The homeless guy wouldn’t take a quarter.

I stopped for gas at the 76 station. I won’t go to the Shell across the street anymore, my credit card kept getting stolen. Yup, if you inserted it in the pump, they had a stealth program that ripped off the number such that you could not only not get gas, you had to get on the phone with Shell, where they explained the problem and apologized and sent you a new card. After this happened three times, I gave up. Why didn’t they just investigate this station?

And I love Shell gas. Don’t e-mail me about the company’s policies, all I know is it gives my machine a bit more oomph. I mash the pedal and it takes off. And that’s the only thing my car is good for, performance, it gets horrible gas mileage. And don’t chide me and tell me to trade it in, economically that makes no sense, you see this car is paid for!

So I swipe the card in the pump at the 76 station and I can barely comprehend the read-out, with the sun washing out the LED’s, but eventually I get an error message, I’ve got to see the attendant.

You’ve got to be kidding! My card number was stolen again? Where am I gonna get gas now? In case you didn’t notice, the stations keep closing, the Chevron around the corner turned into a smog stop a decade ago.

So I try again.

Same result.

I move to a different pump, which is a privilege, because normally you can’t even get a spot at this station at Cloverfield and the 10, and I get the same message.

So I go inside.

Where the woman in the Miata across the way is complaining about the same thing. And the attendant says “the satellite is down.” Mmm… That’s how reliant upon technology we’ve become, you can’t even pump gas if the lines are down. But he said it would be back up in a minute and it was and I filled my tank and checked my oil and washed my windows, tasks attendants used to do when gasoline cost less than fifty cents but have now been offloaded to we, the people. We live in a self-serve world. You wonder why we buy on the Internet instead of your store? Because there’s no service in your shop, and it takes an eternity to check out after finally finding the item we came looking for.

And having burned more time than I’d planned I decided to stop at Rite-Aid, for some batteries, I was low. And when I pulled into a primo spot I was confronted with a relatively well dressed man carrying a bottle of Windex and a roll of paper towels. I figured he’d just bought them and was washing his windows.

But no, he wanted to wash mine.

They might have cleaned up New York, but L.A. is struggling. The whole state of California is struggling. Crime is through the roof now that Stockton’s gone bankrupt. And can you blame citizens like this windshield wiper, who’ve got nowhere else to turn, who are down on their luck?

He didn’t seem mentally ill. But I’d just washed my windows. So I gave him a quarter.

That’s when he told me he wasn’t interested in it. He didn’t care about quarters. That’s a quote.

So I broke out my wallet and pulled out a single and gave it to him. I’d like to say he was thrilled, that he thanked me profusely, but I got little more than a grunt.

And you might think I’m feeling good about myself at this point, doing my part to help society, but I consider it protection money. The last time I didn’t give the homeless person money, he threw motor oil all over my car. It’s cheaper to pay them off.

But that’s what we’ve come to. For fear of welfare mothers ripping off the system we’ve got homeless people with initiative blocking our entrance into retail establishments. I always think twice about going to this store. It’s in a borderline neighborhood, albeit close to my house.

And I won’t stop on Lincoln anymore. After a crook broke the lock on my trunk when I went into Albertsons for some yogurt.

And I know you experience these same quirks of life each and every day. I just wanted to say that I’m with you. That everyday life is a challenge, there are hurdles at each and every step. And it seems like no one’s paying attention but us, locked in our own little movies.

Chris brought Tal into Rena’s office.

That’s Tal Wilkenfeld. You know, the curly-haired twenty five year old bassist most famous for playing with Jeff Beck. Hell, she’s all over YouTube, you can even see her backing up Mick Jagger. You see Tal came out at the end of the show, during “With A Little Help From My Friends”.

I went because Luke was the guitar player. And Luke positively WAILED!

But the crowd that showed up was so eclectic. Right inside the door I was introduced to Andrew Loog Oldham. It’s fascinating when legends still walk the earth. I should not be able to speak with Andrew, he’s a god, but here he was, talking about “Bittersweet Symphony” and Keith and living in Bogota. I could have gone on all night.

And Frampton was sitting behind us.

And on the other side of the aisle were the Bach sisters. Who almost appeared to be twins. They came with their own security. And needed it. For a drunk guy sitting behind them was dancing in the aisle with abandon, showing his butt crack to the point where everybody whipped out their cameras, but then he got tossed, thank god.

And the unexpected highlight of the show was Richard Page, singing “Broken Wings”. I know, I know, I’m not supposed to like that number. But you know how there are certain records outside of your genre that you just cannot burn out on? “Broken Wings” is one of them.

And I was stunned when Todd played “Love Is The Answer”.

And when you feel afraid
LOVE ONE ANOTHER!

