“My heart is on fire

My soul’s like a wheel that’s turnin’

My love is alive

My love is alive, yeah”

1

I guess no one twists the radio dial itching to hear their favorite track in the car anymore.

That’s where we listened. Home was for albums, car was for the radio. Occasionally there were events wherein you sat at home listening to FM, simulcasts, live concerts, but the car was for discovery, home was for what you already knew.

Los Angeles was the greatest radio market I’d ever experienced. There were five rock stations. Not that they all played the same music. Not that we loved only one kind of music. When people ask me what albums I’d take to a desert isle, I tell them AC/DC’s “Back in Black” and Joni Mitchell’s “Blue.” I’m not exactly sure those are the two, but I want to express the breadth of my desires. That I want headbanging for when I want to squeeze the world out of my mind, and singer-songwriter when I want to feel connected to humanity.

During the summer of ’75 I worked at Hollywood Sporting Goods on Hollywood Boulevard. It no longer exists. That entire paradigm is gone. When I was growing up the first place you wanted to visit was the sporting goods store. Each was unique. There were stores with a cornucopia of items in their inventory, they covered every sport, and then there were mini-chains which usually were nowhere near as good. Today there are only giant chains, and they keep on going out of business. Basically you’ve got Dick’s and the Bass Pro Shops, not that I’ve ever been in either. In Southern California we had Sport Chalet. Originally only in La Canada, their inventory was spectacular, they had every brand. Then it turned into a chain and then it went out of business. Those original individual stores, sans spreadsheets…the owners had their finger on the pulse of the business. Once you brought in the MBAs, once you went public, this touch with the public desire was lost. It’s kind of akin to food. Originally the chains were rare, a novelty. You knew you’d get consistency at McDonald’s, so if you were in the middle of nowhere, you didn’t have to take a risk. Today everybody Yelps, does research, to find the hole in the wall single establishment, where the proprietor creates a culinary delight.

So Hollywood Sporting Goods had bad inventory, unlike Star Sporting Goods, the single shop on Highland I’d worked at the previous fall. The owner would not rehire me because I’d rebuffed his offer of the store. I’d only planned on working until the ski season began, but he thought I was a lifer. And like every industry, sporting goods is a small world. So an old colleague at Star had a girlfriend at Hollywood and I got a job.

It was depressing.

It’s different today. There are two tracks, a career and nowhere. People go to college to prepare for a job, we went to prepare for life. Nothing practical was studied, it was about enriching your brain, giving you perspective, and one of the weirdest things to see is this change, like the heart and soul of humanity has been excised.

However, this left us lost when we graduated. We fumbled. Trying to live life and find ourselves, somewhere along the line we’d learn what we wanted to do for the rest of our lives. Yes, we were not job-hoppers like today’s youngsters. Then again, we did not think the company had our best interests at heart, like our parents. But we did want something fulfilling. Today if it pays well enough, people will do almost anything. Money is its own justification. And if you have money you can live large anywhere, buy yourself in. And you think you’re a prince but…well, people like me are laughing at you, then again there are not many people like me left.

So I was just biding my time until I returned to Utah, to compete on the freestyle circuit. I’d skied with the best, with the world champion in Mammoth in May, I did things that they wouldn’t. But I needed a job for the summer. And the business school graduate who ran the stores…like Hank at Star, he too thought I was a lifer, that this was my career. That was weird. You think I’d start my life as a minimum wage employee at some third rate shop? That’s the thing about life, you have to have inner strength, inner identity, know what you want, what you deserve, because no one is going to stand up for you, you’ve got to stand up for yourself. I know, today’s kids have been told by their parents that they’re great, they get trophies for participation, but my mother constantly told me I was not the one, and if you got a trophy…you still remember it to this day.

I mean the boss, actually a nice guy, gave us sales targets. I mean really? It depended on who walked in the store. And worst case scenario fire me, I didn’t really care. Although I did need a job. I remember the day he asked me whether I could shuffle up my wardrobe, wear different pants, I had two pairs of jeans, although different colors, that I alternated, I said no. I haven’t always been that brave.

And the clientele… There was this guy Skip, who came in every day carrying a baseball and wearing a light blue jacket akin to the one Fonzie wore on “Happy Days” before he donned his leather further into the series’ run. Skip told us about all the movies he was in. This was the kind of character who walked the Boulevard and entered the shop, delusional people. Although one day Bob Haldeman came in for a pair of Tretorns, because he saw an ad in the paper that they were on sale. Of course we didn’t have what he was looking for, the sale was basically bogus, but I did sell him a full-priced pair.

