone’s pissed me off so bad that I want to blow them away, or I don’t care about their response.

But generally speaking, I’ve learned impulse control. And at this point my life is laden with invites and opportunities and when I first started to see this doctor it was as barren as the Mojave desert.

As for a superiority complex… What did Bob Dylan say, if he revealed his desires, his innate sense of self, his desire to triumph… He couldn’t, because people step on your dreams, they laugh at you.

That’s what’s funny about most of the people who succeed and sustain. They have no need to tell you how great they are, how big they’re going to be, it’s self-evident. Sure, some rappers break the code, but there’s an exception to every rule, and how long do they last compared to Jamie Dimon anyway.

Huh? That overcompensated banker?

But most of the people in banking and tech did not yearn to be famous at ten, desire to be on television and make a bit of money. They put their nose to the grindstone and waited for the results. That’s the way it used to be in music, before everybody believed they were born a star and just had to convince people by fighting for attention.

As for insecurity… Why do you think the most famous people do it? To cover up that hole inside. To make their lives work. That’s why the greatest of musical stars can never write another hit. They do it to prove something, to make themselves happy, and when all that success does not achieve that inner goal…their motivation is gone. After the women, the cars and the cash, when they still feel rotten, why double down and do the work? Why not just go on tour, play the oldies and count the cash?

Musical stars are the worst. When it comes to insecurity that is. Who’d want to sacrifice that much, burn that many bridges to make it? Don’t equate making it with those TV reality stars. They’ve got no idea what’s involved. It’s just a giant party and they want to partake. True genius is a tortured process. And the peaks barely last. It’s great to be number one today, but the day after you win your award, or the day after that, you’re the same damn person with the same damn problems.

You think you can break the rules?

Good luck.

This article could be much more readable. But if you hang with it until to the end you’ll see that Sonia Sotomayor saved herself. That it’s best with parents guiding and imploring you, but you can be self-directed.

There are very few winners in the world. Sure, coming from a rich family helps. But superiority is not enough. Nor are advantages. Without the above three elements you’re not going to succeed.

I’ve got the superiority complex.

As for insecurity, I’m riddled with it. As referenced in the article, my dad kept telling me I was a POS, that I couldn’t relax and had to do well in school. When I came home with a bad report card he took me to the garage and pounded my skis into the concrete. He was completely out of control. And this resonated. How could I make it and escape?

Not that he wasn’t loving and giving, but he wanted to instill in me the reality that no one was on my side, and if I didn’t do the work, when he was gone, I’d be in trouble.

Sounds bad, I know it.

And for a long time, it never worked out for me. Oh, I had successes, but they didn’t sustain.

That’s when I learned the third part of the puzzle, impulse control. And with the trifecta complete my life zoomed past my competitors, it shot up the chart, coping with the good (and the hate) is much harder than sitting on the sidelines with the sour grapes contingent.

But that was not me. I wasn’t envious of others’ success nor licking my wounds as much as I was flummoxed by how hard I was working and how many brick walls I was hitting.

BUT NO MORE!

They didn’t shoot high enough.

What separates the good from the truly great is that barely visible edge, you know, the one upon which you skate exquisitely and triumph, or fall down from and are decimated.

It’s absent from music.

It’s evident on cable television. From “House Of Cards” to “Breaking Bad” the rulebook has been burned and creative people are flying on instinct and titillating viewers to the point where staying home all day for a Netflix marathon is de rigueur.

But album sales keep dropping and the only meaning in music is evident on the records of the wannabes who can neither sing nor play but are convinced if we would just give them a listen they’d triumph.

Fat chance.

But the Beatles were different.

Because they were disadvantaged. Their mothers were gone. Paul suddenly started skipping school. When you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose. You’d think that today’s underclass would dig deep and whip out gut-wrenching quality, but they’re too busy watching the flat screen and typing on their mobile phones, believing if they just promote themselves, they’ll become famous.

They don’t even know what rich is.

Fame is their goal.

But the Beatles were bitten by the bug. Of Elvis Presley and Buddy Holly. They wanted to be just like them, the way we wanted to be just like the Beatles.

Yes, fifty years ago, our nation was changed literally overnight. Guitar sales burgeoned and barber shops closed. Because we’d all seen the Beatles on Ed Sullivan.

