I guess it all started when Taylor Swift wrote that damn song about me. I mean I’m just a middle-aged blogger, why did the biggest star in America have to pick on ME? She’s beautiful, talented, rich and possesses one hell of a singing voice. Everybody has a bad day, just because hers was on the Grammys doesn’t mean I have a right to excoriate her. Then again, I was stupid enough to admit I was the protagonist of the song, unlike John Mayer, but did she have to go on Jay Leno and out me? That hurts. And everybody knows I’m thin-skinned. My dad died, my wife left me, doesn’t she know if I don’t see my psychiatrist I’m gonna commit suicide?

But what’s worse is my readers. It doesn’t matter what I say or do, they still believe I fly on the Spotify jet, that Irving Azoff writes me a check every month, that I wrote good words about Jimmy Iovine because he sent me a case of Beats to fence on the black market. In a country where everybody’s on the take, where politicians are indicted on a regular basis, it doesn’t pay to be honest.

So I’m stopping. Giving up. Going over to the dark side.

No, I’m not going to work for Doug Morris, hell, I’m not even going to work for Live Nation, there’s just not enough money involved. Irving’s busy chasing billionaires, but you just can’t make it in music, you’ve got to go where the money is, finance.

Oh, it’s been done before. Check the CVs of Bruce Wasserstein and Steve Rattner. They woke up, chucked aside their journalistic aspirations and went where the real power was, investment banking.

And why not. Everybody thinks I’m wealthy anyway. I make a facetious comment about being rich and my inbox blows up with people castigating me for being a one percenter. You’d have thought I was giving away Facebook stock. I’m sick of being poor, now I truly am going to be rich.

No, I turned down Lloyd Blankfein. We may look similar, we may both be follically challenged, but do you think I still want to be in the public eye after what I’ve been through?

No, I’m going to work for a hedge fund in Greenwich. My mother’s getting older by the minute, I’ve rented a condo in Westport, Connecticut, halfway between her and work, until I get my bearings, get some cash and buy a house.

No, I’m not going to tell you the name of the firm. You wouldn’t know it anyway.

They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I brought in my black book. I’m tapping every relationship I have for cash. Everybody from Paul McGuinness to Don Henley. Even Donnie Ienner and Tommy Mottola. If you’re wealthy, expect to hear from me.

As for the rest of you…it’s payback time.

I’ve sold my list to so many marketers I can afford a year in the Maldives. You’re gonna be spammed to high heaven. You always think I’m selling my list anyway, so why not do it?

I’m all about the cash now baby. I gave you all that information for free and all you did was bust my balls. I can’t even say something negative about Groupon. The stock tanks after I write, but you’re so busy drinking at the trough of your insignificant income, proud to be poor, that you can’t see that you’ve been sold a bill of goods.

So I’m leaving you behind.

Music’s done anyway.

You ruined it. You stole those MP3s and now music executives are homeless and even Bruce Springsteen has to go to SXSW to shill his new album. There’s no money left. Jay-Z and Dre make more money off of non-music ventures and all you’ve got left in music is wannabes. Blecch.

If you’re smart, you’ll follow me. Thinking you can make a living in music is like believing you can win the lottery. And you think it takes just as much skill. Nada. I went to college, I went to law school, I’m done with you, I’m going behind the gate and throwing away the key, only flying private from now on.

Look, I get it. You can’t have people like Lefsetz writing whatever he wants, pissing off teenagers like Taylor Swift. If you let him loose he’ll ruin radio, television, newspapers…who knows what’s next. He’s got way too much power. Otherwise why would you bother to read the words of this idiot who never signed a hit act and never ran a major record label. That would be like saying Bob Costas is qualified to call baseball or host the Olympics, even though he never even batted in the MLB, never mind hit 300, and he’s too wimpy to even throw the hammer.

People like Lefsetz need to be shut up. I mean who does he think he is? There’s nobody he hasn’t written negative stuff about. He’s just a crybaby loser who is desperate to be close to fame. He’s been doing it for twenty five years already. He’s put in 10,000 hours and he’s not as talented as, never mind famous as, Paula Abdul.

