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.

“Taking Chances”

The problem with singer-songwriters is they’ve got to compete with Joni Mitchell. I can only play one record at one time, if they don’t measure up to those of the Canadian icon, I won’t continue to spin them. You see music is not graded on a curve. Good is not good enough. We just want great.

And this is great.

I’m taking chances

It’s harder to do as you get older. You think about the desired outcome, but you don’t want to take the risk. But what’s that old cliche, “no risk, no reward?”

I wear my heart on my sleeve

As Joni always did. But this is different. Joni always came from a place of confidence. Abra Moore is singing from an opposite space.

I want to slide, slide under the big sky
Who’s gonna take care of me

That’s what we all want. To be taken care of. To feel safe. Some get through on bluster. Others were never taken care of themselves and expect nothing. But the rest of us… We’re looking for a relationship where we’re known and accepted, one that won’t unexpectedly end. Used to be marriage was a guarantee. Now even that’s untrue. You can be lying in bed confident that things are going swimmingly and your spouse can already be checked out. Hell, it happened to me!

I’m not sure if I really want to

The self-help books tell you to put one foot in front of the other without thinking. There’s no heart, no emotion. But last time I checked, we were human beings. With past hurts and foibles, who are fearful of losing what we’ve already got, being pushed even further back on the board game of life.

I’m not sure what it all means

What I always say is I’ve got more questions than answers. And if you don’t agree with this, chances are we’ll have a hard time connecting. I’m constantly reevaluating my life, both interior and exterior. I’m on a search for meaning. And when it’s either absent or waning, I sink.

I just want somebody to talk to
Talk to me

Eureka! That’s it! I’ve been hurt so much, it’s hard for me to open up. Oh, I’ll ask you a zillion questions, and I’m truly interested, but you’ll know we’ve connected if I suddenly expound exuberantly, if my brain is popping and I’m digressing and I can’t shut up. I think no one is listening. Hell, they rarely ask. As Joni sang, I come for conversation.

I’m taking chances
And I’m talking carelessly
And I’m walking backwards into the future
This world is getting too deep

It usually happens unconsciously. Suddenly I’m off and running. Telling you too much. I’m in too deep. But that’s when I’m walking forwards into the future. But I hate to admit it, I’m usually walking backwards. The future keeps coming when my only desire is to stop time, to lick my wounds, to plot out a reasonable course. Then obligations pile up, opportunities evaporate, I age and have regrets. Hell, if I could only get rid of my fears, if I could only eat up life.

I’m not sure if I really want to
I’m not sure what this all means
I just want somebody to hold on
Hold me

Holding on, holding me, those are two different things. Don’t give up. I’m committed, are you? But when it comes to physical interaction…I’ve got problems in that area. You see I come from a no touch family. Hugs were verboten. I’m working on it…

I keep fallin’, I keep fallin’ and I keep fallin’
And I keep tumbling under the deep, deep
All I can do now is give up the whole thing

Whew! That’s me! My anxiety, my fear of rejection, my innate reluctance to take chances has me pulling away just as I’m getting involved. I’m worried about sacrificing myself, losing myself, not being able to get back to where I started, meanwhile, I’m in foreign territory, everything is both meaningful and meaningless.

I’m not sure if I really want to
And I’m not sure what this all means, anymore
I’m taking chances
I’m taking chances
I’m taking chances
I’m taking chances

Oh, once I commit I definitely want to. I might be insecure, but both feet are in. But then I think I’m standing on quicksand and I start reevaluating. But taking chances is so EXHILARATING!

And all of the foregoing would be irrelevant if the music wasn’t just as good as the words, hell, better! This is what happens when you throw out convention and do it your way. Stop worrying about hits and getting it right. “Taking Chances” is acoustic, yet anything but wimpy. It hearkens back to my favorite Wendy Waldman tracks from the seventies. The intensity penetrates instantly and bonds you. And the electric accents don’t dominate, but add meaning. And when she starts singing about falling…the track amps up, as if she’s going over a waterfall. And then it’s calm again.

On my fantasy radio show, “Taking Chances” is Top Ten.

“Pull Away”

Here comes that love again and it just won’t stop
So we try to be together
Spend all of a lifetime
Trying to find the love we’ve got
Can we try to stay together
As we pull away
As we pull away
As we pull away
As we pull away

I think it’s easier if you marry your first love, or get hitched in an arranged marriage. Because that first breakup of an extended live-in relationship is so brutal. She knows every nook and cranny of your personality, your pluses and minuses. For the first time in your life, someone knows you better than your family. But it just can’t last. You’ve got to give up what you’ve got to find something better, an improved fit.