But one of the advantages of working at Hollywood Sporting Goods as opposed to Star was it came with parking, right behind the store, there were spots just for us, out of the way, out of trouble, and they were free.

2

They don’t have summers like that anymore, where the music is classic and still remembered and played decades later. Let’s see, there was “Captain Fantastic,” which went straight to number one the first week out, the first time that had happened, but there were no singles and we rarely heard it on the radio. And James Taylor’s “Gorilla.” They played it on KNX, the soft rock station, but nowhere else. And “Blood on the Tracks,” which was for the home. And, of course, the Eagles’ “One of These Nights,” which dominated the airwaves all summer long.

But there were two other acts, that did get radio airplay, that I loved, that I turned the dial waiting to hear. “What Do You Want From Life” by the Tubes… The album wasn’t out yet, but the single was, I’d turn the dial just dying to hear it. A masterpiece that has been lost to the sands of time. “White Punks on Dope” has had a bit of impact on the culture, but you rarely hear that anymore either, and no one talks about either of the cuts. But that zing, that sound, like a circus, with Fee Waybill coming on like a carnival barker, and the recitation of what you might win at the end, “a baby’s arm holding an apple”…it was a mini-movie, far superior to the dreck the studios release today.

And then there was “Love Is Alive.”

I knew who Gary Wright was. Everybody did. Oh, there was a dividing line, fans and casual listeners. You’ve got to understand the legion of people who were interested in music. The baby boomers who lived for the show, who still go to the show, who peopled the labels, they just had to get closer, it was their life, it was everything. And they knew everything, like the fact that Gary Wright was in Spooky Tooth, the lone American, and he had worked with George Harrison and put out stiff solo albums.

The albums were on A&M. Before Frampton, before Humble Pie, before Cat Stevens, before A&M’s imprimatur made you pay attention.

It’s not like we didn’t know Spooky Tooth, it’s just that we did not know their material. I saw their albums in the bins, but I never bought one, there was never enough incentive. And the band got no airplay on New York radio, which was what I listened to in Connecticut.

And then Gary Wright put out solo albums? This was nearly unfathomable, guy from stiff group gets to put out his own music?  I’d see his 1970 album “Extraction,” with its pencil drawing cover, and think it was almost amateurish, like they didn’t have the money for color. As for the follow-up, 1971’s “Footprint”… It’s like it almost didn’t come out, that one many shops didn’t even stock.

And then Gary Wright disappeared.

Not that he’d ever really arrived in America to begin with.

Gary Wright was gone, for years, another casualty of the initial album rock era. Who cared, good riddance, it’s not like anybody was waiting for new material. But years later he had an album on Warner Brothers, the best in the business? And he played all the instruments himself? They said it was all keyboards, synths, that Wright had done it alone. This was the publicity hook, although the details said otherwise. So we knew the album was coming. However, the hype barely preceded the record, it was on the radio nearly immediately, we heard “Love Is Alive.”

3

“Dream Weaver” is the classic, it sustains primarily because of its inclusion in “Wayne’s World.” And I’m not saying we never heard it on the radio in the seventies, but first it was “Love Is Alive.”

How to describe that intro. Ethereal, yet with a connection to earth, with the prominent bass and drums. There was a twinkly synth above it all, the mood was set for adventure. But this was not Pink Floyd, this was traditional verse chorus rock, but listening for the first time you did not know, and thereafter you looked forward to Gary…

“Well I think it’s time to get ready

To realize just what I have found”

What an intro, akin to Sly’s “Dance to the Music,” Gary was setting us up.

But it was the chorus that knocked us out, It went down instead of up, it was nearly subtle, but this minor note journey made you feel all soft inside, and then back to the in-your-face major trip.

“There’s something inside that’s making me crazy

I’ll try to keep it together”

There was no social media. We’d get a feeling, a crush, and it would burn us up. And if there was actual connection our lives were made, that was more important, more than money.

“There’s a mirror moving inside my mind.

Reflecting the love that you shine on me

Hold on now to that feeling

Let it flow, let it grow, yeah”

The final line was uttered in a guttural fashion absent from what had become before. Gary felt it, which made us feel it, he was nearly losing control, and that’s what we depended upon from music, to take us to the edge, to illustrate that life was worth living.

So I’d drive the half hour from Brentwood to Hollywood every day, a journey that takes longer now, with the traffic. Awake earlier than I wanted to be, just twisting the dial of my Blaupunkt, sans push-buttons, trying to find “What Do You Want From Life” and “Love Is Alive.”

