I was drinking Golden Cadillacs at the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar.

It was a reward for finishing my thesis. A trip to Jackson Hole. Where it dumped four days straight and then the sun came out and turned the snow into corn up top and mashed potatoes down below. Yes, I skied Corbet’s, navigated the bumps on Thunder, but the skiing wasn’t the highlight of that trip.

It was the first week of April. The joint was almost empty. And on a ride up the tram I met this guy from Maryland, who’d given up his job in the hotel industry, he’d been a sommelier, to follow the flake. That’s the pull of snow. It’s kind of like crack, it’ll make you give up everything else you’ve ever known.

And when you’re flying solo on 2,500 acres, you look for friends, even if they don’t ski as well as you. It gets lonely on the mountain.

And at the end of the day, this guy squeezed me for a shower. He was staying in his van. Did I mind if he employed the hot water in the hostel to soothe his sorry skin?

I couldn’t say no.

And then he suggested dinner at the Mangy Moose.

And when we had a good buzz on, that’s when you gain a sense of adventure, this dude suggested we drive into town, Jackson, Wyoming, which is about a dozen miles from Teton Village, the ski resort.

And of course I said yes. Things were different. Now all the action is at home, in front of a screen. But back then, to live a full life you had to be willing to take chances, you had to go for the ride.

And when we got into town we pulled up in front of the aforementioned Million Dollar Cowboy Bar. Where the bar is inlaid with silver dollars and the stools are saddles. And that’s when my new friend insisted we drink Golden Cadillacs. And we imbibed Flaming Drambuies too. We were getting good and wasted. Not blitzed, but energized. You know, powerful. Like the world is your oyster, like you can get everything you want if you just give it a try.

So I did.

I got up from the bar. I decided to talk up some women.

Straight I’d be too meek. But with a full tank of gas, I had the confidence of Warren Beatty.

And they’re playing some shitkicking country music, the real country, not the faux rock and roll they make in Nashville today. And I approach these two girls on the dance floor and start joking about the tunes, endearing myself to them, and everything was going quite swimmingly…

Until I found myself on the floor.

I’m a middle class college student from the suburbs. It doesn’t even occur to me that these women could be spoken for.

Actually, it was just one.

And this guy decided to protect his turf.

I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. Whether he was going to stomp the living daylights out of me or…

I was paralyzed.

But my buddy, who’d suddenly become recalcitrant, who’d allowed me to fly solo on this venture, ran over from the bar, picked me up, grabbed me by the arm and we started to RUN!

They were forming a posse. Literally. Growing a group to outnumber and pulverize us.

But we made it to the van intact. And my newfound buddy turns the key in the ignition and…

It doesn’t start.

But then it did.

And the street is covered with snow. We’re slippin’ and a slidin’. But we’re on the go.

Not saying a word. Worried they’re gonna get in their machines and follow us.

But when we reach the outskirts of town, we start to laugh. Nervously. We’d lived through the experience.

And then this guy pulled a case from behind the seat and told me to pick out a tape.

It was full of cassettes. In an era when 8-tracks were still king. This guy was cool.

But not that cool. I figured the case was going to be filled with the likes of Grand Funk Railroad.

But it wasn’t.

I’m perusing the titles and I come across one of my favorites. Bonnie Raitt’s "Takin My Time".

It was a disappointment after the exquisite "Give It Up". Still, "Takin My Time" contained this one amazing track, "I Feel The Same".

It’s written by Chris Smither. Who deserves more acclaim. But it sounds nothing like any of his recordings of the title. Primarily because of one Lowell George.

The acoustic intro rips out your heart, it’s the opposite of the in your face music sold today.

And Bonnie starts to sing like her heart’s just been broken.

And Billy Payne tickles the ivories.

But when Lowell George starts to wail, something inside of you starts to sparkle, you feel like a door has opened and you’ve passed through to a better world.

Lowell’s brilliance first announces itself at 1:42. It’s not about flash, but about tone and technique, the SOUND! Lowell George trafficked in subtlety.

But the most memorable playing is yet to come. At 3:38 Lowell starts doing something I can only describe as chicken-pickin’. Multiple guitars are wailing. You marvel at the magic coming out of the speakers.

And that’s what I put on this guy’s car stereo. "I Feel The Same". I put the cassette in on the wrong side, flipped it over, fast-forwarded and reversed it until I could hear the track from beginning to end.

My friend was nodding his head. I’ll never forget the Milky Way hovering above us, sparkling through the vast windshield of his Econoline. It’s one of the most memorable moments of my life.