Good riddance.

I hear you. I’m done.

You’ve got to read this.

Maybe Jimmy’s sick, maybe that’s why he’s taking this victory lap, because normally he works behind the scenes. Suddenly, he’s being feted at the Village before the Grammys, he’s in "Rolling Stone", "The Hollywood Reporter"? Really smart, rich people are not like musicians, they stay out of the public eye. Or at least they refuse to speak with reporters. Because reporters have an agenda. And reporters get it wrong.

What did my buddy say? That Jimmy went to UCLA and told his class that he’s got all these people under him who think they work for a record company who don’t realize they work for a branding company? That recorded music is at most a piece of the puzzle?

Give Jimmy credit for Beats.

And give him a demerit for the Farm Club.

But unlike too many musical artists, he comes up to bat, he’s willing to make a mistake, to ground out, to even commit an error. Because the victories far exceed the losses.

And you get a recitation of Jimmy’s greatest hits in this article, but that turns out to be the least fascinating part of it.

First, you find out about the man.

Or the boy. That’s what he was when he began.

Jimmy was a charmed figure, the star of the family, his dad said the room had to be better for him being in it.

Think about that… When you arrive, do people shake their heads and say "Oh no!" or are they thrilled to see you? Do you make people happy? Are you funny, do you do favors? Not only is it a people business, it’s a people world. You’ve got to do more than get along to get ahead, you’ve got to add something!

So Jimmy’s clueless. Except for the fact that he can ingratiate himself with others and fake it. You always fake it. If you don’t lie to get the chance, you’re shooting too low. And Jimmy’s ascent was not linear, not every gig worked out. But he had one big skill. He could tell good from bad.

Funny, most people on the inside say everything is great.

Everybody on the outside says everything sucks, except what they’re working on. But can you speak the truth and have people accept it? People want to hear the truth, their asses are kissed every day, but you’ve got to make it palatable.

Jimmy says U2’s last record wasn’t done. And that they shouldn’t go out on the road again until the new record is right.

And he talks about assembling Stevie Nicks’s band and admits that "Hard Promises" wasn’t as good as "Damn The Torpedoes", but the best stuff has to do with Springsteen.

He just didn’t give a f___.

I’m not spelling the word out because too many spam filters will kick this e-mail back and I want you to read this, so you’ll read Jimmy’s words.

Bruce was broke, abused, he needed to do it HIS WAY!

Today, everybody is willing to compromise, to do it THEIR WAY!

And here’s where we get to the meat of the story, why I’m writing this.

Because at the end of the interview, Jimmy says music is done. He wonders if we’ll get a new Springsteen, a new Tom Petty, because the best and the brightest are not going into music.

BINGO!

If you want to get rich, if you’ve got something to say, is music the right place?

Chalk it up to income inequality. Chalk it up to a mature business. But the days of hearing a cutting edge record that changes the world…are few and far between if they exist whatsoever.

There’s no revolution on Top Forty radio and the rest of the business is laden with crybabies fighting for attention.

I’m not sure how it plays out. Whether we have a spontaneous revolution or music is permanently relegated to the second class. But it’s a problem. One that Doug Morris and Lucian Grainge won’t talk about. As for the touring industry, it’s all about the money.

So Jimmy’s trying to push the envelope.

Beats are inferior to Sennheisers and other mainstream headphone brands but give Jimmy credit for convincing the hoi polloi to upgrade to much better sound.

Jimmy’s trying to move the ball at the top. My eyes bugged out when he said record production was too small a hole for him in his life right now.

You want to get Jimmy’s attention and he doesn’t want to give it to you. He’s got filters, gofers who’ll hip him to stuff that’s great that he might miss, but he’s got his eye on the prize. He’s not exactly sure what it is but this hunger is a lot more interesting than those who keep claiming the business is healthy and are fighting petty wars over whether Universal can consume EMI or not.

Jimmy’s an American success story. I saw him driving down Santa Monica in his Rolls-Royce the other day… Does anybody even need one of these vehicles? Performance can be eclipsed by automobiles costing so much less, but nothing makes the same statement.