And during my lunch break I’d sit in my car behind Hollywood Sporting Goods listening to the radio, I distinctly remember hearing “Love Is Alive” and being elated.

4

I had to buy the album. I needed to hear “Love Is Alive” on demand, I knew it by heart, I loved it.

That intro to “Can’t Find the Judge.”

The nearly soft rock “Made to Love You.”

When I listen to “Let It Out” right now it brings me right back to that summer of ’75, I can see it clearly, in technicolor, the music brings back the images, paints the colors, gives me a feeling that I thought I’d lost, but it turns out I haven’t.

I could continue to testify, I’m stunned how I know the “Dream Weaver” album by heart not having listened to the whole thing in decades. But I listened to it just that much back then. The album had an optimism, a sunniness, from an era when we thought it would all work out.

But it didn’t work out for Gary Wright. There were numerous TV appearances, with a keyboard around his neck, a novelty at the time. He capitalized on his success, he wrung out every note. And then it was done. Two years later Gary put out another album, but the world had changed, synthesizer driven tracks were no longer a novelty, rock was becoming corporate, he never had another hit.

But for that one moment in time, that year of ’75, Gary Wright was as big as anybody on the radio, anybody in rock.

5

I got word back in ’98 that some big star was going to appear at a gig at a nothing club in Santa Monica. Might have been Jackson Browne, I don’t remember. But the audience was populated with insiders, musicians, because the hoi polloi would never come out on this night to this club, there’d be no reason, the venue was far from packed.

And that star did perform. But what got me was…

Gary Wright was there, someone pointed him out. My heart jumped. Living in L.A. long enough you know not to bother someone, to go up and say you’re a fan. But…

Then Gary got on stage and performed “Love Is Alive.” I’d like to tell you it was as energetic and perfect as the recording, but it was not. Yet this was a pickup band, for this one evening, there had not been serious rehearsal, this was not about getting it right as much as getting out and letting it out and…

The essence was still there. I was connecting my brain to twenty years before. It was still there. Because Gary was still playing the same notes on the synth. It was his voice singing the lyrics. It was “Love Is Alive,” it was Gary Wright!

6

Gary emailed me a while back, told me he was writing a memoir. I remember the connection, that’s what I live for, more than a big house or a fancy car. This guy made that record that impacted my life, he’s a part of it, whether he knows it or not.

And there was a ton of bread in music in the seventies. But it was anathema to sell out. Bands were not brands. It was only about the music. No one danced. They moved to the music, but there was no choreography. You went to the gig to hear your favorites, to get closer to the sound, you were the only person in the audience, even though there might have been tens of thousands.

7

So I was doing my final go-round on my phone last night before turning it off and plugging it in, before reading, before trying to relax. And on what used to be known as Twitter, my friend Jeff posted that Gary Wright had died.

It was a dagger to my heart.

He was eighty. I know I’ve said this before, but it drives me crazy. Everybody I know thinks they’re going to live forever, it’s going to be quite a wake-up call when they’re gone.

And these musicians are a bit older than me, but next it’s going to be my friends, the people I know.

And the rock stars of yore are dying on a regular basis now. Even more than one a week sometimes. A whole generation passing.

But that generation lives on in our minds. It just wasn’t music, it was life. Also makes me crazy when people younger than baby boomers say it’s the same as it ever was, that every generation has its own popular music, and it’s just as good.

It’s not. That’s patently untrue. Music was the ’27 Yankees. The Sistine Chapel. Sometimes the ’69 Jets, and sometimes the Mets. Music was peaks, and sometimes valleys, but it was everything, it rode shotgun, it drove the culture, and Gary Wright was right there, part of it, and I’ll never forget.

Then again it won’t be long before I’m forgotten. Everything important to me is already fading. But not for me. It’ll live until I die.

Spotify playlist: https://tinyurl.com/3kdyhzed

1

Fredda told me she drove cross-country, from Tallahassee to Los Angeles, listening to “It’s Too Late to Stop Now” and “‘A1A.” I knew the Van Morrison live album, but “A1A”?

You know, the Jimmy Buffett album.

But I didn’t know. To me Jimmy was a sideshow on ABC Records, a one hit wonder with the soft rock “Come Monday.”

