THE GRAND CANYON

We were only on the South Rim for three hours.  Deploying at the Bright Angel Lodge.

I hadn’t been there since 1966.  Needless to say, the Grand Canyon hadn’t changed.  It’s vast!  Far larger than you can imagine, almost too big to comprehend.  A huge hole with giant mountains resembling tits cropping up amidst the vast valleys.

After taking a gander, we boarded the bus to Hermits Rest, seven and a half miles away.  Our plan was to take it to the limit, then stop at one of the viewpoints on the return and walk back.  I figured we’d have enough time to double back from Maricopa Point, not quite two miles from our starting point.  But nervous about being late, hanging up our compatriots, at the last minute we altered the plan.  We’d disembark at Mojave Point and walk the mile or so through Hopi Point on to Powell Point, where the bus stopped on its reverse run (it stopped at all eight intermediate points on the way out, but only three on the way back.)

And at Mojave Point, the views were delicious.  We could see the Colorado River far below.  The sheer walls nearby were emblazoned red.  One could get up on the railing and look straight down.  And that’s what it is, straight down.  A cliff.  This ain’t no ski slope, the sides of the Grand Canyon are vertical.

Having taken a gander, it was time to hit the trail.  Which I’d seen pictures of back at Bright Angel Lodge.  Paved, but in some spots gravel.

They lied.

The path this far out was dirt.  With occasional  markers on either side.  Sometimes logs, sometimes rocks.  And then, just feet away, was the abyss.

Or, as the Firesign Theatre used to say, I was walking mere feet from the Grand CanYONNNNNNNNNNNE!

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be in America.  The land of seatbelts and airbags, where we release our children into society in bubble wrap, worried they might get bruised by the slightest of contact.  America is safe, we’re protected!  But now I’m walking on this sometimes angled, uneven path, knowing that a trip and a slight slip and I’m a goner.

You tell yourself to go.  Not to be a pussy.  But once you’ve embarked, you can’t go back, it’s too scary.  You can kick and scream, but there’s no one to rescue you.  Certainly not in the slow season of November.

So, you can focus on the trail, avoid looking over your shoulder, or just jump.

Yup, you almost want to get it over with.

But truly.  You don’t want to hike and not look.  But you suddenly realize you can die.  And did you really want to go this way?

RIDING ON A RAILROAD

"You learn a lot on a train."

That’s what Charlie Hunter, leader of this adventure, told us in the parlor car not long after we left Union Station Saturday night.

This was his twentieth trip.  The first was a lark, a writing group jaunt.  From Northampton to Buffalo and back, just that fast. Then, they went to New Orleans.  Then they circumnavigated the country.  Signing up people through "Harper’s". Shenanigans ensued, marriages broke up.  Because in close quarters, you can’t hide behind your possessions, your true identity is revealed.

This was a four and a half day adventure.  From L.A. to Albuquerque and places in between.  The trip knit together by music.  In this case, Stan Ridgway, Jill Sobule and the Handsome Family.  Thirty eight people had signed up to be packed like sardines just to be close to the music.

HIGH ON A MOUNTAIN

Yes, that Stan Ridgway, from Wall of Voodoo, of "Mexican Radio" fame.  Then again, is there another Stan Ridgway?

Charlie’s a fan.  He likes artists who employ unreliable narrators.  Sing songs from perspectives other than their own.  As rapists, as less than stellar citizens.

I don’t think Stan’s ever raped anyone.  And unlike the artists in the news, he is both voluble and approachable.  Actually, Stan is a storytelling softie.  He keeps up a running narrative, oftentimes made up on the spot, of what he’s experiencing at the moment.  He’s ripe for a documentary.  He made up a seven minute song entitled "Booze Hole" which was more riveting than anything in the Top Forty.  But I became truly enraptured when he, his wife Pietra and their accompanying guitarist launched into "High On A Mountain".

High on a mountain, wind blowing free
Thinking of the days that used to be

We’re riding through the Mojave Desert.  It’s pitch black outside.  And this number is loping along, perfectly fitting the experience.  There was something about the changes.

And when they were done, Stan went on about them, deconstructing the song, delineating its magic.

