No one has ever finished this book, not unless they were paid to do so, because the last two thirds is UNREADABLE!

Think I’m on a vendetta? Then peruse the review in yesterday’s “New York Times”:

Arista Cat

How come the message didn’t get out? How come no one has said reading this book is like listening to your grandpa tell his life story? Even worse, every little detail. Sure, you want to hear about the old country, and the journey therefrom, but when he starts talking about stuff you know about, and don’t care about, then your eyes roll into the back of your head. You suddenly have to pee, you need to go outside, you need to ESCAPE!

“The Soundtrack of My Life” was riveting up until he got fired from CBS. Because those acts changed the world. As for Barry Manilow and Ace of Base, do we really need the gory details?

But let’s go back to said firing. Clive was completely innocent. Just like the who’s who of record biz folk he lists as upstanding citizens. That was too much for me to take. That’s like saying Eliot Spitzer doesn’t exist, that “Hit Men” wasn’t written, that payola never happened and the music business is one big happy playground, hey, let’s go on the slide!

That’s wrong. The music biz is full of crooks. Play it straight and you have a hard time surviving. But if there was ever blame to be taken, ever fault, ever illicit activity, Clive was not there. He didn’t know Milli Vanilli couldn’t sing, he didn’t know what happened to TLC’s money, he was too busy taking credit to be guilty.

This ain’t a book, it’s a recounting of every facet of Clive’s career. I mean every single band that ever had some action. It would be like hearing about every date you ever went on, EVER! Think that gets old?

Then again, Clive’s not an author.

What’s wrong with our country that everybody thinks they can do everything? Just because he can run a record company, and interspersed amongst the endless choppy stories is some good advice, that does not mean he can write a book.

Want to know a dirty little secret? Pay attention here, because this is gold, SOMETIMES YOU’VE GOT TO LEAVE THE BEST STUFF OUT!

In service of the story.

There is no story in Clive’s book. Just an endless rehashing of his life. That ain’t a book, that’s a document to be placed on the shelf of a museum, for scholars to study.

But Clive got a deal with Simon & Schuster, snookered the mainstream press to hype it without reading it, and most people just don’t care, and those who purchased the book ended up with a doorstop.

I’m still a hundred pages from the end. It’s sheer torture. Every time there’s a new chapter, I put it down. But I wanted to get to the end so I could speak authoritatively.

I’ll get there, but…

The main point of Clive’s book is father knows best. He’s got the experience, he knows the game, and if you don’t play it his way, you’re screwed. From Melissa Manchester to Curtis Stigers, she or he who wouldn’t do it Clive’s way never reached their potential… HOW COME THIS DOESN’T APPLY TO CLIVE?

A book should have a story, an arc, it should be a fun read.

An endless recounting of your life is not a story.

Kind of like Arista music. That’s the true problem here. If Clive had signed Guns N’ Roses, that would be interesting. Then again, he did make a deal with Puffy for Biggie, and the legendary rapper gets less space than Deborah Cox. You remember Deborah Cox, right?

As for statistics, Clive keeps talking about chart positions of Arista records that I can’t even remember. How’s that for legacy?

And long into Arista’s existence he complains that they had to find new hits, because they had no catalog. After decades? Isn’t that your problem, that you signed stuff with the shelf life of a cookie?

Mr. Davis is old and rich. I have no desire to personally bring him down. What I mean by that is if he wants to live in his illusory world, that’s fine by me. Let him be Chauncey Gardiner.

But as for the rest of the public… Can we stop this myth that he’s the man with the golden ears, that he’s somehow better than us?

He’s a record executive. He had some hits.

But his real skill is self-mythologizing.

But the myth won’t last, certainly not based on this book, because it’s so damn bad.

Clive goes on about albums needing multiple singles. Remaking foreign LPs so the acts would have careers. Where was that thinking here?

And the only interesting thing from the Arista years is the Whitney Houston excerpt. If he were smart, and hip, and insightful, all the things he claims to be, he would have sold this chapter as a Kindle Single for $2.99. THAT people are interested in, not this hagiography.