By the time we were exposed to them they’d been writing songs for nearly a decade, and had spent thousands of hours performing in Hamburg, never mind the Cavern Club. And with something to prove, they made our jaws drop.

Today’s kids can’t even play their instruments. But the Beatles were on Ed Sullivan sans hard drives or tapes, and they killed.

They had crooked, chipped, tobacco-stained teeth. Image was important, but songs even more. They were making it up as they went along.

Today we’re just repeating the formula. Established by the four lads from Liverpool fifty years ago. No one’s got skin in the game. And the rogue’s gallery of personalities who invented this business are long since retired, and haven’t been replaced.

The Beatles blew the sixties wide open. They built upon the folk culture (RIP Pete Seeger) and the civil rights movement to empower an entire generation to live free and question authority in a way we would not see again until the dawn of the technological age. What do John Lennon and Steve Jobs have in common? They were both mercurial assholes. And we loved them for it. Because when John emoted and Steve unfurled his latest creation, our souls were touched and we were overcome with the possibilities.

But this was back when we were innocent.

I don’t want to be twenty five again, never mind a teenager, those were horrible years with so many frustrations, but watching last night’s footage on the big screen I was reminded that once upon a time I did not know how the world worked. I saw the glass as half full. I did not question people’s motives. I did not know that PR wagged the tail of the media dog. I thought that we could change the world.

And we did.

But nobody in music is changing the world today.

Katy Perry was so awful, it was the only thing anybody could talk about. I’m sure they’ll fix her vocal before airtime, they have to.

Imagine Dragons did a flawless version of “Revolution” absent all the original’s soul. If you can’t lock on to the groove, you’ve missed the target. It’s not about perfection, but feel.

Ed Sheeran eviscerated all the pathos and soul-searching and world-weary wisdom from “In My Life.” Everybody was painting by numbers. And that way you can replicate a Picasso, but art is about inspiration, not repetition.

But the two guys from the Sullivan show… Testifying as to their exploits back then. Telling stories about rehearsal and Ed coming in on Saturday to meet the reporters, being a giant press hound. This was what we were eating up, this is what we were salivating for.

And was absent too much in this made for TV production.

LL Cool J was the host! What has he got to do with the Beatles other than this show is on CBS?

Anna Kendrick was great in that George Clooney movie, but she wasn’t even born when the band broke big.

But it’s all about ratings baby, and if we don’t entice the young ‘uns, we don’t make money.

And there you have America in a nutshell. Money comes first.

So the techies are on top, the bankers come next, and I’m stuck in the middle with you…nowhere.

We used to have our records, we used to have our art, now we’ve just got our gossip wherein we follow the travails of the Kardashian Klub as they dash for dollars, egged on by their producer, the empty vessel known as Ryan Seacrest.

Did we really need a new Dick Clark? How about a new Wolfman Jack, or Tom Donahue, or Scott Muni…or even a new Cousin Brucie.

But Ryan’s on TV and he’s rich so we’re subjected to his visage.

Didn’t used to be this way.

And then Jeff Lynne and Joe Walsh and Dhani Harrison come out and positively kill “Something.”

Jeff wrings the same wistful emotion from the lyrics as George did.

And Joe pulls off the same notes.

And Dhani plays along and smiles. With a joy not palpable by anybody else his age in attendance.

And then comes Stevie Wonder. Another alta kacher.

I doubt most people under fifty are aware of Stevie’s rendition of “We Can Work It Out.” An exquisite original, Stevie added a funky Hohner intro and a harmonica solo that makes you shimmy and shake and he replicated the number just perfectly last night.

Not the first time through. He missed it. By less than five percent, but…

That five percent means everything. He was the only act who insisted on a do-over. And when he did…

Stevie’s nodding his head, he’s tickling the ivories, and I’m in heaven. Anybody would be, whether you know the original or not.

And then Paul did “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” and the band segued into Ringo singing “With A Little Help From My Friends” and everything was right with the world. Sure, they did the obligatory “Hey Jude” sing-along to conclude the evening, but when you sing the na-nas…all your troubles fall away, you feel a spark inside, that’s the power of music.