He couldn’t exactly remember who wrote it.  "Ole"?

That’s what I thought he said, but searching in Spotify as soon as I got home, I found out it was written by Ola Belle Reed. It’s on an album entitled "Classic Mountain Songs from Smithsonian Folkways".  And the original, recorded so long ago, is just as magical as Stan and Pietra’s remake, cut for the children’s album "Silly Songs For Kids Volume One".

High on a mountain, standing all alone
Wondering where the years of my life have flown

Where did they go?  Ever find yourself alone and it hits you?  How did you get here?  Where have you been?  Where are you going?  It almost spooks you, you want to put one foot in front of the other, get into motion just to avoid being creeped out.

Great songs don’t have to be complicated.  Great songs encapsulate life better than any movie or TV show.

ALBUQUERQUE

It was cold!  Thirty three degrees during the day!

After waking up to snow in northern New Mexico, we ultimately arrived in Albuquerque at noon.  They shuffled the four cars of our entourage onto a siding and we disembarked to investigate a city that gets few tourists at this time of year.

And it felt good to get off the train.  Yet bad.

Nobody told me that running the rails was like being on a cruise ship.  I could barely stand up straight.  I was woozy the entire day.  I almost wanted to get back on, to hook up behind an engine, just to wallow and wail, shimmy and shake, the train calming me down like a mother rocking her baby.

Then again, the sleeping quarters were surreal.  I kept bumping my head, and have the scars to show for it.  Finally, we developed a system.  One at a time.  Otherwise, it’s just too crowded.

They’re seats during the day.  And at night, they’re bunk beds.  With no rubber buggy bumpers, since the car was commissioned in 1954, long before America became safety crazy.  But my bruises and bumps made me appreciate the regulations!

The tiny toilet flushed.  And the sink came down from the wall like a Murphy bed.  And to empty it, you pushed it vertical once again.  It was all ingeniously designed.  Albeit for munchkins.  And trying to insert my contacts and brush my teeth as the train rolled down the tracks was quite a challenge.

Anyway, after the sun set Sunday we went to Burt’s Tiki Lounge for a private concert, a triple header of the three acts involved.

And when we were done, we slept on the train, got up at the crack of dawn and boarded a bus for the Painted Desert

PAINTED DESERT & PETRIFIED FOREST

A vast wasteland.  That’s what city dwellers would say as you roll down I-40, endless scrub in front, a few mountains in the far distance.  But eventually you get to these two National Parks.  Makes you feel quite small to see these natural wonders. And the rust color of the petrified wood, it was staggering.  You almost wanted to break off a chunk and take it home.  But the visitors center was littered with letters of regret.  The most entertaining being the one that stated the sender was returning the rock because ever since he’d stolen it his life had turned to shit.  Divorce, car wreck, physical ailment…  It was almost funny.  Karma’s a bitch.

LA POSADA

Check it out: La Posada Hotel

A Colter hotel that two yuppies rescued from ruin.

It served Route 66, then after the Interstate diverted traffic elsewhere, the Santa Fe railroad employed it and then this couple bought it and restored it.

Huge and hysterical.  Authentic, yet filled with the wife’s modern art.  Food is better than you’d imagine and you somehow feel rooted here in the middle of nowhere.

GRAND CANYON

That’s where we went at the crack of dawn on Tuesday morning.  Well, we would have left at 7:15 if Larry from Facebook hadn’t gotten hung up in the shower.

Actually, we didn’t find out he was a programmer at Facebook until the next morning.  He didn’t want to wear the sobriquet of loser and he wasn’t.  Quite a nice guy, in fact.  Like Charlie said, you really get to know someone on a train.

And after visiting the big hole, we returned the two and a half hours back.  Through Flagstaff, past the giant crater into Winslow, Arizona.

TAKE IT EASY

Yes, that’s where La Posada is.  Winslow, Arizona.  Yes, like the Eagles song.

Well I’m standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona
Such a fine sight to see
It’s a girl my lord in a flatbed Ford
Slowing down to take a look at me

We may lose or we may win, but we will never be here again.  So I wanted to see the famous corner!