And it’s so sad. But one partner, and it’s always one who wants to move on, anybody who tells you breakups are mutual is either lying or ignorant, is driven by an inner force to find his or her own way. And some are weak, they wait for someone else to come along so they’ll never be alone. Because after you’ve been together, the loneliness kills.

And who will we call at the end of the day
When I check the machine will it be your name

At least there are machines. Before this, you stayed home… Hoping, praying they’d call. Even though you knew you couldn’t.

And after that, you’d stare at the machine as if you could will a phone call. But the phone never rang. There were no messages. Until you’d finally given up. And then they called and you felt the old connection, they talked about their pain, but they still didn’t want to get back together. Or maybe they did. And you tried. But it never worked out.

How can I be true
How can I be true and still have you

You’ve got to be true to yourself. Some people throw this under the bus, thrilled to have someone else, to be joined at the hip to. But usually that blind devotion causes the other person to run. They feel smothered. And if they accede to it, you’re a slave, you’ve got no territory to operate in. That’s the challenge of life. To be together without losing yourself.

What will we do when the morning comes
And we say goodbye, will we let go slow

You can’t. And you can’t be friends either. You need a clean break, otherwise it’s just too painful, you’re together and then you’re not. And this goes on, with one person hoping for reconnection, and then one day their significant other breaks the news…they’ve found someone else.

And how will it be in the future

I just don’t know. The older I get, the less I know. And I certainly can’t predict the future. And as you get older, it’s less about finding someone else than terminal illness, accident, running out of cash. Real life intrudes on love, and it’s so depressing. And you never find your soulmate, human beings weren’t built for that. You try to find the best fit and stick with it.

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A wasted life?

Today people want to see cash. In the sixties and seventies, we wanted to see God. And one way to do this was through drugs.

Now I’m not going to lionize illegal substances. Hell, I was never much of a partaker. But although drugs can be utilized to soothe one’s pain, back in the heyday of the counterculture, they were about expanding your horizons, gaining insight, and that’s what Tom Davis did…he conceived of the Coneheads while high on LSD, on Easter Island.

And he was there at the creation of Mr. Mainway.

Don’t know who that is you say? You never saw the famous “Bag-O'” series?

Once upon a time, Danny Aykroyd and John Belushi were the two biggest stars in the land. All the press has been given to Chevy Chase, but Danny and John were the heart of the show. They were team players who winked at the audience, in the case of Aykroyd, without even breaking character. They were the ones who were testing limits. They were our heroes.

John Belushi doing Joe Cocker was bigger than the man himself. And when John and Danny formed the Blues Brothers, they got the best hands in the land to back them up. Back then there was no short term memory. No Internet. People had already forgotten how great Steve Cropper and Duck Dunn and their compatriots were. Now we only yearn for the chance to see those Stax guys together again, an impossibility.

To tell you the truth, I didn’t always like Franken & Davis when they were on the air. But unlike the all time “Jeopardy” champion, I never forgot them.

I watched the first SNL on a whim. Because it was Saturday night and I was home alone and had nothing better to do.

And then I talked about it the complete following week, to anybody I came in contact with. It was like a band. It was like today, but in this case the word I was spreading was about something fantastic, not driven by PR and Facebook likes, but sheer unadulterated quality.

A lot has been written how Norman Lear reinvented television.

And his shows are iconic. But not as important as SNL. Because that’s when we took over television. Yes, this was when the old men knew better, when we couldn’t be trusted with the controls, when sponsors were wary and they didn’t play rock music at sporting events. But with one baby inroad, the whole paradigm shifted. SNL might have aired at 11:30 PM, but soon its influence was felt throughout the day, on every outlet.

And Tom Davis was there at the beginning. He was about charting the cultural zeitgeist, testing the limits, making himself laugh so everybody else would too. He and Al Franken were about the content, not the money. Hell, they shared one $350 a week salary. Today, everybody wants to pay no dues and be paid upfront. Quality is not as important as one’s station on the economic totem pole. Today every conversation is trumped by money. You can’t say an artist sucks if he sells out. Can’t say anybody with money is an idiot. But back then we were playing by different rules. Back then, who you were was much more important than what you owned, how you looked. Call it the anti-Paris Hilton/Kim Kardashian era. One started in the sixties that continued to run through the seventies, until MTV co-opted the youth culture and we all lived together under one unthinking monolithic roof until today.

I want to tell you something. You can never be as rich as the bankers, as the hedge funders. But ideas cost nothing. One good idea, delineated clearly and executed exquisitely, has more power than any amount of money.

We knew that then.

We need to learn that again.

Tom Davis Dies at 59; SNL Writer and Comedy Partner to a Future Senator

Tom Davis, SNL writer and comedy partner of Al Franken, dies at 59