Do you know this record, England Dan & John Ford Coley had the cover, but it’s syrupy, the original is ethereal, and powerful. And Todd looked like a buffoon, Ringo accused him of categorically being unable to “Act Naturally”, but seeing this man in the flesh who belongs in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame before half its members is a thrill.

And Santana has all the fame, but Gregg Rolie sang those Santana hits. And you should have seen Lukather wail on Carlos’s parts. He earned his standing ovation. Hell, there were many of them.

This is our world. This is our tribal rite. Ringo might be 72, but now the age difference between him and us…is almost insignificant. We’re all on our way out, we’re all on our victory lap. Going to the show is in our DNA, and although we like our iPhones and digital media what we like most is having the music wash over us. Yes, there was this moment during the show that I felt like I was right where I both wanted and needed to be, that I was complete, that I’d not only survived, I’d won.

And self-critical Ringo was laughing that fewer than ten people had bought his 2012 CD, or downloaded it, or purchased the vinyl. You see we don’t care. No one cares.

That’s what too many musicians don’t understand. That breaking into public consciousness is nigh near impossible.

Kind of like Joe Walsh, Ringo’s brother-in-law, who came out and played “Rocky Mountain Way”. His new album sank like a stone. They all do.

And during the finale the stage was peopled by so many legends. From Jim Keltner to Jeff Lynne to Frampton to Gary Wright to Joe to an essentially unrecognizable Bud Cort. Yes, we all get by with a little help from our friends.

And on stage too was Tal. Joe dragged her up. She didn’t know him previously. She’d only me him this night.

Tal’s making an album. Her guru Steve Perry says that she should be happy with it, because trying to second guess the market…if you fail, you hate everything about it.

And she proceeded to drop the names of a who’s who of legendary musicians. She’s recording at Jackson Browne’s studio. She was talking about Benmont having a minor accident.

And I love all those people. But not a single one has a clue what’s going on today.

Kind of like Jackson himself. He went down to Occupy Wall Street and performed a new acoustic song with Dawes that was amazing. I just found out by accident that it’s included on the Occupy album, which if I don’t know about, no one does, and furthermore, he killed it, sapped all the vitality and vigor from the street performance.

You see, today the YouTube version IS the hit. And if you’re lucky, not only will your fans see it, they’ll cover it. Albums are irrelevant. They’re static moments in time, they’re forgotten almost instantly after they’re released. But the oldsters keep banging their heads against the wall, lamenting the change in the landscape.

Hell, Jackson could release multiple versions on YouTube, both acoustically, caught on an iPhone, and the studio take. He can have both on iTunes and Spotify. The oldsters perfect and dribble out material. Newbies release constantly, aren’t afraid of warts and mistakes, they know their audience eats everything up.

Assuming you’ve got an audience.

And Tal said she had 100,000 e-mail addresses! I was wowed! Because that’s how you play. If you don’t know who your fans are, if you can’t reach them, you’re sunk.

And she’s got an agent and is playing some test gigs and isn’t sure about labels and I told her to forget about labels unless she’s got radio-friendly music.

As for labels, they’re publicity machines. Joe Walsh got a ton of traditional publicity for his latest album, the name of which I can’t even remember, and I liked it, but it’s like it never came out.

You’ve got to stay in the public eye. There’s no such thing as mystery. Manipulation is for pussies. Hell, the truth always comes out.

The oldsters aren’t hungry enough. They do one round of publicity and give up. Whereas to make it today, you’ve got to be working around the clock. And it’s not about publicity, it’s about creativity.

And Tal lamented she didn’t have a manager.

But I told her she didn’t want one. Because at this stage of her career, the people who’d take the gig weren’t good enough and the great people won’t do it until they get paid.

Yes, managers are about money. Artists are about music.

It’s a brand new world.

And the youth will inherit the earth.

I’m reading this book by Jonah Lehrer, ” Imagine: How Creativity Works .” Since I purchased it, upon the recommendation of Tom Rush, Mr. Lehrer has become embroiled in scandal of his own device. It appears he plagiarizes himself. As in he repeats choice chunks of his writing in multiple articles. Worse sins have been committed, but having followed the brouhaha I’ve been disinclined to read his tome. But having just finished Anne Tyler’s ” The Beginner’s Goodbye ,” which is slight and somewhat forgettable but has some brilliant insight into relationships, I decided to delve in.

Having started once previously, I decided to continue where I’d left off. Not to waste time beginning again a book I may never finish. And there was a bit of overview and then a story about Bob Dylan. About his retirement after his 1966 tour, fed up with being a musician. Lehrer posits that:

“Every creative journey begins with a problem. It starts with a feeling of frustration, the dull ache of not being able to find the answer. We have worked hard, but we’ve hit the wall. We have no idea what to do next.”