Believe me, it’s famous, the whole city is trading on it!  You can chalk up Winslow’s revival to the ubiquity of "Take It Easy". There’s an R. Crumb-inspired postcard in every hotel room with the details.  You almost think it’s real.

But it turns out to be metaphorical.

Not that the city hasn’t created a tourist site.  A wall painted with, you guessed it, a girl in a flatbed Ford.  Even better, there’s a red flatbed Ford parked nearby, along with a statue of a musician with a tiny head who’s supposed to be Glenn Frey or Jackson Browne or..?  Hell, there’s even an historical marker.

And across the street there’s a gift shop, where they sell Eagles memorabilia and stream the Eagles’ reunion concert all day long on the big screen.

Utterly hysterical, and testimony to the power of music.

JILL SOBULE

Do you know the song "Mexican Wrestler"?

I doubt it.

Then again, two of the thirtysomething musos on the trip not only didn’t know who Jason Mraz was, they’d never heard "I’m Yours", the biggest song of the year.

The riders on this excursion had no time for the mainstream.  They’re supporting the unique artists.  But can these unique artists survive?

Barely.

Not that Jill was complaining.  But she did wonder what was going to happen in her old age.  Who’d pay the medical bills?

Jill is a bundle of energy.  But far from mindless.  She was telling me she had a daily quiz on Facebook.  You had to guess who the famous person was.  After 5,000 people signed up for her page, the Facebook limit, she had to create another.  She was not doing it with a goal in mind, but because it was fun.

Remember fun?  It used to be the key driver in the music business.

I told her she should have a weekend.  With games, a scavenger hunt.  Music can’t contain all of her personality.

But when her music is right…

There were three concerts on this trip, never mind the impromptu playing on the train.  You got to hear a cornucopia of favorites and covers.

Yes, Jill played "Stoned Soul Picnic" on the train ride home.  But she also played "Lucy At The Gym" in Albuquerque.

America is so sick.  Your life can’t start until you’re thin and beautiful.  So, you keep on getting ready for the game, not realizing you’re supposed to play all along.  Do you really want to be Madonna?  Working out for hours just to fit someone else’s perception?

But my favorite is "Mexican Wrestler".

Ever been in love with someone who doesn’t love you?

Oh, they almost never hate you, they actually like you, but they don’t know about your feelings, and if they do, they’re certainly not reciprocated.  You get butterflies when you see them, both go to places where you think they’re going to be and avoid places for fear of running into them.  You imagine a life of relationship perfection.  That’s unrequited.

You will never love me
And this I can’t forgive
That you will never love me
As long as I will live

THE HANDSOME FAMILY

I’d never heard of them.  But they were friends of Stan, and they lived in Albuquerque.  So we picked them up there.

And the last night at La Posada, waiting for the train to come pick us up, I had to ask Brett Sparks, the male half of this husband and wife team, "Why Albuquerque?"

Well, they could buy a house in the best creative neighborhood for a hundred grand, his mortgage payment is six hundred bucks.  But the music scene sucks.

Well, not exactly.  But it’s not like Chicago, where they’d been residing before.  And they’re on the road for eight months out of the year anyway.  They’re big in England, and in the States, Frank keeps them working.

That’s Frank Riley, of High Road Touring.  Brett couldn’t stop testifying.  How he couldn’t do it without Frank, how he wouldn’t know what to do without Frank.  A label is no longer important, it’s all about your agent.  He’s the one who gets you your paying gigs.

LOVE IN VAIN

Well, I followed her to the station with a suitcase in my hand

Maybe this Stones record, a rearrangement of a blues classic, was in my brain because Brett sang it in the song circle not long before we left the hotel.

Well, actually, it was a couple of hours.  You see, the train was late.  But finally, after mustering all our gear by the rear door, the assembled multitude emerged outside, ready to hop onto the cars for the ride back to L.A.

There was no station, no platform, no siding.  We were just standing there in the dark, under a million stars.

There was a white line.  I implored Jill and Yves to get on the right side of it.  Obviously, they’d not spent much time on the New Haven railroad.

And a BNSF freight train started accelerating to our right, pulling goods back east.  And deep in the distance to the left, led by a bright headlight, was our train.  Which crept up on us slowly.  But when that much steel ultimately approaches, the speed no longer matters, you feel insignificant, like a bug, or dust.

