What kind of crazy fucked up world do we live in where the commercials are funnier than the program?

One in which Miley Cyrus radiates such intelligence that she blows away the rest of the show.

I’m loath to write about Ms. Cyrus one more time, I don’t want to be one of those bandwagoneers who use her for momentary fame, like Sinead O’Connor, who is truly the poster girl for mental illness, did you see her face tattoos? Ink has been crawling up the neck for about a decade, but once it migrates to your punim you’ve completely lost the plot, you’ve shown that you’ve got no desire to be part of society, or you’re shrieking for help.

I feel sorry for Ms. O’Connor, who spoke the truth to Ms. Cyrus, saying that the music industry is a sausage factory, but why was she so surprised that Miley tweeted back, Sinead’s got kids of her own, and one thing we know for sure is at twenty you believe you know everything and radiate a force field reflecting all constructive input.

But it’s the same parents who are up in arms over the last six weeks of Mileymania. Whether they be perturbed by her twerking or her ability to dominate the conversation with what boomers declare is not music.

I’ve got something to tell those oldsters, we’re living in a pop world. You can spin your Wilco CDs in your Biemers, but your progeny are streaming the hits of the day and reveling in being members of the group.

It would be easier if Miley Cyrus was a deer in the headlights like Katy Perry. Or an old incomprehensible stoner like Ozzy Osbourne. Then we could write her off as a tool of the system. But watching her on SNL you were wowed not by her body but her brain. She read the cue cards better than any cast member. Which is testimony to years on the Disney Channel, but so many TV stars are wooden on SNL and Miley was not. Because she’s smart and she’s talented. And unlike her forbear, Madonna, she comes down off the pedestal and is truly likable.

That’s what oldsters hate about Miley. That she just won’t shut up, recede into the firmament and respect her elders. But that’s what stars do, throw off chains and chart their own path. And their fans follow them.

Miley’s no Justin Timberlake, letting Janet Jackson take the heat for the nip-slip. Justin’s testing no limits, he’s truly safe, he’s an entertainer, there’s no train-wreck, and great rock stars have had a little bit of train-wreck all the way from Little Richard to John Lennon to Boy George to Eminem. It goes with the territory. If you’re not making people uptight, you’re not doing it right.

And SNL had a bit of an edge. It criticized Boehner and the Republicans without a concomitant equal swipe at the Democrats, a taboo in the “fair” media. And Jay Pharoah had a star turn as Shannon Sharpe, it wasn’t so much laugh out loud funny as whoa, watch this guy in action, but it’s been so long since we’ve had a breakout star on SNL that it was thrilling to watch his performance.

But I feel sorry for the telecast. Because in a splintered world there’s very little commonality the show can play off of. Even the hippest youngster is gonna be unfamiliar with so much, there are few frames of reference except for the show itself. Yes, SNL is an institution, but the core is rotten. It’s just a stepping stone to something else, whereas John Belushi and Danny Aykroyd did their best work on the telecast, they were owned by us, not the man.

And it’s hard to tell if Miley Cyrus is working for the man or us because it’s all so calculated and without her musical handlers there would be nothing there. None of these products of song factories can write without their team, and what comes out of the speakers is more akin to cheerleading than inner reflection. Yes, this manufactured music has no soul. Then again, despite having a black President America’s got no soul, it’s a hollow enterprise focused on cash so why criticize Miley Cyrus for being its greatest exponent?

Yes, you’ve seen the immediate future and this is it. A tsunami of press that forces everybody to pay attention for…as long as the “star” can hold their eyeballs. No one takes a break anymore, if they do they’re forgotten. You’ve got to be in the public eye 24/7.

Not that Miley Cyrus can’t sing. But did she really need so many effects and so much on hard drive during her first number?

But that’s today’s music. Despite all the money being in the live performance, it’s all about the record. You can’t take any risk, there can be no mistakes, and that’s why the aforementioned soul is gone. But we’re not looking for perfection, we’re looking for soul. It’s a conundrum that Miley’s life can have jagged edges but her music is slick and polished.