But Clive doesn’t want money. He’s not like the other Clive, Clive Calder, who had the biggest score in the history of the music business and then disappeared, POOF! (Then again, Clive says he had the same deal… Then why isn’t he so damn rich!) No, Clive wants the fame, the glory, and this book ain’t gonna help his cause a single bit. Because it’s no damn good and in today’s era you grow from the ground up and Clive is still living in the twentieth century, when you whip the mainstream media into a frenzy, figuring the heat will rain down on the populace and you’ll end up with success. But that paradigm is toast. Just like Clive.

The Soundtrack of My Life

Talk about overexposed.

Are we still living in 2000, when it was all about the first week and most people still had not discovered Napster?

Yup, that’s when JT was at his peak.

You want to know the big arts story this week?

The “Veronica Mars” Kickstarter project. They’ve raised in excess of three million bucks by going to those who care, the fans, as opposed to JT, who’s positively living in the past, believing that saturation marketing will convince all of us who don’t care to. Huh? You’re just pissing us off!

Meanwhile, I’m here to tell you sexy never left, but cool is back. Manufactured is trouble. Hubris is fatal. Hell, when the “New York Times” writes articles about the Taylor Swift backlash, about her bad Q ratings, you know that it’s over.

Taylor Swift? You haven’t got enough publicity? You’re appearing in “Vanity Fair”? WHY? So we can make fun of you? Taking on comediennes is like having a guitar battle with Clapton, even Gary Clark, Jr., you just can’t win.

Yup, Taylor’s pissed at Amy Poehler and Tina Fey for making fun of her at the Golden Globes. Don’t know that? You’re lucky. “Vanity Fair” spammed the media and every non-thinking news outlet reproduced it.

Want some advice Taylor?

STFU!

You don’t see Carrie Underwood trying to cross over, splashed all over the media. No, she stays in her own little backwater, therefore the country people protect her. Who’s going to protect Taylor Swift?

And who exactly is going to protect Justin Timberlake?

Last I checked, his core audience has babies. Thank god tickets are sold digitally, because none of his fans could leave home to line up. As to whether they can get babysitters for the gig… Well, people only go to one show a year, and Justin Timberlake, whose last tour, before you grew pubes, didn’t sell out, bought insurance this time, he’s going out with Jay-Z, because he’s afraid, very afraid. Not as afraid as Miley Cyrus, who’s tabloid fodder and has lost her music career, but still scared.

Can’t you see it? The desperation? What if I’m not big enough?

Want to know today’s underground music story?

Prince at SXSW!

He didn’t promote it, everybody else did!

That’s how you want to do it today.

But that just doesn’t fit in with your world domination, conquer all philosophy. You want to dun everybody into submission. You think if you’re Gene Simmons and you screw thousands of girls, people will care. The only people who care about Mr. Simmons are the ones who in declining numbers go to Kiss shows. The rest of us have no problem ignoring him.

You see in the old world it was top down. Get the big kahunas to write about you so the little people will find out.

But now it’s positively reversed. The little people build your career. And it happens very slowly. And when we see dinosaurs like Justin Timberlake BEGGING US to pay attention we have the classic twenty first century response. We laugh at him. We feel superior to him. We look down upon him just like the nincompoops on reality TV.

And when his album fails…

OF COURSE IT’S GONNA FAIL!

Come on, even U2’s album failed.

If you’re a superstar, we don’t even want the album, unless we’re hard core fans. We want the undeniable single.

Now if you’re not a superstar, this rule doesn’t apply. Make a ton of music, satiate your fans.

Then again, I’m a Ry Cooder fan, and I’ve stopped paying attention. I laughed when I heard a song of his on the satellite. Reminded me of him talking about making a new album…

You know Ry. Guitarist extraordinaire who gets tons of ink, but can’t sell a record?

Welcome to 2013. When it’s not only cult people like Ry Cooder, but stars like Timberlake and Bowie.

They think everybody cares.

But everybody doesn’t.

Even “The New Yorker” writes about Bowie.