And Charlie had told us the train was stopping solely for us.  That we had to get on fast.

So the conductor laid down some steps and we ran on, fearful of being left behind.

TRAIN, TRAIN

What’s your favorite train song?

The first one that comes to mind is Tom Rush’s "Panama Limited".

Then, of course, there’s Ozzy’s classic "Crazy Train".

What did Bob Dylan sing, "It takes a lot to laugh, it takes a train to cry?"  Stephen Stills and Al Kooper do a killer version on "Super Session".

How about the New Riders’ "Glendale Train"?  From the very first album, with "Portland Woman".

Then there’s the Doobie Brothers’ "Long Train Runnin’".  Even Laura Nyro’s "Poverty Train".

But my personal favorite is Wendy Waldman’s "Train Song", the opening cut on her very first album, "Love Has Got Me".

Well I said, ‘I’d like to catch one’
She said, ‘It can’t be done’
But can’t you see me ride the rails in the morning sun

I lifted the shade to reveal a bright landscape.  Of freeways and low slung business structures.  We were rolling back into Los Angeles.

After allowing Felice to use the bathroom first, I threw on my clothes, got my shit together and walked down to the parlor car.

Everybody was a bit subdued, almost worn out by four plus days of hijinks, of being in close quarters, running at a fevered pace, like a band on the run, on the road.

Fifteen minutes early, we pulled into Union Station.  We got off the train a few minutes after eight a.m.  And then it was time to say goodbye.

We were scattering in different directions.  Us only ten miles west, but two travelers back to London, two back to Canada, others to Houston to San Francisco to…

Needless to say, when I finally got home, I was knackered.

But I had an inner glow.  I’d lived through something.  It was good to be on solid ground, but I couldn’t wait to ride the rails once again.

Mystery Train

LARail

We slept on the Salisbury Beach

Twice.  From London.

First time I was in the shower.  When I listened to the message toweling off, I thought she said "Erica".  Listening again it was clear it was Ms. Swift, who sounded troubled, like there’d been a misunderstanding involving love.  And maybe that’s the case.  She felt I loved her, had I turned against her?

That’s what she said when we finally spoke.  That she thought I got her.  And it frustrated her to think that I believed she used auto-tune.

She denied it.  Emphatically.  As only as a nineteen year old can.  I believed her.  But it still didn’t address the underlying issue.  Could she sing?  Exactly how good a singer was she?

I told her I couldn’t talk right now.  That I was rushing out to a doctor’s appointment.  If she wanted, we could speak about two hours hence, when I came back.  But there was the eight hour time difference, and the day was evaporating.  Although she’d left me her cell phone number, unfortunately one digit eaten by the machine, I told her to e-mail me with her address, and as soon as I got home I’d let her know, we could talk.

But then doing the math, worried we’d be unable to connect, having to get up early to do interviews, Taylor got into it.  How she didn’t even know how to use auto-tune, had never used it.  Then again, she admitted to fixing some mistakes in the studio.

Then I asked her, what about those high-priced concert tickets online?  What was going on there?  I’d printed an e-mail saying in Philadelphia that tickets were going for far in excess of a hundred bucks and then, within minutes of my publishing said letter, the whole tour page disappeared online, replaced with dates that had already played as opposed to those coming up.

She told me she had no idea.  She’d have to check into it.  And I ran out of my house and got behind the wheel.

This was not the first contact I’d received from her camp.  I’d gotten a long e-mail from her father.  Not histrionic, not criticizing me, but also emphatically denying she’d been auto-tuned live.  That was off the record, but now since his daughter has weighed in…

And maybe that was true.  Because she was so horrible in the opening of the CMAs.  Oh, that’s a strong word to use.  It’s just that she was so far from perfect, anywhere but on the note, on pitch.  She was definitely naked there.

As she was during the first song on SNL.  Not the opening segment, wherein Taylor said, like many writers to me opined, that she was trying to imitate Phoebe from "Friends", but the full band number.  She wasn’t quite as bad as she was on the CMAs, but she was not up to the level of a professional.  The second song was better, but the backup vocals were covering up quite a bit.