Which we seem to have abandoned in our desire for commerce.

This show will come and go. It will make money and be forgotten. I’d say it will make young kids interested in the Beatles, but despite pandering to them I doubt they’ll watch it, they’re too busy tapping on their devices to take time out.

But their parents…

We live in a word of mouth culture. You can manipulate the media but you’ll never achieve your goal. Which is to stick around, to last.

The reason the Beatles are as big as ever, and everyone knows their music, is because of the baby boomers who were there when it happened all those years ago. They can’t stop talking about it.

We’ve stopped talking about so much more. Dozens of hit acts have been wiped from our memory banks. World events have been shortened to where you were when Kennedy was shot, where you were when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, there’s no discussion of context, just talk about thinly-sliced events.

But when it comes to the Beatles…

It changed the way you look, the way you thought, you can sing those songs by heart and still do. It was so much more than Ed Sullivan, that was just the beginning.

If we don’t respect our culture, if we don’t grasp for the highest rung, we’re worse off as a society.

This was a decent show, but it could have been so much more.

If it featured Dave Clark, speaking about how it was to compete with the Beatles.

If it detailed the beginnings of the merch business, when everybody had to have an “I Love Paul” button and a Beatle wig.

If it stopped worrying so much about today and hearkened back to yesteryear. If it featured the people who were there the first time around, instead of throwing them on the scrapheap in a desire to placate the younger generation that does not care.

I know the producers don’t like my message. I know I’m raining on their parade.

But the Beatles changed my life. Without them I’m a completely different person. I’m not here writing to you.

And when I hear “Every Little Thing” I think back to every girl I ever touched, whether it be Betsy Kimball back at Camp Laurelwood or Felice Mancini today.

I can tell you about drumming the intro to “Come Together” on the desk of the high school library.

Sitting around the campfire singing “Day Tripper.”

Going to a dance and having not a single conversation but being thrilled when the band played “I Want To Tell You.”

And I am not alone. Our entire lives were permeated by four lads from Liverpool who were bitten by the music bug and could only see the possibilities, who believed “safe” was anathema.

I’ve got thousands of vinyl records, including all the original Beatles LPs, however worn.

Because I couldn’t live without them. They’re as vital to my identity as my DNA.

So when you watch this special, or don’t, know that of all the music from the classic rock era the only slam dunk for survival is that of the Beatles. Not because of the way they looked, or the tally of number ones, but because of the vocals, the changes, the playing. The songs. The records.

You want a goal?

Have that be it. Make it about the music.

If you’re really that good we’ll find out about you.

They were.

On to the Super Bowl!

That’s the shelf life of an ersatz awards show these days. The fawning press, part of the sell-out gravy train, casts no critical eye, the public tweets its snarkiness, and by breakfast we’re done with the Pop Tart and on to something new.

Blame Neil Portnow. Blame Ken Ehrlich.

But don’t blame anybody as much as the acts.

The youngsters have watched too much TV and believe it’s all about production.

The oldsters are thrilled just to get some airtime, extending their moment in the sun just a little bit further, making the geriatrics aware of their existence, possibly motivating them to come out in their wheelchairs for one more show.

Speaking of the show…

Will someone tell Beyonce that song is not a hit?

And while they’re at it, tell Keith Urban too.

If you’re gonna get all that exposure, just play what people want to hear. To try and promote your new track is too shortsighted. You’ve got to remind people why they care in the first place.

Kind of like McCartney. He did a decent take of a mediocre cut from his already gone album. Huh? I can understand being burned out on the Beatles classics, but couldn’t you at least do some Wings? Or “Say Say Say” with Stevie Wonder playing Michael Jackson’s part?

And why can no one perform solo anymore? Did I miss the memo and are duets de rigueur? Then again, every cut has multiple writers and a rapper to spice it up.

But really. This train-wreck/mash-up paradigm has gotten out of control.

Although it was funny to see how far Robin Thicke has fallen. From the song of the summer to being upstaged by Miley Cyrus to becoming the foil for Chicago. What’s next, dinner theatre?

And speaking of venues… When is Pink gonna join Cirque du Soleil? Her acrobatics have nothing to do with music. And now she’s even defying gravity ON stage. And didn’t she do this circus act at the Grammys once before?