And Jimmy wants to make a statement.

But Jimmy is also the character in "What Makes Sammy Run?" Ultimately it’s all about him, he needs to win to fill a hole inside.

And now he’s changed his look from a baseball hat to a knit cap. Does Lloyd Blankfein worry that he’s follically challenged? If Jimmy owned his baldness he’d lose not an iota of power or respect, but the fact that he refuses to do so illustrates his insecurity. No matter how rich or powerful we are, we’re all human.

"Rolling Stone" hasn’t mattered in music for years. Sure, Matt Taibbi is a star, but the rest is fanboy stuff written by those who don’t really care. But I can’t exactly blame the magazine, because the stars got small, they stand for little and are uninteresting.

Jimmy is neither. This is not a fluff piece. The real person comes through. We still don’t see enough of the Jimmy inside, but we see more than we have of any other top-drawer music exec. And to the degree the rest of them talk, everything is groovy.

Everything is not groovy. And the first step to fixing this is admitting it.

Jimmy admits it.

That’s why I bought "Twice Removed From Yesterday", Robin Trower’s solo debut, because of "Broken Barricades".

Who knew Robin Trower was such a hot guitarist in the mold of Jimi Hendrix? His work was buried in the art rock of Procol Harum until…

"Home".

I’ll admit to loving the title track of "Shine On Brightly", Procol Harum’s second LP, I even taped it off the radio, but this was not my band, despite the great reviews for "A Salty Dog", until "Home".

Most people know Procol Harum for "A Whiter Shade Of Pale", with the exquisite keyboard work of Matthew Fisher, who left the band and suddenly a new star emerged, Mr. Trower. Dropping the needle on "Home"’s opening cut was revelatory…it was the same band in name only. That track, of course, was "Whisky Train".

1. "Whisky Train"

Gary Brooker’s still got the pipes. He may look like your granddad, but he can still sing. But unlike with what came before, Brooker’s vocal was now down in the mix, which is dominated by buzzsaw guitar and percussion.

It’s like the entire group said screw it, got on a train with a case of booze and started rocking out, solely for themselves.

This is the sound that Foghat perfected to platinum, but done years before.

On one hand it’s generic.

But maybe that’s because it was imitated so much thereafter.

But on the other, it’s the essence of rock and roll, it gets your head boppin’, your body moving.

From the initial moment, the song takes off on a tear. I’m surprised "Whisky Train" has not been sampled, that it’s not woven into electronic sets.

I never owned a copy of "Home". This was the pre-Internet era, when you had to buy albums to hear them, and money was precious. But every time I saw the record in a pile at someone’s house, I immediately put it on. To experience the magic of "Whisky Train".

2. "Simple Sister"

"Broken Barricades", the follow-up to "Home", was not as good.

But it contained two mindblowing tracks.

This was one of them.

First there’s the riff. Maybe not as memorable as "Sunshine Of Your Love", but anyone paying attention in 1971 knew it. Airplay might have been limited, but one listen was enough to addict you.

This time, Gary Brooker’s way up in the mix. And once again, you cannot help but nod your head.

Then, not quite a minute in, the adventure begins. There’s a short solo. And after Brooker does his thing, half a minute later, the instrumental section begins in earnest. It’s like someone grabs you by the collar and insists you follow. And when you see what’s in store, you don’t mind.

Then, two and half minutes in, the track breaks down. The piano dominates. And slowly, over time, more and more instruments are added and the intensity builds, especially when Trower starts to wail at around the four minute mark. It’s like they’re preparing for a rocket launch, getting all systems ready and igniting fuel. Strings are added and it’s not until just after the five minute point that blastoff is achieved. Brooker comes back in with horns. The track explodes, it’s like something out of a porno movie.

Sure, classic rock is a fixture in the firmament, kids know every Zeppelin riff.

But they don’t know this.

They’ve got something to look forward to.

3. "Power Failure"

And this, the second side opener, is just as good. The track sounds like a fireworks display, with all the little explosions.