So, like I said.  Even if she didn’t use auto-tune, there was still the underlying issue, could she sing?  She admitted fixing things on record…

Then, after my appointment, I got an e-mail from the guy who leases the audio equipment for her tour, one Everett Lybolt, GM of Sound Image.  This was pushing me over the edge. They protesteth too much!  Furthermore, Mr. Lybolt went on to criticize other performers on the CMAs for not being live.

Who the fuck knows.

Taylor said I could come to the gig, check all her equipment out.

Like I’m really going to do that.  Like it would prove anything.  And I never wanted to be a member of the CIA.

And then I get home to a hanging tag from FedEx.  My new laptop has finally arrived from China.  I missed the delivery by fifteen minutes.  I call the delivery service, asking for a resend, and while I’m being transferred between operators, another person is looking for me.  But they hang up, then ring again.  It’s Taylor.  Who I tell to hold.

This was unexpected.  I figured she’d accomplished her mission.

But she wanted to get back to me with information on the tour dates.  As a reader had informed me, the Wachovia Center in Philadelphia does not use Ticketmaster, Comcast sells the tickets.  And isn’t it funny now that Comcast has joined the Ticketmaster/Live Nation clusterfuck, with Irving supposedly offloading assets to the Roberts-controlled venture so the merger can go through.

Taylor told me her site had been hacked.  That the link should have been to comcasttix.com.  But the hackers had redirected buyers to gotthetix.com.  That’s why ducats for her show were priced far in excess of a hundred dollars.  She implied that this had been discovered days ago, but in any event, she said it had now been fixed. Anyway, if you go back to her tour page now, the spring dates have reappeared.  With Philadelphia and most other markets being shown as being sold out.

The truth?

Who the fuck knows.

But there’s your story.

But what about our earlier conversation.  About Taylor’s singing?

I told her she was quite good in the skits on SNL.  And she was.  Best non-actor guest host in recent times.  But I told her, like that CMA opening, the first song…her voice was not good.

Taylor laughed.  Said she could handle being criticized for having a bad voice, for missing notes.  But she couldn’t live with being criticized for being inauthentic.

Those songs are written in real time.  About real people.  Her cowriters edit more than contribute.  Her next album she’s not planning to write with anyone.  Not now, anyway.

And speaking of collaboration, she said she’s got no manager.  That she and her team have weekly meetings, where they go over career details.  If she’s on the road, she’s conferenced in.  The decisions are hers.

Like playing Gillette Stadium?

Absolutely.  It’s something she always wanted to do.  She figures she’ll do two or three stadium gigs next summer, that’s all.  She’s salivating over building the show, deciding who will appear with her.

As for SNL, the call came through William Morris.  They phoned and told her to hold for Lorne Michaels.  Her heart was palpitating, she didn’t figure it was about hosting SNL, and when she got the word, she was flying.

Then we discussed her career.  And music.

I felt I was getting some stock answers.  As I listened, I put myself in her shoes, wondered what it must feel like to get asked the same damn thing again and again.  But I wanted to know.  Did she see herself as a singer, an actress or..?

Definitely a singer.  With a body of work that delineated the various periods of her life. Her first album was about being 13-16.  Her second…

So I asked her what her favorite album was.  Not because I was making a list, but because I wanted to know where she was coming from.

She thought for a moment, then said Shania Twain’s "Come On Over".

I said Mutt Lange was the best living record producer, a true master.  But had she ever listened to Joni Mitchell?

There was some hesitation.  Then Taylor said no.

I told her to buy "Blue" tonight.  Quoted her some lines from "A Case Of  You".

And quoting that classic number, I went on to recite lines from Jackson Browne’s "The Late Show".  Told her I didn’t want to overload her, but she should buy "Late For The Sky" too.

Taylor told me she’d seen Jackson live acoustic.

I guess I wanted to know if Taylor Swift wanted to be a star or an artist.  That’s why I wanted to know her favorite album, I wanted to know her hopes and dreams.  Did she need to be in the spotlight, or was it about the work, testing limits?

She’s the one who’s got to figure it out.