But why is it called “A1A”? Fredda couldn’t believe I didn’t know the highway that ran up the Florida coast. And then she started quoting songs like “Door Number Three” and “Life Is Just a Tire Swing” and I realized this was a Florida thing. It became clear that Jimmy Buffett was the patron saint of Florida. But growing up in the northeast, I was clueless.

The Fredda bought “Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes,” and suddenly Jimmy Buffett was everywhere, with his anthem “Margaritaville.” It turned out the rest of the nation was just a couple of years and a couple of changes behind Florida. Buffett was on his way to becoming an institution.

Then I found “Son of a Son of a Sailor” in the promo bin and bought it for her, and even though the hit was “Cheeseburger in Paradise,” it was the opening cut, the title track, that reached me. And only months later I found Jimmy’s very first live album in the aforementioned promo bin and bought it for Fredda, but that’s when I got hooked. “You Had to Be There” opened up with “Son of a Son of Sailor,” but this take was loose in a way the studio version was not. It lived, it breathed, Jimmy joked about his broken leg, it became my favorite version of the song. But what really closed me was “A Pirate Looks at Forty.”

“Yes I am a pirate, two hundred years too late

The cannons don’t thunder, there’s nothing to plunder

I’m an over forty victim of fate

Arriving too late, arriving too late”

I was too young for the Summer of Love in San Francisco. I was too young for a lot of stuff, and then, suddenly, I was too old. It’s a very strange transition. They ask for your ID and then they just wave you through without looking. You’re dying to be twenty one, but once you pass that threshold no one cares about you, no one is paying attention, you’re on your own.

And by time I was listening to “A Pirate Looks at Forty” it was the late seventies, which were very different from the early seventies. In the  early seventies we licked our wounds from the war, we went back to the land. In the late seventies it became about hedonism and money, and I felt lost in the past. I’m still lost in the past. I never bought a leisure suit, my values were embedded back in the sixties and early seventies, I was a man out of time, still am.

Then we went to see Jimmy at the Greek. I had no idea. It was a club I was unaware of. There were routines to certain songs. “Fins to the left, fins to the right”… You either had to disdain the whole thing or join right in, and really there was no choice, I bought every album thereafter.

2

Not long after Irving Azoff summoned me to his office, he called to hire me to help Jimmy have a hit record. It was 1989. Jimmy was doing boffo at the b.o., but was only selling 300,000 records.

So I flew down to Key West and… Jimmy wanted nothing to do with me. I was the enemy. Took me a while to realize this. Turns out Jimmy had already cut the entire album, with a new backing crew, which he played with that night at the very first Margaritaville, and he told me he wasn’t changing a single note.

Hmm… I was paid to do what?

It took two days for Jimmy to find a time to meet me. And when I got in the cab and proffered the address the driver said, “Oh, Jimmy Buffett’s house.” Everybody in Key West knew Jimmy, he was the unofficial mayor, he drove the town via his music and lifestyle, I suddenly realized what I was up against.

So we sat in his living room and b.s.’ed about music and the business and… Jimmy ultimately relaxed, once he realized I was not going to tell him what to do and after a few hours I left.

Then I went to Jimmy’s studio where Elliott Scheiner played me the entire record. I didn’t hear a hit. But I was stunned that Jimmy had laid out all this money by himself, didn’t wait for the record company to cough up the dough. That may happen today, but back in ’89, that was unheard of. That’s how rich Jimmy Buffett was.

3

Took a while for the mainstream to really catch on to Jimmy Buffett. He’d had hits, but they didn’t realize he was building an empire. You had to be there to get it, go to a show, visit Margaritaville, buy into the lifestyle, and once Jimmy started to broaden his endeavors to more restaurants and hotels and ultimately retirement villages, never mind writing books, the script flipped. Suddenly Jimmy was not competing with anybody else. He was in a separate category, above the rest. He may have been selling fun, but there was an intelligent, savvy businessman underneath it all, and when you make that kind of money, outside your own bailiwick, you get recognized, you gain respect.

Buffett knew and hung with everybody. Not only musicians, but politicians, business people… Jimmy was on his own tier.

But it all came from the music.

And Jimmy’s shows were guaranteed sellouts. Peter Grant may have delivered Led Zeppelin ninety percent of of the gross, but Jimmy was getting in excess of a hundred percent of the gross. How can that be, you ask? Well, not only was every seat sold, these attendees drank prodigiously and purchased merch and…that’s the way it was for decades.

I saw Jimmy again. Once at Blackbird Studios, but I didn’t let him catch my eye, I didn’t let on who I was.

And then at a gig down San Diego way.