P.S. "I Feel The Same" is not the only great track on "Takin My Time", just the best. Be sure to check out Eric Kaz’s "Cry Like A Rainstorm", which Bonnie covered long before Linda Ronstadt. "I Thought I Was A Child" has a different feel from Jackson Browne’s original, which was released simultaneously. It’s not better, but it’s definitely worth hearing. And then there’s Joel Zoss’s "I Gave My Love A Candle"… Joel wrote my favorite track on "Give It Up", "Too Long At The Fair", and "I Gave My Love A Candle" is nearly as good. And if you like these, check out the rest of "Takin My Time". You’ll dig it.

Spotify link

American Juggalo

This ain’t Coachella. It’s not even Bonnaroo.

We’re used to corporate sponsors, patrons staying in hotel rooms. Everybody in America is a winner, on their way up.

But here you have an endless supply of what society calls losers. And they all seem to know it.

This film is as powerful as the great documentaries of Frederick Wiseman and D.A. Pennebaker. It captures a vibe, a feeling, which you don’t find too often in today’s mainstream media.

I can’t imagine many of these people are Democrats. They want every dollar they earn, because it’s not many. And where’s the better life, the jobs Obama promised?

It’s an endless carnival of the disenfranchised. An underbelly pushed under the rug, joining together to have a good time.

What happens when your parents aren’t rich, when your life has taken a wrong turn? You get tattoos and become a Juggalo.

This certainly ain’t the beautiful people.

And it’s not all stoners. There are Straight Edge Juggalos, and if one of the talking heads is to be believed, even brain surgeon Juggalos. But I’m guessing those are in the minority.

This is not plastic-surgeried, dieted down to nothing television America. This is the people servicing you, doing those low paying jobs you’ve got contempt for.

But they’re also us.

They’re bonded as family, and that’s admirable.

But they’re Americans.

Watch this movie. Because first and foremost it’s watchable. Unlike so many of those YouTube clips, this has been made by professionals. Blow it up full screen, the HD is amazing.

And marvel at the human circus.

I’m not sure what it all means.

But I can’t stop thinking of the view I’ve been afforded by watching it.

This film is so good, I want you to rush out and see it, even if you hate baseball, even if you’ve got no clue how many players take the field.

Do you trust me?

I guess that’s what this is about. Have I earned the ability to have you follow me blind, not because I’m being paid but because I’m searching for greatness, and it’s so rarely found.

We’ve got a lot of good in the music business. A lot of professionalism in the film industry. But very few eureka moments. Very few experiences that make us laugh and cry, that make us feel fully alive.

The Adele record is one.

And "Moneyball" is another.

See it on the big screen. The cinematography makes you think you’re seeing something important. There’s a hyper-real effect that draws your attention. And even if you know how the movie plays out, you’re thrilled to go for the ride. Kind of like riding a roller coaster. A great one is just as good the tenth time through. When the A’s are on their winning streak and Billy Beane is afraid to jinx it and they blow an eleven run lead…you start to sweat, you get anxious. It’s the essence of baseball, the essence of sports. You’re totally in the moment. You think this is the most important thing in the world.

Brad Pitt is phenomenal. He’s completely different from his breakout role in "Thelma & Louise". He’s tall. He’s a hothead. He’s the Robert Redford of our generation.

And at first you can’t see beyond Jonah Hill’s facade. But then he becomes the statistician, you see him as the Yalie who believes that numbers don’t lie, and if you don’t do your homework, you don’t win.

And speaking of believing in numbers… Almost deserving of an Academy Award as supporting actor is Philip Seymour Hoffman, as Art Howe, the manager, who believes in tradition as opposed to data. He underplays to the point of believability. He’s about making himself look good, like so many in this world. And then he gets all the credit when the man he battled deserves it.

And the scouts are crotchety and real. And the owners are smug and omnipotent, especially the Red Sox owner. His speech near the end of the movie is one of the highlights. Credit Aaron Sorkin. He wrote the best movie of last year, "The Social Network", and he’s co-written the best movie of this year, so far anyway. Sorkin manages to merge believability with speechifying. He gets the point across without having the actors appear two-dimensional. It’s almost like real people speaking.

But it’s not, it’s a film.

But when art is done right, it’s a condensation of every moment of our lives. The boredom and the excitement. The anger and the grief. The smile and the frustration.

I could make analogies to the music business. You can apply the "Moneyball" philosophy to so much in this life.

But what struck me most was Billy Beane’s line about no longer doing anything for the money. He did that once, it backfired on him. He should have taken that scholarship at Stanford, he should not have made that deal with the Mets.

Today everybody goes for the gold. The reason you win at the Olympics is to cash in. Otherwise, why train so hard?