Right now, she’s the biggest star in America.  Trumping U2, Springsteen, even Kenny Chesney and the Stones.  And it’s all based on these songs.  Straight from the heart. That’s why the little girls relate.

One day those girls will be women.  A cusp where Taylor Swift is presently residing.  Will she make the wrong choices?

I told her you can’t say yes to everything.  You can make some mistakes, but too many wrong steps can crimp your career.

Then again, I’m fifty six and she’s nineteen.  Growing up is about taking chances, making mistakes.  But I didn’t want her to listen to oldsters, telling her what to do, telling her it didn’t make any difference as they skimmed from her pond.

We talked about Louis Messina and American Express.  This was not some backwoods bimbo, an uneducated nitwit who was clueless when it came to business, but she knew only so much of the inner workings.  But that which she did speak about she had a command of.  When I broke new ground, she could follow.  Taylor Swift is smart.

So where does that leave us?

Did Taylor Swift work me?

I’ve been worked before.  I recognize it when I see it.  Tommy Lee insisting I print his e-mail before he responds again.  He was looking for publicity.  Taylor seemed to need set the record straight.  For herself.

Then again, there’s an entire career in the balance.

But songs trump singing all day long.  Anybody can sing, especially in this auto-tune era. But being able to write a great song, one that grabs fans lyrically and melodically, that’s truly tough.  And Taylor Swift has accomplished that.

So, I’m a huge fan of the albums.

And I’m convinced she’s vocally challenged.  But the way Taylor handled that in our conversation, by not skipping a beat, by admitting she’s less than perfect, that she can handle the criticism, won me over.

How do we want to spin this?  That few want Bon Jovi’s new music or NBC is in the crapper?

Yes, follow the stories.  NBC/Universal may end up being controlled by Comcast.  This has got more to do with Vivendi exercising an exit clause than NBC sucking, but the network does.  Blame it on Jay Leno at 10 or a general lack of creativity, but the ratings are terrible, the network is far-removed from the leaders of the pack, just like Bon Jovi is far-removed from the audience.

Jon Bon Jovi even did the Actors Studio.  I guess it speaks more to the lost credibility of James Lipton than the becoiffed one’s lack of a distinguished film career, but still…what’s next?  Bon Jovi suiting up for the Jets?  Or the New England Patriots?

You’ve got to give us a reason to care.  And most people don’t anyway.  So, you’re speaking to your core audience at most, and it turns out these people don’t want new Bon Jovi music, they just want to hear that Tommy used to work on the docks.

In case you missed the memo, "Circle", with all its shenanigans, the incredible hype, the $3.99 offer, sold 163,000 copies last week.  Which might sound somewhat impressive, since the album debuted at number one, but their 2007 country effort, "Lost Highway", also entered at the top of the chart, yet it sold 292,000 copies!  Meaning that even though they were selling out, being crass commercial marketers, going country was a better idea than playing the mainstream game.  Sure, sales have dropped in the past two years, but not THIS much!

Bon Jovi got it all wrong.  They should have put out ONE song.  Woodshed until they got one right.  Then licensed this one cut to the NFL or ESPN and had it banged ad infinitum.  Most of the NBC hype fell on deaf ears.  Today’s story is we avoid anything we’re not interested in.  We had to sit through Bon Jovi on MTV in the eighties, today we flip the channel or surf to another site.

Speaking of sites, Bon Jovi even advertised on CNN.com!

Who took the band’s money?  Who is so out of touch with today’s market conditions?  In a time of upheaval you don’t play by the old rules, you revolt and do something completely new.  And believe me, lining up with a major TV network is positively last century.  That shotgun approach, hit everybody and hope they’re interested, leaves you with a ton of wasted impressions, people who don’t give a shit.

It’s all about the tour.  That’s where the money is.  So, I’d juice up the tour.  Whether it be by playing "Slippery When Wet" from start to finish, the only album people truly care about, or creating a live extravaganza like Kenny Chesney’s multi-bill stadium shows.  Every hair band come back to life!  You know the female Bon Jovi audience, the act’s main driver, loved Slaughter and Cinderella and Winger and White Lion too…

And where’s the online contest?  Find the right clues, and you get a song written just for you, the winner!