But a couple of years back Jimmy e-mailed me and picked up like we were buddies, like we’d been through the war together. In a world where everybody forgets they even met you, never mind your name, I was stunned. And instead of keeping his distance, Jimmy was intimate. And I recorded a podcast with him and his long time compatriot Mac McAnally and he held nothing back, little did I know he already had skin cancer.

And the thing about Jimmy is you wanted his lifestyle. It was superior to that of the traditional rock star. He had boats and planes, was living for adventure, jetting around the world. Sure, he had money, but he wasn’t hoarding it, he was spending it. He was always looking forward. Tom Freston told me an amazing story about traveling with Jimmy in Africa and getting in trouble, the kind where what your name is and how much money you have doesn’t matter. They escaped, but it wasn’t clear they were going to. Jimmy wasn’t resting on his laurels, he kept on pushing. Jimmy had two clubs, the parrotheads who went to the shows, true believers, and then his running buddies. That’s the group I wanted to belong to. Honestly, I don’t know a single rock star who played at a higher level with better friends and Jimmy didn’t even boast about it. But if you were paying attention…

And Jimmy gave back. I remember him telling me in Key West that he was flying to Tallahassee the next day to save the manatees.

And now Jimmy Buffett is gone.

4

This is really strange, the changing of the guard, the turning of the generations. It’s been happening for thousands of years, but we didn’t think it would happen to us.

And what united us baby boomers was the music. Many sold out, lived behind gates, but they still showed up at the gig. Look at the grosses for the classic rock acts. It’s a pilgrimage. It’s beyond nostalgia. It’s your life.

And David Bowie died before his time, Glenn Frey too, but now they’re dropping like flies, on a regular basis, and all you can do is take notice and soldier on, and some may live in denial but for me it’s an indication that the end is near. For me, our music, our memories…most of it’s going to be gone.

So you need to enjoy every sandwich, as Warren Zevon said. You’ve got to grab on to life. Because you don’t want to have any regrets.

Meanwhile they keep dying, Jack Sonni, who played guitar with Dire Straits, and Bernie Marsden, guitarist and one of the songwriters of Whitesnake in just the last few days. And at this point there is little hoopla, it’s expected. But Jimmy Buffett?

Jay texted me last night. He thought I already knew. I didn’t. We went back and forth about Buffett and then I went online. It was too early, literally only one hit popped up on Google. It was a weird limbo. Jimmy had passed, but it hadn’t penetrated the public yet. And then there were a few more stories and a bunch of tweets and I didn’t know how I was going to fall asleep.

You see Jimmy was so alive. Really. Not resting on his laurels. Still making new music. And despite some interruptions due to illness, still playing live. Jimmy was a beacon, a god, and then he was cut down like a mere mortal. How do you make sense of this, how do you put it in a slot?

I couldn’t. And it took me a long time to fall asleep, and it was hard to stay asleep, and when I awoke everybody knew, but there were two camps, those who really knew and those who didn’t. Those who had been there and done that, gone to the shows, played the records while relaxing, who knew the whole game, and those who only remembered “Margaritaville.” I’m happy that Jimmy is getting the obituary of kings, with good placement, depth and analysis, but none of that will bring Jimmy back. He’s gone. Another rocker, but like I said above, Jimmy was different, unique, he was more than a musician.

So today, before I went out I put on sunscreen. I was scared straight. But how many more years have I got left? Whenever I say that people laugh and tell me I’ll be here for a long time, but my father died at seventy. And Christine McVie didn’t even make it to eighty. And Jimmy’s death was a reality check, is a reality check. First and foremost, we’re on a conveyor belt, and we’re gonna fall off sooner or later. Everything we hold dear is ultimately irrelevant. The accoutrements, you know, what you strived for in business, the accumulation of property and money, irrelevant. They say Jimmy Buffett was a billionaire, but that didn’t stop cancer, it doesn’t care.

And now what happens? Does the Margaritaville brand survive, carrying Jimmy’s legacy with it, or does Jimmy fade into the rearview mirror, like even the heroes who sold out arenas back in the day and passed away?

But there’s that Buffett pull. Did you read that story about the Margaritaville retirement village in “The New Yorker”?

“Retirement the Margaritaville Way – At the active-living community for Jimmy Buffett enthusiasts, it’s five o’clock everywhere”: https://tinyurl.com/3k4wup77

If you went to summer camp you’ll be more than intrigued. That’s what I always tell people, I’d give up everything to go to a permanent summer camp. That’s what the Margaritaville retirement community sounds like, summer camp. This is not the right wing Villages, many residents living on fixed incomes. No, the people who live at Margaritaville have assets, they may not even live in Margaritaville full time. But they’re active, they have fun, what’s not to like?

