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…

I wanted to hate it on principle. Because she gets more press than I believe she deserves. So her father was Johnny Cash, so she’s big on Twitter…

But if you remember the way it used to be when you put on a record in your own private world and no longer felt so alone, CHECK THIS OUT!

Credit her husband, producer John Leventhal, who worked his magic most famously on Shawn Colvin’s debut, still my favorite album of the nineties, even though it was released at the tail end of 1989.

Start right at the beginning, with “A Feather’s Not A Bird.”

Now I’m gonna tell you, it’s not about the lyrics. It’s about the SOUND, like all great music. I’m not saying the words are bad or irrelevant, but first and foremost you’ve got to feel it, which I did, almost immediately.

It’s the swampy sound.

You remember the swamp, right? Where there’s no cell signal and you’re living by your wits? That’s how music used to be, before everybody was addicted to their mobile and kids called their parents multiple times a day and no one was ever alone. But that’s what music is…a one on one experience, just you and what’s coming in your ears…and this is so PLEASING!

I appreciate that it starts off with a guitar figure unrepresentative of what comes next, because it sounds like someone’s tuning up, preparing, and then they lock onto the groove almost IMMEDIATELY!

Come on. You almost have a hard time not moving, grooving along to the sound. And it keeps getting better, with all the stringed instruments tweaking…and then the chorus is actually understated, like everything important, it’s got an almost sexy feel, and the instruments coming out of it…just make you feel better and better.

And that’s music. It’s hard to explain. It’s not about being in your face so much as sneaking up on you, entering your orifice when you least expect it and changing your life.

Yes, you can listen to the Top Forty hits and they’ll change nothing. You can bump your ass, you can even sing along, but they’re soulless. Like Katy Perry’s “Roar”… Who wants to hear a woman/child talk about her power when the truth is that’s not how life is at all, life is lonely, with more questions than answers, and we don’t need music to make us either feel inferior or to charge us up but to…ride shotgun.

This is not supposed to happen. Everybody sitting on the sidelines bitching about the new era keeps stating you can’t do this. That there’s not enough money and streaming sound quality sucks and rather than marching forward they’re giving up. And here’s someone who hasn’t had a hit for decades delivering something so right…

And you’ll get it. Because they put the best track right up front.

And not every track is exquisite, but check out “The Long Way Home,” which has got a feel that sounds like a combo of midsixties England and Tennessee and is so haunting. You’re almost afraid to get out from under the covers. The music is almost scary, in that way the greatest stuff does, it touches your soul.

Everybody’s swinging for the fences, nobody’s bunting.

But you remember the bunt… The unexpected effort, which changes the whole game when it works.

Rosanne can sing, John and his cohorts can play. This is no indie effort that requires you to peer through a scrim to get. It’s something if you’ve got a few lines in your face you’re gonna completely understand, something you’re gonna want to hear, especially when you’re alone on a Sunday afternoon.

And I’ll credit the press campaign for getting me to pay attention.

But I did not expect to get immediately hooked.

More like this please.

Rhinofy-The Rosanne Cash Album

He gave himself seven months.

Not Steve Barnett, but Sam Smith. That’s where I was, at Steve’s house, at a small luncheon introducing Sam.

Sure, they played the music in the background, but I already had the album. I enjoyed talking to Rodney Jerkins.

What’s strange about show business is everybody’s two-dimensional until you meet them. Oh, you think you know them but you don’t. Furthermore, who you think is a prick is not and vice versa.

So how much do I have in common with Mr. Jerkins?

Not much!

But it turns out he’s from Atlantic City. And my family used to vacation in Ventnor. Furthermore, we’re both transplants and laughing about it. I mean we’re talking on the phone to our families on the east coast and they’re complaining about the cold and it’s eighty degrees out here and I’m reminded of nothing so much as Sam Kinison’s routine about starving Africans. “Don’t send food, send LUGGAGE! They’ve got to MOVE!”

As it is, many east coasters are moving to Florida, the state is bulging with those who used to come to CA, the nutjobs who believe if they just change their surroundings their lives will work. They stopped coming to California when the economy turned sour, when they realized Florida was so much closer, but now Governor Moonbeam has saved the state and California is burgeoning but most people are focused on the shenanigans in FLA. You know, where the Republicans are fighting the Democrats and under the rubric of “personal freedom” the whole state is in transition. Whereas in California, it’s only Democrats, the grid has been unlocked and we’re moving forward with electric cars, more money for schools and mistakes are being made, but once again, the west coast is the country’s beacon. Not that it gets much press. Because the whole nation is controlled by the loonies who want more guns, fewer taxes and more “freedom” as they tell us how to live our lives.

That’s right, I’m a LIBERAL! The whole damn state is liberal. And we’re pulling away from the rest of you like Dave Edmunds crawling from the wreckage into a brand new car. We’ve got tech, and we’ve got music. We’ve got Capitol Records! The building may have been sold in an effort to ensure honchos got their bonuses, but there’s a whole new team ensconced in the Tower, with Steve Barnett reporting to fellow left coast transplant Lucian Grainge. We live in a Universal world. And if you don’t think that’s true, tell me about Warner’s market share and what septuagenarian Doug Morris’s plan is for the future.

THERE IS NO PLAN!

It’s business as usual. Spend and have hits.

And I’ll agree, that’s the essence, but it’s the penumbra that’ll kill you.

So Barnett makes a deal for Sam Smith, already signed to a Universal label in the U.K. And gets Rodney Jerkins to remix the single, adding some horns, some churchy elements.

And I find myself spending an hour in the hills, overlooking the Basin from downtown to the beach, having lunch outside on January 24th thinking there’s no place I’d rather be.

And after Steve gives an introduction, I get into it with Mr. Smith.

He’s been trying to make it since puberty. It’s all he ever wanted. He went through nearly ten managers. Some have posted old tracks on iTunes today. And while he’s scrubbing toilets at the bar, he’s thinking if it doesn’t happen in seven months, he’s done.

But he finds a new manager. He gets hooked up with Disclosure. And these new people tell him…he can do it his way. Honesty rules.

It’s so funny to encounter someone at the advent. Someone who’s not American, who doesn’t focus first and foremost on the trappings, but rather the music.

The project is gonna live or die on Sam Smith’s talent. Remember that? When music wasn’t made by committee?

Then again, everybody who remembers that era is much older than Sam Smith, who had no idea what “Tumbleweed Connection” was.

Kind of like my conversation with Peter Mensch last night. He was wondering why Q Prime doesn’t get recognized for its achievements, why people don’t consider it to be the best management company extant.

BECAUSE WE’RE SIXTY PETER! AND DEF LEPPARD WAS DECADES AGO!

I’m not saying that Q Prime hasn’t done much since, they’ve done plenty, but although old men, and it is mostly men, run this business, it’s driven by the efforts of youngsters, who grew up in a connected world and know the Beatles and the hits of yesteryear, but whose knowledge only goes so deep, because there isn’t enough much time.

So Sam Smith is still wet behind the ears. He’s only been to New York, L.A. and Las Vegas, the last of which did not fit his fancy. He’s just starting to learn, he’s just starting to be influenced.

And it’s all about the influences. And the risks.

Yes, he was due in the studio the next day with Linda Perry and debated whether to stay out late and tie one on or to hunker down and go to bed early.

Sam did the former. And then wrote about it!

Because that’s what we want. Honesty. Not contemplated, but as Bryan Adams used to put it, straight from the heart. Once you start to second guess yourself you’re done. You’ve got to be willing to ride the razor’s edge.

In other words, if you’re not willing to fail, you’re never going to win.