And I don’t even like to dance.

So it’s late Sunday night and we’re cruising down the 101 listening to Sixties on 6 and…

All these years later Sylvester Stewart has become a joke. Living in his van, bleaching his hair, still not showing up for gigs or if he does appearing ever so briefly we focus on the antics and not the music. Kind of like Brian Wilson. But even though Brian can no longer hit the notes, he can still write, as evidenced by some of the tracks on last year’s Beach Boys album “That’s Why God Made the Radio.”

But once upon a time, both Brian and Sly dominated the airwaves.

And it all started for Sly & The Family Stone with “Dance To The Music.”

An economical three minutes, so different from today’s era where dance tracks go on for a quarter hour, sometimes indefinitely, “Dance To The Music” is the antidote to all those overblown productions wherein the artist considers himself an auteur and nothing can be excised, all of his brain farts must be included.

Talk about an intro… Today everybody says to wait, hang in there, give it time. But those horns immediately get your attention, and then there’s a thin Steve Cropper guitar line and the whole thing breaks down and it seems they’re singing in tongues and it’s still just a matter of seconds when they begin singing the chorus, yes, this is a famous inverted, reverse song.

And then the track breaks down again, as the instruments are introduced.

First comes the drummer, for people who only need a beat. And like Ringo on “Abbey Road,” the solo is neither overbaked nor overdone, it’s simple and straightforward, so right. Because it’s about the beat, not the flourish.

And then the guitar, which makes it easy to move your feet.

And then comes a peak. The bottom. Sly reaches down into his vocal range to announce an instrument which is so fat and oozy it sounds like industrial equipment come along to mow you down.

And then the organ!

If you can sit still while the notes are emanating from the instrument you’re comatose. This is the baby boomer moment, when even those of us who categorically refuse to dance lift our hands in the air and play along, touching those keys as we shimmy and shake in our seats.

Cynthia?

Jerry!

They’re friends! A band! Not hired hands! They’re drumming and blowing and this is the message, how great it is to play, how great it is to be alive. There’s more energy pumping through the dashboard than there is under the hood.

And then the whole thing breaks down completely, goes from intense to subtle, from instrumental to vocal, and then with a final flourish it’s done.

It’s like the circus came to town for three minutes and then was gone.

Huh?

I wanna go back!

That’s what makes someone buy a record, the need to have that hit of adrenaline, that pure life experience once again.

And one element in “Dance To The Music” absent from so much of the hit parade today is joy.

You know joy. Fun with abandon, with no self-conscious feelings, it’s what we strive for. It’s not about pleasing the judge, it’s not about getting it right, rather it’s about pure expression!

It was all bastardized in the Mariah Carey era. Wherein it became more about control, about demonstration than letting go for the sake of it. The judges on those TV shows should stop giving their advice and just play the contestants “Dance To The Music.”

Sly lost it to drugs.

But it’s hard to maintain your purchase on reality when you get it so right, when you’re so adored.

One day you were unknown, with dreams. You believed in yourself and thought you could do it, but then you found out everybody agreed, that there were no naysayers, you were exalted.

Where do you go from there?

That’s what happened to Stevie Wonder.

That’s what happened to Sly Stone.

And they can’t come back. Because the circumstances will never be the same. The hunger, the desire, the youth.

But we still have these recorded artifacts to blow our minds.

Rhinofy-Dance To The Music

Greetings from Vail, Colorado, where the world’s elite bicycle racers are engaged in a time trial from the Village to the top of the Pass. And you don’t care.

But so many do.

European sports are invading America. With football challenged by head injuries and baseball the land of drug-addled stars the passive life of the USA is on decline, at least in sports, now it’s all about participating.

If Michelle Obama really wanted to eradicate obesity in America she’d take kids to a bike race or an extreme sports competition, because once you attend the excitement inspires you to participate. Furthermore, the echo boomers are all about participation, that’s the essence of extreme sports, it’s about the camaraderie as opposed to the victory. You don’t want to sit in the stands, you want to play!

Hmm…

Live long enough and you see the landscape change.

Used to be you were limited to the information provided on the scoreboard, people went to the game and listened to the radio. But the first thing you do when you go to an event today is download the app, with more facts and figures than any one person can digest. Always free, the app is your guide, technology rules.

And the more data you have, the greater your understanding.

They said apps were going to be a profit center, turned out they were just helpers to something bigger. And that something bigger usually grows over time.

There was a bike race in Colorado in the seventies. It was too early. The public wasn’t fatigued by mainstream sports, and baby boomers were all about winning, and if there wasn’t a famous name, they weren’t interested.

But then ESPN blasted the Tour de France to American homes. Lance Armstrong won. And people started to pay attention.

In football/soccer, TV came last. One can argue that “Bend It Like Beckham” got the mania started in America, that’s the power of art. And pair that with celebrity, Mr. Beckham himself, and suddenly kids would rather play soccer than Little League and there’s actual traction with the MLS.