And this won’t be forever.

But until the country revolts against income inequality, expect pop stars to reign. Pop never leads, it follows. It takes the best and the brightest to lead and those people left the building long ago, because music’s not where the money is.

And it’s all about money. Otherwise SNL would do skits about the bleeding edge and force its audience to pay attention and investigate. But the program can’t afford a dip in ratings, no risk is involved in a show that hasn’t changed in nearly forty years.

But it was great once, just like the music that inspired it and was featured on it.

But that was a long time ago.

To the point where tonight the biggest star was the guest host, she blew everybody off the stage, if they were smart they’d beg her to be regular cast member.

P.S. The Ron Burgundy Chrysler spot and State Farm airplane/BBQ grill commercial were more innovative than anything on SNL. Sure, it’s harder to do it live, but the way out is by taking chances, which people do online every day but SNL refuses to do.

P.P.S. Sinead O’Connor face tattoos

Sinead O’Connor shows off B&Q cheek tattoos

Tom Perrotta, “Nine Inches.”

I just finished Malcolm Gladwell’s “David and Goliath.” I wish I could recommend it. But it’s flawed. The concept is not coherent enough and you start wondering re the cherry-picking of examples, I mean David Boies made it because of his dyslexia? And the problem with successful people, like Gary Cohn, whose ascension from aluminum salesman to President of Goldman Sachs is chronicled in the book, is that…people never tell the truth about themselves, especially after they’ve made it, it’s all about the myth, which is unfortunate, because the great unwashed believe the myth and try to emulate and achieve that which cannot be gotten, unaware the game was rigged from the get-go.

But that’s “nonfiction.”

Fiction’s a whole ‘nother animal. Ironically, when fiction is done right, it makes your hair stand on end with its accurate depiction of life, especially inner life.

That’s what we’re all interested in, that’s what life is truly about, what’s going on inside someone’s head. People rarely reveal it, and when they do it comes out in fits and starts and is so often filtered, but life is about the brain not the body, and nowhere is this evidenced more than in Perrotta’s book.

Discovered him by accident. Removing his short story collection, 1994’s “Bad Haircut,” from the shelf of the Santa Monica Library where I used to spend so much time before the Internet hit big and I rarely left the house.

And “Bad Haircut” was a good attempt. But it wasn’t fully-realized. Just another writer trying to find his niche and climb above the dead end of teaching creative writing in college.

Next came “The Wishbones.” Which I didn’t read until six years later but which you should read immediately. It’s the story of a garage band, musicians who never became famous. Not a sanitized film take, but the real story of getting older and playing for your living and what your life is like, it’s exceptional.

Then came “Election.” Yes, the story of Reese Witherspoon’s best movie was first a book, which I read after seeing the incredible flick that seems to have been forgotten but was truly great. In this instance, the film is a bit better, this happens so rarely, like in the case of Michael Chabon’s “Wonder Boys,” yet the book is still satisfying after seeing the movie.

And after the even better “Joe College,” Perrotta broke through, with “Little Children” and “The Abstinence Teacher.” But the problem was that Perrotta was now taking himself too seriously, the books had a heaviness his earlier work did not. He stopped being ours and started becoming theirs, and nothing alienates a core audience more.

And speaking of aliens, Perrotta jumped the shark with a genre book thereafter, “The Leftovers,” about a post-apocalyptic world. It failed. With everybody dashing for cash, writing about zombies and vampires, true readers became unsatisfied…is it about money or art?

And now comes the unexpected “Nine Inches.” Perrotta returning to his original framework, the short story. He went back to basics, like John Lennon recording fifties songs, if he wrote new ones that sounded like the originals instead of doing covers.

But Perrotta is so much better now, he’s got so much more under his belt, it’s the aforementioned Gladwell’s 10,000 hours in action. “Nine Inches” is a master at work.

But it’s getting little traction. Because it’s the genre fiction that’s triumphing and everybody pooh-poohs short stories.

And short work can be unsatisfying…because it ENDS!