Although tales are told of easy discovery, willful creativity, dig deeper and you will discover the brilliant artworks you admire came after a huge period of frustration. And that the insight came instantly. It wasn’t like after recording “Blonde On Blonde” Dylan knew he wanted to execute a left turn to “John Wesley Harding”…he just knew he couldn’t keep on doing what he was.

This is what we deplore about so many of our so-called “artists”. The repetition. You’ve got one album, one single, and you’ve got them all. Whereas the greats, the classics…all their albums were different. Whether it be the left-turn of “Led Zeppelin III” after “Led Zeppelin II” that ultimately led to “Stairway To Heaven” and the rest of the fourth album, or the obvious difference between “Love Me Do” and “Revolution 9”. You see the Beatles just couldn’t keep on repeating themselves, it was artistic death.

And that’s what this Lehrer book seems to be about. The spontaneous combustion of ideas, the instant insight, and it’s always instant, after the debilitating frustration, but what struck me was the title of this piece, a quote by Louis Pasteur.

There’s value in experience, there’s value in education.

And in America, teaching to the test is hurting us. We have to teach people how to think, not load them up with facts that will soon leak out of their brains.

I find it fascinating how many people can’t wrestle with concepts. Can’t hold two competitive thoughts in their brain at one time. They’ve never been taught the power of analysis. And believe me, great artists are champion analyzers. They may or may not want to expound upon their process, but it’s there.

Pasteur’s quote explains why the “Idols” fail. They’ve got exposure and fame, but no foundation. There’s nothing to build upon. No background that would allow them to have brilliant insight.

And then there are the teen phenoms. Theoretically, they could expand their horizons, but Justin Bieber knows fame and fortune, little else. And his handlers want cash.

Furthermore, those who’ve broken out of this mold, most famously Michael Jackson and Justin Timberlake, did it via collaboration. MJ with Quincy Jones and JT with a host of allies. One can posit that Timberlake has given up his recording career because he’s empty. It’s easier to fill himself up with a film role than confront his frustration and consider where to go next in music.

So you have to prepare yourself. You think you can be a better manager than Irving Azoff or Cliff Burnstein, but you’ve never had the practical experience, and this prevents you from landing an incredible act and developing them. Unless you know the game, your odds of succeeding are miniscule. You’ve got to pay your dues.

And seemingly everybody in the “arts” today has not. Reality TV is the norm. Where you’re famous for being famous. No one wants to listen to Kim Kardashian, they just want to look at her. And did you ever notice there’s never a second act for these self-made, two-dimensional icons? To think Paris Hilton can be a successful deejay is to believe Stephen Hawking can win the Olympic marathon.

But it’s not only the arts. It’s business too. People go to school and learn how to do everything but think. Which is why when entrepreneurs are replaced by managers, usually the enterprise sinks. Steven Ballmer’s almost worthless as the CEO of Microsoft, especially compared to Bill Gates, and when Michael Dell turned the reins of his company over to someone else, it sunk, he had to come back and rescue it.

Our whole country has a lack of preparation. People can’t understand the Presidential election because they can’t understand the debate, the underlying issues. What difference do tax rates make if you pay no tax? And I’d say most people do not understand that when the tax rate is raised on incomes over $250,000, it’s only the excess, the amount over $250,000, which is taxed at the new rate. The original $250,000 is taxed the same way it ever was.

Connections are important. Network like hell. But it’s less important if you’re an artist, if you’re reliant upon breakthroughs. You’re better off staying at home reading, going for a walk in the park, contemplating your frustrations and intermixing moments of complete thoughtless abandon. Because in the arts, in science, we only care about the end result. The iPad, “All Along The Watchtower”, “Pulp Fiction”.

If you keep on doing the same thing over and over, you’re never going to break through. If you’re frustrated, don’t put your nose to the grindstone, face the impediment. Work with it. But know the solution will be instant. Maybe a few moments or weeks after you’ve determined to give up.

How did he come up with that? That’s what we always say about great art, that’s its intrinsic appeal. Its differentness, alongside with its encapsulation of humanity.

You won’t hear any of the foregoing from businessmen.

But every great artist will testify about frustration and insight, and if you haven’t been tempted to give up, your work is not worth a damn.

You’re just not willing to work that hard.

So I sauntered up to the Pop Tart Gallery after parking my car on a side street convinced when I returned it would be minus the radio. You see this is not what we call a good neighborhood. 6th Street east of Vermont. Hell, I think if you drive a new car down the boulevard it spontaneously explodes.