End result?

A TARNISHING OF THE LEGACY! BECAUSE WE JUST DON’T CARE!

I keep my cars forever. I certainly don’t lease, I don’t need to look fashionable. I drove my first BMW for 180,000 miles, until it got totaled by a drunk driver on St. Patrick’s Day. The second one exceeded 190,000. But I should have gotten rid of it sooner. I spent thousands trying to fix an electrical problem, more than the car was worth, I was just that attached.

And I fear buying stuff that much.

I’m afraid to make a mistake.

Republicans should have me running the government. I wouldn’t spend a dime! Which engine should we get in the fighter jet? Drones? Do you buy a hundred or just one? I mean you want the volume discount, then again, if I give them all that money are they gonna cut corners?

You can see my dilemma.

But Felice is nothing like me. Which is why I believe in the Paula Abdul school of relationships. You know, OPPOSITES ATTRACT!

Felice doesn’t need it perfect, and if it’s not right, she throws it away and buys a new one. Last I checked, we don’t live forever, so this is a good policy and I’m trying to learn.

But I’m teaching too. Felice never kept a car longer than three years. She was afraid it would break down! Huh? Cars last hundreds of thousands of miles today. So I convinced her to hang on to her 2002 Lexus GS300, hell it was PAID FOR!

Drove her image-conscious brother-in-law nuts. Hell, he drives an Aston Martin! You know Hollywood, it’s what you look like, what you drive… As for your interior? It could be empty for all most people care.

But I’m a transplant. I remember the blue bloods. Who drove Ford Galaxies and wore Topsiders. They feigned poverty. It was a style. But now the blue bloods don’t have the money of bankers and I live on the west coast and I’m caught between two worlds.

But even though Felice’s Lexus only has 70,000 odd miles, could outlive her at this pace, recently it’s developed niggling problems and she wants a new car. Mind you, I wouldn’t. I’d be driving that thing forever. But when she opened the front door and it creaked, and wouldn’t stay open to boot, Felice said IT’S TIME!

She decided on a BMW. She saw one on the street. You know women, they think cars are fashion items. How else to explain the rash of female SUV drivers? It’s not like they’re gonna go off-road. Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist, I know Danica Patrick could blow my doors off and probably beat me up, but what kind of world do we live in where you can’t state the obvious?

So today we went to check out BMWs.

First and foremost, there are so many models, they don’t have them on the lot, never mind the showroom floor. You’re better off staying at home and surfing the web. The first guy we got seemed to be knowledgeable, but the most basic questions flummoxed him. The difference in price between a 3 and a 5. The different engines available. Oh, I know it’s complicated. But it’s his gig!

But then he threw us over to his associate, who was truly clueless. Nice, but clueless. And when we wanted to drive a 5, after waiting for twenty minutes for him to show up with the car, we walked over to the Audi dealership right next door.

Audi, have you been following this?

If you’re of a certain age, you remember when Audi just about went out of business. Because of the unintended acceleration fiasco. Of course, it was driver error. Hell, did you read last week that the majority of breast implants are silicone again? We Americans love a controversy, we love to point fingers at others, we hate responsibility. Audi barely survived.

And then came the revolution.

Volkswagen, Audi’s parent, declared it was going to become the world’s largest carmaker by 2018.

Everybody laughed. This would be like Warner saying it was going to eclipse Universal’s market share in less than a decade.

But VW’s almost there.

As for Audi, it’s the Mercedes-Benz of China, the top choice of the high-ranking politicos.

And even Mercedes-Benz is not Mercedes-Benz anymore. That’s BMW.

But BMW is like CAA. Top dog, but arrogant.

And that just pissed people off.

Acura is too downscale.

Lexus is for grandparents, who remember that old Cadillac ride.

Infiniti got lost in the shuffle.

It’s a battle between BMW, Mercedes and Audi, and right now, it looks like Audi is going to win.

Huh?

They started off with luxury at good prices. They upgraded the facilities and the help. Unlike BMW, they use wood instead of plastic. And if you don’t need a BMW, you’re gonna buy an Audi.