That’s what Jimmy was selling. Fun with a brain. Conscious, not mindless. With a wink of the eye. As upfront as Buffett was, he was still sly, still unknown, unpredictable, you never knew what he’d do next. And he kept on doing it. And it was all built on the music. 

5

The best place to dive in is “Songs You Know by Heart,” the definitive greatest hits album from 1985. Listen and you’ll get it, but you won’t get all of it.

Read about “Songs You Know by Heart” here: https://tinyurl.com/mryu79ke

Play the album on Spotify here: https://tinyurl.com/2svh47k8

But I still want to single out some tracks.

On the very first Barnaby album there was “The Captain and the Kid.”

“I never used to miss the chance

To climb up on his knee

Listen to the many tales

Of life upon the sea”

Then:

“He died about a month ago

While winter filled the air

And though I cried I was so proud

To love a man so rare”

Jimmy was the kid, the youngster, but now he’s the oldster, the captain, and the lyrics fit perfectly.

1973’s “A White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean” was full of gems, the building blocks of the Jimmy Buffett canon and lifestyle. There’s the humorous “The Great Filling Station Holdup,” “Grapefruit-Juicy Fruit” and “Peanut Butter Conspiracy.” As well as the heartfelt, deep “He Went to Paris,” a Buffett classic. And then there’s the piece-de-resistance, “Why Don’t We Get Drunk.”

“Why don’t we get drunk and screw

I just bought a waterbed, it’s filled up for me and you”

Waterbeds aren’t even a thing anymore. But screwing certainly is. And even though “Why Don’t We Get Drunk” was never a hit, it was a regular feature in bars across the land, it played on jukeboxes for the hipsters and the cowboys, you heard it and maybe didn’t even know who did it, but you knew it.

1974’s “Living and Dying in 3/4 Time” had the breakthrough, “Come Monday,” as well as “Pencil Thin Mustache” and “God’s Own Drunk.”

“A1A”? What can I say. It contains the songs I listed above as well as “Stories We Could Tell” and “Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season,” which will give you a glimpse into Florida life, back before Miami went nuclear and the politics shifted right and New Orleans was sinking.

And then came “Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes,” and Buffett became a star. I focus on the songs from before this line of demarcation because Buffett was hungry, doing it to less than spectacular results, but giving it his all. Maybe if the records had come out on Warner Brothers or Columbia…but they didn’t, but they’re still there on wax, and digitized for modern day consumption.

And then there was “Coconut Telegraph,” the title song delineating how the word spreads, I use the term to this very day.

And Jimmy ultimately returned to the charts with 2004’s “License to Chill,” the cover of Hank Williams’s “Hey Good-Lookin’,” went to number eight on the country chart with the help of Clint Black, Kenny Chesney, Alan Jackson, Toby Keith and  George Strait.

But one afternoon on SiriusXM I heard my favorite modern day Jimmy Buffett song, a cover of Hawaiian Henry Kapono’s “Duke’s on Sunday.”

“Music playing happy songs, everybody’s getting along

Dancing in the sunshine, sippin’ on that rosé wine

Good times will set you free

Oh, this is the place to be

On the beach at Waikiki, that’s where you’ll find me

Here on the southside, Beach Boys paradise

Duke’s on Sunday

Duke’s on Sunday

Duke’s on Sunday”

You can get it just from the lyrics. This is what Jimmy Buffett was selling, music and alcohol and conversation and fun. The weight of the world off your shoulders. Relaxed, free, the real me…and you.

6

I couldn’t listen to Jimmy’s music last night, or even this morning. The feeling was still raw. He’s so alive in this music, but then again he’s gone.

Jimmy is famous for his financial success, a brand with credibility that was well-managed and succeeded. He could do what the Wall Street titans could not, which is why they wanted to be in business with him, which is why they respected him.

And it’s not only the money, Jimmy had his fingers in the literary world, he wrote and recorded the music for the film version of Tom McGuane’s “Rancho Deluxe.” This was the last hurrah of hip literary fame. McGuane was a star. As was Ann Beattie. Those days are through, now people only care about how many books you sell, and so much of it is genre tripe, but McGuane and Beattie were going for reality, they were in search of a truth that no one seems to care about anymore, even though they’re still writing, in near obscurity outside the literary world.