And I’d never heard of the Pop Tart Gallery. I had to look it up on Google Maps. And when I got there, it was empty. With art on the walls.

Amanda paid each of these artists $500 to paint an album cover. There must have been a hundred of them.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I’m the only one looking at the art, which I’m enjoying, for both the nudity and the artistic chances, never mind the exquisite piece by Shepard Fairey, and I’m enjoying the air-conditioning, but then I hear a spontaneous cheer. Then another. Whereupon I find an exit from the building, which was not easy, and go up a concrete passageway to the performance area where this rotund woman and a boy with makeup covering his lips and his face were singing.

Another unsigned act.

Who cares?

I did. You see it was the sensibility. Most popular artists are playing for an audience that does not exist. One that is rich and bland and has life on a string. But the reality is we’re a jumble of emotions and challenges, and this act, Die Roten Punkte, from Down Under, singing with German accents, seemed straight from…Straight, or Bizarre, Frank Zappa’s labels back in the sixties. Die Roten Punkte was so creative, and so engaging, that even I found myself singing along, thrusting my hand in the air with the devil horns, as instructed. I was included.

We all want to be included.

Despite all the lip-service to their fans, the tribe most artists want to belong to is the rich and famous, those with good dinner reservations and private planes. And on the way there, they’ll accede to letting their manager and label, all their worker bees, inside. But they really don’t care about the fans.

But Amanda Palmer does. And her fans care about her.

They paid $300 to be here. Yup, on Kickstarter. And for that money, they got this gig, the one the night before at the Roxy and some merch. They got to belong. It was worth every penny. Because memories are made of this.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught Amanda in the audience. I figured everybody else hadn’t seen her. But they had. They treat her as normal, because she knows every one of them and treats them the same. And after introducing me to Ben Folds, she took me backstage. And introduced me to her band in a steaming, unventilated room.

Her assistant? The one in Amanda’s away messages? She was dressed up in an outfit akin to a dominatrix. In a few minutes, she was going to belly dance. And she did.

After that, the bass player performed rock instrumentals, akin to Zeppelin acoustic, with a string section he’d just met that night. You see Amanda does it on the fly, she makes it up as she goes. She didn’t know this gallery or its proprietor, she found them on the Net. But she insisted this guy get up and explain what he was doing here, in the middle of L.A.’s vast wasteland.

And Amanda’s network of friends included a magician… Who did card tricks while we were amazed. You see that’s Amanda’s tradition, she started out as a street performer. Learning two things. That she could survive, but only if she entertained everybody. That’s what the Idols don’t have, stage chops, Amanda does.

And when she finally came out and closed the show with her set, we experienced a performance. With the chopping of vegetables, the slapping of a knife, lying down on a sheet on the concrete that functioned as a bed…and then stripping off all her clothes and letting the participants paint her, naked…yup, tits and pubic hair, the whole thing. But it wasn’t erotic. Because when you constantly expose yourself, it’s art. It’s not TMZ, it’s mind-bending.

And then it was over. There were book signings. Conversations. She was still greeting her fans by time I left, after 11.

So what have we learned here?

That the only thing holding you back is you. Amanda does not know the word “no”. And every effort is an investment in her career. Money is secondary. She wanted to raise a million bucks on Kickstarter, did, and now it’s almost all accounted for, profit is next to nothing. Tell that to the managers of today. What did Billy Preston sing, “Nothing from nothing”? It’s all about cash, hopefully upfront. And the audience feels this. So they come for the train-wreck, the hit, then they abandon the act.

L.A. was not the only city Amanda did this in. I think she told me she was doing eight of these performances, literally all over the world. If she sleeps, it’s not for long. I felt lazy just being in her presence. But that’s what it takes to make it today. Hard work. Are you prepared?

And hard work is not e-mailing journalists who don’t care, it’s not badgering people to watch your YouTube clip and like you on Facebook, it’s doing something so good people are drawn to you.

And most are not drawn to Amanda.

But that could change.

First and foremost, she’s got enough of a tribe to make it work. But she’s in her thirties, she’s been doing it since her twenties.

Second, she’s just one hit away from going nuclear. Remember the old game, when instead of making it for radio, radio found you? That’s what happened in the classic rock era. AM radio picked up the weird and bizarre and made it mainstream. Amanda could break through.

But even if she never does, she’s got a career.

And the audience didn’t look like clubgoers. They were not the ultra-thin fashionistas. Some were lumpy. Some wore costumes. They were letting their freak flags fly. That’s what nerd culture truly is. Not babes on TV saying they’re nerds while dating billionaires.

Not everyone can do it for themselves.

But if that’s your path, and it’s gonna be if you don’t make Top Forty-ready music, then your role model is Amanda Palmer. She’s the queen.