And add in a dash of Title IX, which got the women participating. Soccer was boosted by the incredible US women’s teams. And women riders populate the bike paths too.

And yet the focus is still on the old sports. But how many people do you see throwing a ball? Drive up PCH on a Saturday and you’ll be wowed by the endless peloton, a miles-long line of bike riders of all shapes and sizes.

And the USA Pro Cycling Championship works because of its difficulty. The climbs. The altitude. This is not for pussies.

And active Coloradans are drawn to the zenith of a sport so many participate in.

And there are sponsors and payments and it all adds to the circus of stimulation. You feel like you’re where it’s happening, at this intersection of sports and commerce.

But don’t confuse this with art.

Sports are about the body. Art is about the mind.

In other words, how many famous athletes have made it as musicians? And vice versa? These are two different skills. And their melding together by entrepreneurs has been to the detriment of music. A rider is an almost inert item, a musician is not. If a rider is plastered with the patches of his sponsor, it’s evidence of his ability to turn his skill and devotion into cash, if the artist does so it evidences the fact that he’s sold out.

Why is it that Neil Young and the Eagles refuse to take money from corporations yet every youngster is eager to? Don’t tell me it’s because there’s less money in it, or that times have changed, I’ll just say they’re different people. Just like baseball players and bicycle riders are different people. The artists of yore stood outside the game, today’s are deeply in it, to their and their audience’s detriment.

So you wonder why sports eclipse art.

It’s because of the interior goals.

The people making music today are wholly different from those who were successful doing so in the classic rock era. The stars of yore were misfits going down the only avenue that could fulfill them and get them laid. They were beaten up in school, if they didn’t drop out completely. Today’s musicians are members of the club, who want the adulation and riches of sports stars.

But we’ve established that they’re completely different types.

So the end result is when you go to the show and you see the plastering of advertisements it detracts from the experience, it turns the event into pure commerce as opposed to a religious experience.

And when you go to the bike race you feel like you’re at the advent of something new and exciting and that the sponsorships demonstrate the entire enterprise is on the way up and you’re in on the ground floor.

Oh what a crazy world we live in.

P.S. The participation culture has invaded music too. With new technological tools more people are making music. The fact that they expect it to be successful is a head-scratcher, since they would never expect to top the podium at the sporting event, especially without years of training, peppered with loss as well as victory.

USA Pro Cycling Challenge

Stage 5 Vail

USA Pro Cycling Challenge Tour Tracker

That’s what’s wrong with today’s marketing, it doesn’t allow for percolation, it doesn’t allow for growth, it believes the instant smash is more powerful than the long term build, that if everybody knows your name right away you’ve made it, when just the opposite is true.

I can’t get over “House Of Cards.” I live for art, I could watch this thing all day if they had that many episodes. But there’s no buzz. And therefore the cognoscenti, the prognosticators, believe it’s toast, when nothing could be further from the truth.

They call it the NEWSpaper. And if there’s no news, they don’t write about it. And the web is even worse, some stories don’t even last a day. They want the now. And they can’t see any spikes with “House Of Cards,” and therefore they don’t write about it.

But the fans don’t stop watching it.

This weekend we’re going to be exposed to the abomination known as the Video Music Awards. But I dare you to name last year’s winners. Hell, I dare you to name this summer’s blockbuster movies. Both were the beneficiaries of hype. There are so many VMA stories you’d believe the channel still drives the culture and sets the music agenda which is so far from the truth that to say so is to believe Jimmy Ray and those guys who did the “Macarena” are still charttoppers.

Then there’s that story in the “New York Times,” saying YouTube/Internet is the new MTV. Yeah, if you want to have a momentary hit. But last summer’s “stars” are already done, and if you believe Carly Rae Jepsen and PSY are coming back you’re making Eggs Benedict with year-old English muffins.

How did we get here?

The money. That’s the ultimate arbiter today, how much you’ve got. And the hoi polloi can never have as much as the entrenched rich, so they go for fame, which frequently generates little capital at all.

Credit MTV for the latter, with “Real World.” Suddenly, you had people everyone knew the name of who were absolutely broke. And newbies who were lining up to take their place. And today’s musical stars are no different. They believe instant is what it’s all about.

But that which lasts rarely is.

But back to my original point. The way you make a fan is by having him believe he’s the only one who knows about you, that he’s a point person in the war of building your career. To him, you’re everything. Mow him down by looking for fly by night fans and you do yourself a disservice.

In other words, if you keep looking at new women everywhere you go, don’t expect your girlfriend to stick around. You know, the one who makes you breakfast, washes your clothes, listens to your foibles and has sex with you. She’s dedicated to you, she provides what no one else does because she believes in you, she loves you, the two-dimensional women on the street do not.

And you may say a woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle, but you can flip the above scenario around very easily. Men will tell you you’re pretty, pay for dinner and hold your handbag and go to movies they hate just to satiate you.

And neither will tolerate anyone talking crap about the other, that’s how solid the bond is.