Ultimately Jimmy married Jane and Tom McGuane became his brother-in-law, ergo the connection. And when I was in Key West Jimmy and Jane were separated. But they got back together…

That’s the kind of story we like, one of true love and persistence. Jimmy carried on. He became a star, but did not forget who he was.

Pretty good for a boy from Alabama.

Fins up!

Tune in Saturday September 2nd to Faction Talk, channel 103, at 4 PM East, 1 PM West.

If you miss the episode, you can hear it on demand on the SiriusXM app. Search: Lefsetz

We’re watching a new English series, well an old English series, but I’m going to hold back the name, because if mention it I’ll hear from enthusiastic viewers about the plot, and this will depress me.

So I was standing in the bathroom, this is where I do some of my best thinking. If you want to be creative, don’t sit in front of the computer, don’t try to work at all, take a shower, go out for a hike, you’ll be surprised when your synapses will fire with a great idea. Like the article entitled “The Death of Radio?,” that idea came to me when I was in a rush to get my act together to go to lunch with Felice. I asked her if we could delay, because oftentimes the idea leaves as fast as it comes, but she didn’t want to and I wrote after lunch and it wasn’t as good as it would have been, but it worked nonetheless.

So in this case I’d been contemplating what to watch on the flat screen next. Having burned through almost all of the legendary series, we started to dive into movies, but…

I’ve got a list on my phone. Two, in fact. One for series and one for movies. And there are a ton of great movies I haven’t seen, not going to the theatre anymore, because I just can’t calm down and relax on demand, never mind the Covid break. But I didn’t want to. Emotionally. And as you get older you learn to trust your gut. It’ll fail you occasionally, but very rarely. My gut told me not to get married, if only I’d listened to it.

And that’s when it hit me, I can’t get invested in a movie. It’s ninety minutes, sometimes even a few hours, then it’s done. Might be an emotional roller coaster, might dazzle me, but then it’s over. But I want to be all-in, I want a relationship, I want to dive in deep and marinate, I want a long experience.

I’m not talking a week to week drip. When you binge a series it’s in your mind all day, that you’re going to watch an episode that night. Actually, multiple episodes, how many will you be able to fit in? And no one else is watching at the same time, so you can’t discuss amongst your friends, it’s private, like we used to own our records. You remember, that’s what separated you from the casual fan. You loved certain acts that never had a hit, that most people had never heard of, that you could turn people on to. Even better, sometimes they later broke through to superstardom and you could say you were there first, you knew which previous albums to buy, you basked in your knowledge and status. That’s what it’s like watching a great series, especially at a time different from its release. Even well-distributed series, ones that had been bandied about previously, like “The Americans.” I mean how good could this FX show be? Very good, excellent. And the funny thing is it got better as it went along, and the finale was satisfying. But watching years after it aired on cable, I felt like I owned it, I talk about it all the time.

But it’s rare that an American series hits that note. Right now we’re watching a legal series, of which there have been tons in the U.S. But this BBC show is just a bit more real. Just when you think it’s “L.A. Law,” it surprises you. Oh, and the English don’t assume you’re dumb, they don’t offer bottom of the barrel fare, the English respect you, think you come to the series with a modicum of knowledge. They don’t slow down so you can understand, they don’t explicate, they’re movies, but much, much longer. Used to be movies were highbrow and demanded respect, even American ones, but that’s gone, too often it’s lowest common denominator, entertainment, and that’s not what I’m looking for, I don’t want to leave the theatre and forget about it, I want to keep thinking about it. But with a series, there’s so much more to think about!

We live in a Tower of Babel era. Everybody has different interests, everybody is into different stuff. And online is a cesspool of self-anointed experts who will insult you if you express a contrary view, especially an unpopular one. So you feel so lonely. It’s like we’re all in a different race, not even playing the same game.

So we look to invest.

And it doesn’t only apply to art. People invest in politicians, many are even invested in Apple. It gives them an identity, something to believe in. However, because of sunk costs, it’s difficult to get someone to change their opinion, abandon their investment, they’ve spent so much money, time and effort demonstrating it, they’re just going to throw that overboard?

But I’m talking about art.

And let me be clear, this is different from fandom. Although aligned. Fandom can be more blind, based on less information, it’s a status, that you oftentimes display. Investment is private. It’s a one to one relationship. It’s about the bond, as opposed to the external. You don’t need to boast, you don’t need to buy and wear merch, it’s something that transpires in your head, it’s not brain dead attachment, there’s thought put into it, the investment may not be able to be taken to the bank, but it’s more valuable than currency.