You don’t want to read “Nine Inches” from start to finish in a day or two, which you could easily do. You want to savor each story. You truly have no other choice, because that’s how much they stick with you.

Can you convince yourself your present significant other is number one, burying in your mind the one who got away?

The person who appears to have it all together…is that just a facade?

Do we all have hopes and dreams, and are too many of those shattered and unfulfilled?

I’ve already told you too much.

But I will say if you’re not truly haunted reading the title story and “Grade My Teacher,” you’ve got no heart, no soul, and you’re no friend of mine.

Nine Inches

We want to go where everybody else goes.

So I’m reading a story in today’s “Los Angeles Times” about redesigning the Dodger Dog, the hot dog staple served since 1958 that has not changed a whit. Turns out the Texas Rangers have a two pound concoction and Atlanta has a hot dog with cole slaw and pulled pork, and I’m reading this article thinking the writer, Chris Erskine, has a good idea, one that could be implemented easily, but it will get no traction, because very few read the “Los Angeles Times” anymore.

The “Los Angeles Times” punted. Focusing on profitability as opposed to reach, it sacrificed its position as the voice of Los Angeles, its power is now minimal. Instead of cutting back, it should have been doubling down, like Amazon.

Bezos keeps inventing, keeps pushing, keeps reinvesting. His goal? To be the last man standing.

Pandora’s problem is it’s a one trick pony. Apple doesn’t need iTunes to be profitable, it’s just one element of its portfolio. Not that Pandora doesn’t have reach today, but my point is despite all this hoopla about niche, turns out we’re moving towards an era of dominance.

It’s already happened in movies. The studios make fewer than ever. They’ve closed their indie divisions. All they want is blockbusters. Know why? That’s all the public is interested in seeing! Despite all the boomers saying there’s nothing to see, the truth is they don’t go, they’d rather stay home. Which is one of the reasons we’re in a new golden age of television.

But it’s not only in movies, but music. We know who Miley Cyrus is, to the point that even Sinead O’Connor and Amanda Palmer are weighing in on her, but we don’t know much more than the Top Ten, because that’s all most people are interested in.

It’s human nature. We want to feel part of society. We want to be able to go to a party and have a conversation, we want points of commonality, and the enterprises that figure this out will win in the future.

That’s what troubles me about Apple’s upscale mobile phone strategy. Once you start leaving people out, you’re on the road to niche-ville, which can be very profitable today, but can be a disaster tomorrow. Mac sales were not going anywhere until the iPod gained traction. If Apple comes up with a new killer product, the company will continue to soar. Without it, it’s a death spiral.

Take Google. It’s the only search engine. There’s no need to go anywhere else. Google understands dominance.

Apple used to too. That was the key to the success of the iPod. It was the ONLY music player.

In other words, the jump from the minor leagues is bigger than ever. If you’re a profitable niche act, and you’re happy, more power to you, but if you want to go mainstream, if you want everybody to be aware of you, that’s a much bigger hurdle. In other words, while you sit at home railing against the state of pop music, saying this and that band is better, it proves you don’t understand the game. Sure, some people want to go to the small show, but most want to go to the big one, with the major act, which is one of the reasons the club business has died.

If you don’t strive for dominance and maintain your position, you’re doomed. Credit Facebook, it’s the dominant social network. It keeps reinvesting. It doesn’t want to be left behind. It purchases Instagram. It keeps integrating elements invented elsewhere. It strives to be the only place we want to go, because our friends are there!

And just like the iPod, maybe Facebook is not forever, or ultimately its features are subsumed by another entity.

But my point is we’re in an era where we’re gravitating to the bigger and bigger, those playing for all the marbles.

And the public wants this. Because it makes the world coherent, it makes people feel connected. It makes them happy.

I know, I know, they reinvented themselves as a country act, but it all began with the incredible first two tracks on the band’s debut.

They were on Capricorn, need we know more?

Yes, back when the Allman Brothers were the most credible band in the land, the thinking man’s Grateful Dead, before they broke through to the mainstream in the fall of ’73 with “Ramblin’ Man,” if it was on Phil Walden’s label, we paid attention. We didn’t need to hear a song on the radio, the label was enough.