Careers are not built on transitory relationships. They’re constructed brick by brick, a solid foundation, on the belief and efforts of hard core fans.

You can blame the labels too. Artist development is history, they’re public companies that require an instant return, and if you’re not the kind of act that can provide this, you’re not needed.

And the kind of act a fan desires is one with rough edges, who’s unique, who speaks about his or her insecurities and foibles. Sure, there are some aspirational ones too, pontificating how big and successful they are, but really, they’re just fodder for the age, perfect for the times, they rarely last. In other words, people keep listening to Taylor Swift and Jay-Z and Kanye’s records go up and down like a rocket ship.

I’m not sure we’re gonna see any change, not soon.

But the history of the world is always the outside crushing the inside. The unseen coming along and eradicating everything in its path.

There’s always been popular music. Top Forty fodder. But there used to be a slew of well-trained musicians doing it their way. Now these well-trained players keep bitching they can’t get paid and are not famous enough and where can they sell out?

Which is why music is not what it used to be.

It begins with the tunes.

But it goes nowhere without the fans.

It’s kind of like an automobile. Sans gasoline/petrol, it’s just a showpiece.

And you don’t have to push people to spread the word, they’ll do it on their own, it’s what they live for, it’s part of their DNA, to let others in on what the believe is so great. It’s not about a contest, it’s nothing artificial, it’s positively real.

And if you do it right, your day in the sun comes. “House Of Cards” will win a bunch of Emmys and everybody will be talking about it and viewership will skyrocket. The believers will keep testifying, and those suddenly in the know will jump to watch the same way they used to buy the Grammy Album of the Year.

But the Grammys, like the VMAs, are a joke. A marketing exercise. Ultimately meaningless. With acts and their handlers negotiating for airtime.

Wanna make it long term?

REFUSE TO BE ON!

P.S. I’m gonna tell you how the Internet works. By saying that some women make breakfast and wash clothes for their significant others my inbox is going to be inundated with outrage, feminists labeling me sexist. Forget that this describes many relationships, that even some rich and powerful breadwinning women still do these tasks for their husbands, you can’t write it down. Because if you do, you get a tsunami of blowback. Everyone is working the refs these days. Trying to get you to not write a truth you believe in. It’s hard not to succumb. I’m trying. (And yes, of course there are house husbands who do everything, but what is the point here? That there’s one specific way to life your life and that if you perform a formerly gender-associated act you’re a patsy? Be free, do what you want.)

“Pop Music Videos? I Want My YouTube!”

I know, I know, this newsletter is ostensibly about music, but have you noticed the light?

Not the one from the Led Zeppelin song, but the one outside.

Every summer, it’s on one specific day, at least here in Southern California, where the light changes. Oh, I know that’s not how it works, that the angle of the earth to the sun is constantly changing, but for some reason there’s one specific day it becomes noticeable, and then you realize fall is coming.

Fall is so different from summer. Everybody’s so serious, buckling down and making everything count by Thanksgiving and Christmas, when the year ends. After that, after the January doldrums, it’s a rebirth.

But now the world is dying.

And you realize all the hopes and dreams you had for the summer are being extinguished. That it’ll be another year before you make it to Glacier National Park, before you go hiking in the Sawtooths.

Those are two of my personal desires. Along with a trip to Monument Valley. And maybe Bryce and Zion.

I wonder if I’m going to see them all before I die.

Oh, I don’t plan on leaving this mortal coil anytime soon, but you wake up one day and you realize you’re never going to do it all. That if you go to a place more than once, it just means you don’t have time to go someplace else. The curtain starts to fall and opportunities evaporate. When you’re young you want to eat the entire world alive, when you’re old you realize you’re lucky if you can chew a piece.

And when you’re young the summer is an eternity.

But as you age it slides by so fast that if you don’t stop and take it all in, you miss it.

When I was tyke, I went to the beach with my mom. I remember cutting my hand on a rusty pail and seeing so much blood I was afraid to show her, figuring she’d take me for stitches.

She did.

Then I went to day camp. At the JCC. In Stepney, Connecticut. We sang songs on the bus, remember “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt”? That’s my name too!

Then overnight camp. Where I experienced my first romance.

And before long summer meant work. It was all about nights and weekends.

And now, it’s just a season.

But when it passes, I die a bit inside. Knowing that this routine is not going to go on forever. That there will come a point where the world will turn without me. There will be new kids who believe summer is long enough to be bored, not realizing those days will fade and never come back.

So I say goodbye to the long days.

So long to those memories of “Goodbye Columbus,” with Richard Benjamin and Ali MacGraw playing tennis in the near dark.

So long to those nights without a jacket.

So long to the days when a summer song was actually about the summer.

So long to the days when school never ever started before Labor Day and the last week of August was a time of relaxation and personal collection, buying the new records, getting ready for seriousness.

And so long to the optimism of the summer.

The Beach Boys said it meant new love.

Jan & Dean implored us to go to Surf City.

And we went to the shows and ogled our generation without a care in the world, believing it would last forever.

But it won’t.