Then, at 1:19, it’s like everybody leaves the room but the players and they start working out the kinks, experimenting, finding the groove and locking on. It’s like a Ginger Baker drum solo or the extended break of "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida", but compact, sans boredom, you’re infected and at 2:47, the band comes back in.

The track has got a sexual feel, despite not being about coupling, it’s the pure adrenaline, the way the track has got no sense of contemplation, it’s just completely ON.

4. "Shine On Brightly"

In case you’re unfamiliar with what came before, here’s my perennial favorite. It’s majestic, it’s art rock, it’s all about the lyrics, the vocal is by the same person, but it doesn’t even sound like it’s the same band.

5. "A Salty Dog"

The follow-up to "Shine On Brightly", the title track from Procol Harum’s third album, this has faded away and has not radiated. But it’s a quiet masterpiece from an era where having a hit was secondary to making a statement.

The descending structure adds gravitas. Listen to this instead of reading "Moby Dick".

6. "I Can’t Wait Much Longer"

My favorite song off Trower’s debut is "Hannah", and then "Twice Removed From Yesterday".

But I include the album’s opening cut to demonstrate that when Trower left Procol Harum his palette went from black and white to color. No longer constricted, he could play slow and soulful as well as fast with a rock groove.

You don’t need drugs to enjoy this, but do not listen without noting that it was cowritten with Trower by Frankie Miller, the unsung talent who never quite broke through in America and then self-destructed. Trower and Miller and Tull’s former drummer Clive Bunker joined with bass player James Dewar in the band Jude before Trower decided to go out on his own.

Procol Harum went on to have a hit after Trower departed, with a live version of "Conquistador", and the originals reunited with the surprisingly strong "Prodigal Stranger" in 1991, but today the band’s legacy has been distilled to that one initial single and despite becoming an arena rock hero, Trower has come back to earth too. But it’s time to resurrect these gems.

Furthermore, who knew Trower was so great before "Home"? It was like Mick Ralphs in Mott The Hoople…who knew he could create those riffs in Bad Company?

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It must be nice to be rich.

Got that e-mail from a bunch of people re my Groupon rant.

What is wrong with America that everybody boasts about being poor?

I know, not everybody. Certainly not the rappers. And the Republicans. And you can’t get a peep out of the truly rich, they’re smart enough to shut the fuck up.

But the middle class… It’s a race to the bottom.

When I went to college 45% of the students went to prep school. Many were scions of household names. But in addition to wearing their jeans and threadbare sweaters they never had a buck in their pockets, they couldn’t afford a pizza, and if you convinced them to come along, you had to pay for them.

It doesn’t make you better than someone if you’ve got less money. It just makes you poorer.

Now don’t confuse the above with a diatribe on income inequality. What I’m talking about here is perception, not reality. If you’re truly poor, if you’re homeless, if you can’t afford health insurance, I truly feel sorry for you, you’ve got my compassion, we need to lift those on the bottom up.

But the ones bitching most are not this financially-challenged. They’re just holier-than thou. They like to count everybody else’s money and sit in judgment, explaining that the reason they’re not where you are, where they want to be, is because they just can’t afford it.

Meanwhile, they lease a brand new car.

And they live in a generous apartment or a house with a yard.

We all choose to spend our money in our own ways.

Furthermore, it’s been documented that some of the poorest people are the most generous, they donate a larger proportion of their income to charity and they demand no plaque in return, they just believe it’s the right thing to do.

I’m gonna let you in on a little secret… If you keep complaining how you haven’t got it, how you can’t afford it, how it must be nice to be a winner, you’re gonna remain a loser. People are going to dismiss your ass and ignore you. Because no one likes a whiner, no one likes a complainer. You just need to justify how the system screwed you and you’re down there while the winners are up here.

What’s the punch line of that old joke? BUY A TICKET?

If you want to win, you’ve got to play.

And if you never play, you’re never going to win.

Stop denying yourself and stop apologizing for the fact that you make choices that might be different from someone else’s.

If I don’t use a coupon, that does not make me rich.

Then again, I AM!