Oh, where do we start.

With Beyonce and Jay Z.

She already had her moment at the Super Bowl. It’d be like Prince doing halftime once again. We’ve seen the act, we’re not gonna be wowed again.

And don’t you hate it when royalty feels entitled?

Well, not as much as you laugh when Taylor Swift mouths every lyric and geekily dances in the front row when everybody behind her is sitting down.

And Katy Perry… Are you really that insecure? That you need so many trappings? Just get out and SING! And while you’re at it, sing your hit, the one you were nominated for, “Roar.” Nobody cares about your substandard second single.

And did you see Les Moonves’s face in the crowd? This is the one percent in action. You’re not a star Les, the fact that we’re exposed to your punim demonstrates everything that’s wrong with America. Do I get airtime at the CBS stock show?

Let me even try and remember who else…

Hunter Hayes. A whole lot of nothing. And to think he got airtime when people were still awake.

Oh, now I get it, you think I can’t stop complaining.

I will say that I loved hearing “Okie From Muskogee.” Those ancient country crooners didn’t need no damn production.

Nor did Daft Punk. “Get Lucky” was the highlight of the evening. Not because the performance was so good, but because we were all caught up in the joy of the track, reminding ourselves of the power of music to take us away. Hell, just to hear Nile Rodgers play that chunky riff for minutes was enough. They do call it music, you know.

And Madonna… Did you hurt yourself skiing? Why the cane? That’s right, you can’t avoid the spotlight, and the Grammys can’t say no.

As for Macklemore… A stunningly good rendition of a song the kids know but didn’t see because they were already asleep.

And Trent’s pissed that they cut him off, but really, did anybody in attendance, never mind those at home, want to see a bombastic melange of NIN/QOTSA/FOOS?

No.

It works live for those who care.

But we were watching on TV and most don’t, care that is.

Kind of like Imagine Dragons with Kendrick Lamar. I’m watching the flat screen knowing this kind of spectacle wows live, but at home it looked like a bad birthday party.

As for the awards themselves…

How great is it that “Get Lucky” won? This ain’t no Steely Dan, no Herbie Hancock, the Daft Punk song was one of the biggest of the year, I’m happy.

As for the album…

Has anybody heard it? I played it a bunch. You don’t need to. Most people did not. The Grammys keep rewarding albums no one listens to, it’s a singles world.

And “Royals.”  Last time I checked “Song of the Year” was about the underlying composition, which theoretically could be performed by anybody. But “Royals” is nothing so much as a record.

Will we hear from Lorde again? Probably before Macklemore!

And speaking of the Best New Artist… That was a closed category, Lorde had it sewn up. But I guess they’ll have to tweak the category once again, to ensure the right people are nominated.

And I give Kacey Musgraves props. I was right, I said she had a good chance of winning! Probably because the rest of the nominees canceled each other out. But her performance paled in comparison to the one by the Civil Wars a few years back. It just wasn’t…magical.

And there you have it. That’s what the show lacked. Magic.

It wasn’t that it was bad.

Oh, it started off really bad. But then it righted itself and wobbled to the end, but there wasn’t one single memorable moment. At least this is something that MTV has right.

And there are too many categories. And the desperation is palpable. And it’s clear that music doesn’t live on TV, but at the club, in your house and on the radio in your car. The youngsters demonstrate they ain’t got it live and the oldsters show us they haven’t written a good song in eons. And we don’t even get to comment because unlike the burgeoning Golden Globes, CBS refuses to simulcast the Grammys at the same time in every time zone. So I already knew who won when I tuned in.

We live in an all inclusive world, and they left us out.

What can I say about a show that was trumped by a Pepsi commercial?

That advertisers know it’s about creativity and excellence, and you never fumble your big opportunity.

Musical artists and Grammy executives?

They shoot for the middle.

And the middle is nowhere.

Steven Tyler is a rock star, James Taylor is a national treasure and Lady Gaga knows that fun is the one thing that money can’t buy.

Yes, last night at the L.A. Convention Center baby boomers celebrated the life and work of Carole King while across town at the Beats party Gen X honored hip-hop of the nineties and youngsters were home taking selfies while tumbling, tweeting and instagramming, knowing that today you’re the star.