Where’s the promotional tour where you show up at diehard winners’ houses?  Yup, you compete online and then Jon and Richie show up unannounced, like the Publishers Clearing House, and perform "Wanted Dead Or Alive" in your living room.

And speaking of "Wanted Dead Or Alive"…  Where’s the live rendition from Phil, from "Deadliest Catch"?  With a video to match?  This barely alive skipper with a Marlboro habit should be featured, just like the song that leads off this series so well.

In other words, where’s the creativity?  Shit, Josh Freese got more ink and had more penetration of the public consciousness with one good idea than Bon Jovi achieved playing by the old rules.

Because creativity rules.  And when you get to superstar level, the acts are creatively bankrupt.  Just playing by the old rules, looking for a paycheck.  Even though so many broke the rules in order to achieve their success.

You’ve got to risk.  You’ve got to take chances.  You’ve got to realize we live in 2009, not 1989.

Used to be music was the cutting edge artistic medium.  Then, you had a better chance of seeing present-day reality in "Law & Order" than hearing it on a record album.  Shit, "South Park" still takes chances.  Why can’t Bon Jovi?

The best Bon Jovi bit of the last ten years, eclipsing all of their music, was their interview with Triumph the Insult Comic Dog.  Why didn’t they have Triumph do their new interview?  Make a deal with YouTube to get it on the home page?

As for the album itself…  It may trigger a revenue-producing event, but it’s a circle jerk between the act and the label. It’s about music.  Create some music that we truly want to hear, that we can sink our teeth into.  Otherwise, it’s all just marketing.  And you can’t sell what the public doesn’t want.

Bon Jovi and NBC Universal Team Up For First-Ever Artists In Residence Project

Triumph the Insult Comic Dog

Well, there’s a bunch of service charges.  Can’t beat the Ticketmaster fees, the promoter’s got to get some of its money back. You know Gene ain’t parting with any of his!

I’ll give the man credit.  Gene was 2010 back in the nineties.  With the coffin, the convention, he was all about superserving the niche.  And that’s what the KISS Army is, a niche.

One deserved hit single and a lame ballad by a band member you kicked out will only keep the hoi polloi interested for so long.  Or look at it this way, Gene Simmons is all over TV and still NO ONE wants his album.

To be exact, 187,557.  That’s how many copies "Sonic Boom" has sold.  And it’s only that high because Wal-Mart bought so many and they’re still featured in the store.  But, to speak Mr. Simmons’ language, that’s BUPKES!  Isn’t this the guy who said he was going to teach Wal-Mart a lesson or two?  Seems they’re not listening.  The retailer’s low-price strategy, selling books for far under ten bucks, has got nothing to do with Gene’s high-priced strategy, like selling a bass for $5,000 with a meet and greet.

But those tickets are not too high-priced…

This was the e-mail:

KISS with special guest Buckcherry

Sunday, November 22 at 7:30 pm
Oracle Arena, Oakland

Free KISS concert ticket offer:
Begins: Now!  
Ends: Thursday, November 19 at 10:00 pm

Offer made subject to limited availability on a first-come, first-served basis.  Additional $5.40 order processing, $2.50 print at home, and $0.75 service charge will apply.  Limit: 8 tickets per customer.

To redeem free concert ticket offer, click here: http://www.ticketmaster.com/event/1C0043328BD65177?did=pf

Gene Simmons shouldn’t be trying to convince us, those who love to ridicule him, but should be playing solely to those who truly care.

KISS should be playing house concerts.  For an extra fee, Mr. Tongue will schtup your wife.

KISS should be involved with Topspin, not Wal-Mart.  The band should be offering a whole menu of choices.  Not only vinyl and a photo book, but a copy of Gene’s Polaroids.

There’s still money to be made, but KISS must go smaller, not bigger.

Because bigger ain’t working for them.  In fact, it’s kind of laughable.

(I know, I know Gene.  I just did you a solid!  I gave the URL to your axe, wrote about your gig, where people might go for free, yet still buy merch…I gave you the publicity you so dearly desire.  Take all the money you can get.  But just know that your band is a sideshow.)