So how do you get someone to invest?

Well, you need a lot of product. Aka the series. And in music, you’ve got to have a lot of it. If you make one album and tour, even if that album is a gargantuan hit, investment can be involved, but it can be thrown over more easily. No, investment is about careers. And unlike in the old days, you can’t wait two, three or five years to release new music. Because the audience is too hungry, it will move on and invest in something else. Now if you’re a classic rock act, any act that made its bones in the last century, in the pre-internet era, when there was scarcity, it can be different, but if you’re starting today…

What are you providing that people can invest in.

And it’s not only music, it’s your identity, your personality. When you post hype on social media that works against you, you’re not respecting the audience, which already knows everything about you, you’re not playing to the invested, but everybody else, and that’s contrary to the whole investment paradigm. It’s a core that grows outward, the attachment frequently goes unspoken. There’s magic. And if you sell too hard the magic evaporates.

And you can’t sell out and you can’t rave about the money you’re making. That’s for blind fandom, which will accept anything you do. But to create investment, fans must truly believe they’re number one. Forget lip service, it’s something you can feel. It’s credibility and so much more. This is about the long term, moving mountains, making a difference, not a momentary flash in the pan.

But most artists don’t want to do this, they want it to go faster. But if you go faster you lose investment, and therefore you lose an audience that will keep you alive over decades.

Give me something to hold on to, not something I can see in the financial pages, but something human. Which is why you should post online. To demonstrate your identity, to nurture the bond. And the bond is always fantasy, you’re filling a hole in people’s hearts. So it’s not about being friends with your audience, it’s not about revealing absolutely everything, there must remain blanks, so people can fill in the gaps, create a whole world in their head. It’s like they say, you don’t want to meet your heroes. And I’ve met many, and I must say the mantra almost always applies.

Now there are tons of people watching movies, going to the theatre to view superhero flicks. Then again, there are those invested in food and housing shows on TV. They’re invested in the hosts, there are endless episodes, there is something to hold on to. I know, it’s a conundrum, because this tends to be cheap reality programming, but there’s a lot of it, so people can invest in it.

And then there’s “Suits.” The story of the summer. It’s not like the series got any better, it’s just that people can binge it all on their own schedule, they can own it.

This is the future of entertainment today, investment, substantial, for the long haul. It’s not something that delivers headlines, but how many read those headlines anyway? Too often press is there just to satiate the creator. The only way to grow is via word of mouth. Which means you need to get one person invested so they can turn someone else on. Believe me, this is different from fandom. If you’re moronically telling me how good something is, I ignore you. Like too many who tell me what to watch. They thought it was great, I need to see it. And then I research and find it’s mediocre or terrible. And then I wonder about the person suggesting I invest hours of my time. Do they even know the landscape? Are they watching or investing? Same deal with people who tell me about great movies. There are certainly some great ones, but they’re rare. But these people are employing old school values, casting themselves as the cineastes of yore. Above the rest of us. But the script has flipped, series are the great entertainment of our era. “The Sopranos” was better than any contemporaneous movie, and people quote it all the time, I mean watcha gonna do…

Yes, people were invested and still are invested in “The Sopranos.” And “House of Cards.” “The Sopranos” broke premium cable wide, “House of Cards” broke streaming wide. Just one show.

Just like in music. Despite the charts, acts are not really competing with one another, each one is unique, with its own audience. One creative act can bypass the entire commercial system and go straight to people’s hearts. But they’ve got to have something special, that je ne sais quoi, and almost nothing does. Which is why despite there being endless series on offer, very few are worth watching.

But while I’m at it, people were invested in HBO. Now they’re invested in Netflix. They’ve got a relationship with the outlet they do not have with Disney or Paramount… Those streaming outlets lack breadth, lack soul, they’re Wall Street first, not audience first. How can you be invested in Max when Zaslav cuts product for tax savings, for the bottom line? Those shows with fewer viewers are the ones people invest in, that keep them subscribing, disrespect these people at your peril.

I’d like to say that incoming provides with me a lot of great tips, but I’d be lying if I said so. It’s kind of like A&R people, talk to them, they’ve never found a great unsolicited demo, never happens. The people sending them think they’re great, but they’ve got no idea how the game works, they don’t understand the landscape, never mind having no perspective on their work. It’s one thing to compete, quite another to transcend.

I’m looking for transcendence, so I can invest.

And I’m not the only one.