And if you dropped the needle on Marshall Tucker’s debut, you were wowed.

Today, bands sequence albums so they flow, so they build up to the best and there’s a denouement thereafter, even though only the most diehard fans even play the whole thing, but back when vinyl records were not even forty minutes long acts knew they had to hit us with their best shot, right up front.

There was an explosion of guitars, even a flute, and the band settled into the groove of “Take The Highway.” All of which was a set-up for the languid follow-up, the killer track, Marshall Tucker’s piece-de-resistance, the six minute long “Can’t You See.”

A flute? A six minute track?

Yes, this was back in the seventies, when if you weren’t testing limits, you got no attention, when there was Top Forty radio, but it was an afterthought, a place where those truly clueless discovered six months or a year later what everybody clued-in, going to shows multiple times a month, already knew.

Oftentimes acts can be made by one extended cut, ergo Lynyrd Skynyrd with “Free Bird,” it doesn’t have to be a single, it only has to be great, and “Can’t You See” is fantastic.

It starts out quiet. And then there’s that damn flute once again. It’s like the act has taken you out to a meadow, where there are no distractions, so they can expose you, make you focus on greatness.

And the greatness truly begins when the guitar starts to play thirty seconds into the song. Somehow, people have come to believe it’s about how fast you can play, when it’s really about tone, and soul.

And then Toy Caldwell, the key songwriter, the band’s genius, starts to sing.

Gonna take a freight train
Down at the station, lord
I don’t care where it goes

Ain’t that the seventies, when there wasn’t a red-blooded American who didn’t fantasize about sticking out his thumb and seeing this great country of ours. Maybe it was “Easy Rider,” maybe it was the excitement of the west coast, but we all wanted to go out and see it.

Not that this is exactly what “Can’t You See” is about. It’s really about desperation, being left. Still, it’s reflective, back when all the great music wasn’t in-your-face, telling you how much better the singer is than the listener.

And then there’s some chicken-pickin’, and a subtle piano, it’s like it’s Sunday afternoon and no one has to show off, they’re just in the groove, enjoying playing music.

And despite so much air in the track, there’s so much going on, very subtly, between the piano, the guitar and the vocal, your head is swirling like the crazy cups at Disneyland.

And then comes the solo, where the guitar notes are being squeezed out, like he truly means it.

And then the whole number breaks down and then reconstitutes, walks off the stage, it’s like the band’s going on down the road and you can’t help but follow them.

Gonna take a freight train
Down at the station, lord
And I’m never comin’ back

That’s what music does best, take us away. And there’s no specific element of “Can’t You See” that puts it over the top, it’s the way it all hangs together, the way the band is locked into the groove, the way it makes us feel that makes it so great.

And even though “Take The Highway” is the opener, you get into “Can’t You See” first, and then discover how great “Take The Highway” is, with its couplet:

And the time has finally come
For me to pack my bags and walk away

That’s how it truly was, before cell phones and Facebook, when you were gone it was like the other person didn’t even exist. You had to go back to your hometown, where you might or might not run into them or hear some gossip.  You could hit the road and reinvent yourself.

We were all reinventing ourselves in the seventies. And our guide was the music.

“Take The Highway” breaks down in the middle like a jazz number, and then comes back together, batting you over the head with its excellence. And the rest of the debut is not this great, better than serviceable, but we were all eager to hear what came next. Which after two more albums in a similar mold, but not as good and not as successful, turned out to be more country, with eventual radio hits like “Fire On The Mountain” and “Heard It In A Love Song,” but really it was all about the debut.

Then Tommy Caldwell died. Then the heart of the group, Toy Caldwell, but there’s still a band on the road milking the story, because the attendees cannot forget, the joy of “Take The Highway,” with its improvisation and dynamics and “Can’t You See,” which captured the cultural zeitgeist and delivered a unique, satisfying listening experience all at the same time.

Rhinofy-Marshall Tucker’s Debut