But then what? Then you’re a living has-been.

And that’s the problem with trying to make it in sports and music. If you don’t, and you probably won’t, where will you be left?

If you’ve got no skills other than being able to pick a guitar and that doesn’t work out, you’re qualified to be a janitor, or a cashier. That’s the truth. Which is why conventionally high-risk professions like being an artist are peopled with the lower classes, when you got nothing, you got nothing to lose.

But now our artistic enterprises are run by MBAs, Ivy League graduates. They pay lip service to the art, but they’re really all about the money. They want the lifestyle of the rock star with none of the risk.

And that’s why there’s so much crap out there.

But this is not crap. "Moneyball" was not made by newbies, but lifers, who earned the right to do it their own way.

And it was all based on Michael Lewis’s book. Which is highly readable. That’s Lewis’s skill. Anybody can write about sports and finance but can they make it interesting, can they keep us coming back?

I had to download the book after seeing the movie, even though it’s almost a decade old. Because I needed more. Like a fan digging into the catalog of an artist he just discovered.

I don’t care to what degree the movie is accurate, to what degree statistics rule the game today. All I can say is that for two hours I was riveted, I didn’t want the movie to end.

And when it finally did finish, I turned to Felice and said:

"That’s a really good movie."

It is.

Enrich your life. Go see it.

It’s everything a film should be. Which so few today are.

It’s not about special effects. It’s not about blowing stuff up. It’s not an assault. Rather it’s a view into life, and choices. It’s about the human condition. Our best art always is.

Doug Morris changed the music business.

Used to be artists were developed from the ground up. You found someone with talent, then you built an audience. Morris found people with an audience first.

Common wisdom is Doug has been successful because he wrote "Sweet Talkin’ Guy", he was an artist himself, he knew how to relate to the creators. But Doug’s run can be attributed more to a change in methodology. Atlantic had a research department. Canvassing record stores to see what indie records sold. That’s how they got Hootie and the Blowfish. The act wasn’t developed, it was blown up.

Same deal with 2 Live Crew.

And one must laud Mo Ostin for creating the greatest record company of the sixties and seventies, quite possibly the eighties too. But Mo and Lenny tried to employ this same paradigm in the nineties with DreamWorks and they failed. They found artists they liked. And spent a ton of money to develop them. But connecting with a mainstream audience was incredibly difficult, and DreamWorks was shut down/merged with Universal, Doug won.

But it wasn’t only finding self-starting bands. It was also about radio. Doug had a crack promotion team, if he thought a record had a chance, he made them get it on the radio in a market. If sales didn’t develop, promotion stopped. It was all about reaction.

So today if you want to sign with a major label, you’re best off developing yourself. If you’ve had no success, gotten no traction, odds are poor.

And once your record is released, if there are no sales, despite how much work you put into it, despite what reviewers or your mom or even friends at the label say, your project is going to be put on the back burner.

Thank Doug Morris for this.

Of course there are exceptions. Especially with TV acts. And some Top Forty wonders. But the concept of a major label developing a talented act from scratch is taboo. You’re on your own baby.

But Morris famously missed the Internet. Innovate or die. The game changes every day. So now that an act does not need a major label to profit, to get booked on the road, the power of major labels is declining. You can do it for yourself. Or hire net-savvy twenty or thirtysomethings. Major labels can get you on radio and TV. But those mean less than ever before. And is your act radio and TV friendly? Both desiring music in very narrow genres?

As for the employment of Dr. Luke, of overpaying the usual suspects, now that labels are owned by conglomerates, they need to deliver, they need to succeed. They’d rather overpay Dr. Luke than invest in someone new and inexperienced. You probably would too. This is about math, not creativity. And yes, the best way to get a job in the major label infrastructure is to have a track record playing the game. You might think A&R people find and develop talent, but in an era where almost all talent is hiding in plain sight, the main skill of an A&R person is the ability to sign. Finding talent is easy. Getting it to commit to your label is incredibly difficult.

If you’re closed out from the above, count your lucky stars. You get to do it your own way, following your own muse.

But you won’t be able to get a blank check from the label. You’re gonna have to develop not only your talent, but your career. No one will pony up on Kickstarter unless they already know you and believe you’re good.

It’s a brand new landscape out there. And statistics don’t lie.

If you’re not making it, chances are there’s no demand for what you’re selling. We can judge it all day long, say it’s not good enough, but we don’t have to. The public is the final arbiter.

Try to convince the listeners. It’s harder than you think. But once you’ve got ’em, they stick to you like glue.

You’re selling a whole belief system, a story, authenticity. You’re the opposite of what came before. What’s expedient won’t work. What’s real will.