But please know more about the car than me!

After a test drive, we went into the office to check prices and specs.

The salesman pulled up the website.

I CAN DO THAT AT HOME!

Even the sales manager wasn’t sure if you could get the B&O sound system without the supercharged engine.

But the real story is car buying has changed. Only marks get ripped off. Everybody else researches like hell, gets a “Consumer Report” report, calls a bunch of dealers, and gets a deal.

So how do you stand out?

Well, first and foremost someone’s got to want your product.

I don’t want an Audi, I want a BMW. I can handle the plastic, I want that road feel.

But most people are not like me. Otherwise, Chrysler would be out of business. Have you checked their reliability records recently?

Most people are emotional buyers. So it’s about looks, comfort, and a good dealership experience.

Not like going to the gig.

Our whole nation has gone upscale.

But the concert experience is still stuck in the seventies. Maybe the eighties. With typically heinous food and uncomfortable seats, if there are any. Whereas even the cheapest cars now have power windows. If you don’t think cars have gotten better, you haven’t driven one.

So where does that leave Felice?

Probably buying an Audi.

Yup, the guy on the front line at BMW screwed it up. You don’t want to keep customers waiting at a $50,000 price point. They go elsewhere, where they’re wanted, where they’re treated right.

Hell, the Audi salesman kept asking us if we wanted a drink. His answer was always yes instead of no.

It’s the people on the front line who make the difference.

Unless your product is so outstanding it sells itself.

That’s where Apple was. Far ahead of the competition.

That’s not where it is today.

Audi is more than Samsung. It’s a three-dimensional outfit.

And its competitors should be afraid, very afraid. Because what’s hip today might become passe.

“Audi Races For Luxury Crown”

“Continuum Redesigns Audi’s Car Dealership Experience”

“Once Banned, Silicone Breast Implants Make a Comeback”

Clive saved the Kinks.

Or should I say “Klive”?

Credit John Mendelsohn, who wrote the liner notes for “The Kink Kronikles,” for getting the ball rolling. Although Mendelsohn may not have hurt Zeppelin’s career with his negative review in “Rolling Stone,” (yes, I know who it was, a true rock fan is all about the OBSCURITIES!), he burnished the Kinks’ image when they were considered toast by most, by calling the almost totally unknown in the U.S. “Waterloo Sunset” “simply one of the four or five most beautiful songs of our age.” Huh? Almost nobody purchased “The Kink Kronikles,” but everybody who did insisted their buddies listen to “Waterloo Sunset,” after quoting Mr. Mendelsohn. I know, it happened to me. And then I went on to purchase not only this double album compilation after my buddy Andy Munro spun it for me, but every RCA album thereafter.

Yes, the Kinks had switched to RCA. You know the joke, right? I won’t repeat the whole thing, just let you know the punch line. At Disneyland, the son of the sheikh asks his dad to buy him a Mickey Mouse outfit. So the sheikh buys him RCA Records. Yup, it was just about that bad, only MCA was worse. Despite a hard core of diehard fans who purchased every album and went to see the yearly show, the core never increased.

And then Clive signed them to Arista.

The concept albums were done. “Sleepwalker” was a straight-ahead rock record. And it even exceeded the hopes and desires of the hard core.

Start with “Juke Box Music.”

We can debate all day long who played guitar on those initial Kinks hits, but this is definitely Dave Davies and he’s WAILING!

There’s a lady plays her favorite records
On the juke box every day
All day long she plays the same old songs
And she believes the things that they say

The same damn records! Spinning on the turntable as we stared at them! We would have jumped in the hole if we could! They were our truth, our raison d’etre.

Other ladies like to prance around
And flirt and dance the whole night through
But she just sits and listens to her juke box records
‘Cause that’s all that she wants to do

Come on, if you’re reading this you understand. Our records were everything! We weren’t on the football team, we weren’t cool in school, but at home, we were SUPERSTARS!

She sings along with all the saddest songs
And she believes the stories are real
She lets the music dictate the way that she feels

No one’s ever said it better. That’s why we loved Ray. Our moods matched our music. We knew it WASN’T only juke box music.