But once upon a time we lay in darkened rooms with our transistors under our pillows believing we were best friends with the deejay and if we could only meet the makers of the mellifluous sound emanating from the tiny speaker, or single earbud, our lives would be complete.

And now, nearly sixty years on, our hair has fallen out, our bodies are lumpy, we settled for lives we could not foresee, but one thing is still constant, the tunes.

There’s not a baby boomer alive who can’t remember the earth moving in the spring of ’71. Word of mouth was slower back then, all we had was the telephone and paper post, but Carole King went from unknown to everywhere, from the dorm room eventually to the radio, “Tapestry” was the soundtrack of our lives.

Credit the vision of Lou Adler, rising from the ashes of surf music and the harmonies of the Mamas & the Papas to deliver this music to the masses.

And stunningly, Lou and Carole are still here.

I think I’m goin’ back
To the things I learned so well in my youth

My second rock single was “Loco-Motion.” After “Monster Mash.” I had no idea it was written by Carole King and her then husband Gerry Goffin, I thought Little Eva was the star.

The same way I thought Herman and his band of Hermits wrote “I’m Into Something Good.”

And then, after exhausting Al Kooper’s material, the biggest band in the land came back with “Hi-De-Ho.” Yes, Blood, Sweat & Tears was embraced by both the hipsters and the cognoscenti, before they ran out of gas.

And this was the number Tyler sang with LeAnn Rimes. And the latter has the pipes, but Tyler’s got the charisma. Sans Aerosmith Tyler was still a big star last night, because he realizes rock and roll is about grabbing the audience by the crotch and squeezing. To see him in action is to remind one that the lord of the thighs got our rocks off then, and still can. I’ve met plenty of rock stars, but the only one who lives up to the rep is Tyler. Who not only looks and acts the part, but radiates intelligence all the while. Whew!

And then came Lady Gaga. Who seems to realize her career is in limbo. That following up a mediocre album with a stiff was a mistake that could shorten her time in the spotlight. So rather than utilize this evening to enhance her career, she decided to use it as her own personal victory lap. So Gaga smiled as she pounded out “You’ve Got A Friend.” Would she have gotten a standing ovation without her hits? Probably not. Because it’s easier to sing than write. Still…Gaga delivered.

But not like James Taylor.

He hasn’t had a hit in eons. But rather than stay home and lick his wounds and count his money, JT keeps working. Like his audience he’s aged, and there wasn’t a person in attendance who didn’t testify as to his excellence.

He took us up on the roof. And reminded us of when soft, sensitive music ruled not only the bedroom, but the radio.

And then Carole took the stage. And the pipes are rusty, but the fingers still work. When she tickled the ivories on “Home Again” one was brought right back to the Kirshner cubicles, back before those writing songs believed their talent entitled them to fame, never mind riches, when they did it because they needed to, because they loved to play, when they were privileged just to stay away from mundane day jobs.

Everybody’s an individual. The key is to find what you do best, to not follow the road plowed by others, but to go off on your own. I could have been blindfolded in the boonies and I’d still have been able to pick out Carole’s playing within notes. The attack, the pull back.

And the show was closed with a rousing rendition of “Jazzman,” with Tom Scott blowing so hard and so right that he lifted the roof right off the joint.

Yes, when the jazzman testifies, a faithless man believes.

Not everybody was great last night. The country singing segment was such a train-wreck you could only grin and bear it.

And other stars took the night to make it about themselves.

And others punched the clock.

But the true stars rose above.

Tyler blew us away and Taylor pulled at our heartstrings.

And there were execs in attendance who were aching to leave early and did.

And nobodies dressed in finery in the back enjoying their brush with fame, taking notes to dine out on for the following year, but knowing deep in their hearts that they’ll be forever outsiders.

But at the heart of it all was music.

I’m stunned by this Grammy week. Because despite all the focus on the awards, music is living in L.A. in a way that demonstrates that the true American art form is what comes out of the speakers, not what you see on the screen.

Music makes you feel, it touches your heart.

It’s there when you’re happy, it’s there when you’re sad.

It never abandons you, it’s only a click away.

And without it life would be so much less rich.

Jazzman, take my blues away…