And then there was “Life Goes On”…

A friend of mine just had a real bad time
You see his life was shattered and he lost his mind
His girl ran off along with his best friend
And through emotional stress he brought his life to an end
It was such a tragedy
But that’s the way it’s got to be
Life goes on

It most surely does.

The first question after someone dies? WHAT’S FOR DINNER? Then, there’s the fight over possessions. And then you’re just a memory, that comes up ever more infrequently, because life goes on.

My bank went broke and my well ran dry
It was almost enough to contemplate suicide
I turned on the gas, but I soon realized
I hadn’t settled my bill so they cut off my supply

Ah, the irony! But what we loved even more was the use of the English “settled” instead of “paid.” Ray was willing to toss the concept albums over the transom, but he still insisted on being himself, English to the core.

Meanwhile, in the seventies it was all right to sing about being a loser, on the wrong side of life. Today everybody’s a winner. Huh? Has human nature changed? Is life somehow different? NO!     But people are afraid of the truth, they can’t handle it, just like Jack Nicholson said.

“Misfits” was even better. It’s the apotheosis of the Arista years. It’s the last best thing Ray’s done, just listen to “A Rock ‘N’ Roll Fantasy.”

But although the band’s audience was growing, there was no hit single, they were still a cult item.

But then, suddenly, the band started to get airplay. The albums veered towards the mainstream, but it was weird to hear the Kinks on the radio after an absence of almost a decade. First it was “Catch Me Now I’m Falling” and “(Wish I Could Fly Like) Superman” from “Low Budget” and then it was “Destroyer,” off “Give The People What They Want.” And finally, in 1983, the band had a bona fide hit, with “Come Dancing.” They were playing arenas. A deserved victory lap was taking place. It was a bit bittersweet, because the records were dumbed down, but the Arista years were rescued by one Dave Davies, with “Living On A Thin Line,” from “Word Of Mouth.”

We all are.

Especially mobsters. Like the Sopranos. Yup, “Living On A Thin Line” was featured in 2001’s “University.” It’s got that seamy underbelly, New Jersey, life is dangerous and can end at any moment feel. You’re worried about what’s gonna happen. It’s the SOUND that conveys this.

And then the Kinks took the money and absconded to MCA and never had another hit. But they wrote one! Yup, “Video Shop,” from 1986’s “Think Visual.”

The local factory’s been pulled down
By an overseas corporation
Now all of my brothers are looking around
For alternative occupation

Things were bleak in the mother country, but Englishmen are nothing if not industrious.

I was sitting by the telly with my brother Kenny
When suddenly the penny dropped
While all of my brothers are sitting at home
I’ve got a bank loan and I’ve opened up my very own
Video shop
Video shop

POSITIVELY BRILLIANT!

Seems quaint now, but in the mid-eighties we were all video crazy. A trip to the video shop eclipsed a journey to the record shop for many. We were catching up on the new flicks we’d missed in the theatres, and the classics.

I’ve got a bootleg version of ‘Citizen Kane’
A second-hand copy of ‘Psycho’
I’ve taped them off the telly so you shouldn’t complain

BOOTLEG TAPES! This was before the Blockbusterization of video shops, the mom and pops were populated by illicit wares. And in the corner, behind a curtain, was the truly illicit stuff…

If you want to escape, I can rent you a tape
To relieve your situation
If you feel a bit low, I got a good peep show
‘Cause everybody knows almost anything goes
At my video shop
At my video shop

I was sitting in my living room listening to “Video Shop” telling myself THIS IS A HIT!

But MCA didn’t know what to do with it.

A smash on Arista, but it wasn’t. Clive could recognize hits, you’ve got to give him that.

Yes, Clive gave Ray Davies and the Kinks their victory lap.

And the Arista years weren’t the best, but they contained some gems.

But if you want to dig down deep, check out “Money Talks” from “Preservation Act 2,” now that’s TRULY genius!

Rhinofy-Some Kinks

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