It doesn’t bounce like a tennis ball.

I was supposed to see a legendary musician in concert, one whom I’ve never seen, who may not tour again, but I couldn’t pass up Lesley’s 60th birthday party at the Santa Monica Pickleball Center. There was going to be instruction and everything!

But I wouldn’t know almost anybody.

This is a regular experience when you are young, going where you don’t know anybody. It’s expected. Like the first day of summer camp, the first day of college. Then again, except for a few, nobody knows anybody else there either, whereas at this party…

Was my social anxiety going to hold me back?

NO!

So… It looks simple, and it is. But there’s a learning curve, and for me it was all about the ball, and its bounce, or lack thereof.

I consider myself a pretty good athlete, winning the athlete of the year at Camp Laurelwood was one of the highlights of my life, but when was the last time I tried something completely new? And, by the way, I’m not that good of a tennis player, never was. Learned at that aforementioned camp, and there was the boom in the seventies, but I was not a member of a country club, I never got a leg up, I was never good, even though I played, we all played. And the skills are transferable, right?

Well, not exactly.

So the instructor had us all line up, we were going to practice serving the ball. You can do it one of two ways, you can either drop it and then hit it after the bounce, or drop it and hit in the air, volleyball style, albeit underhand. Looks simple, right? I was TERRIBLE! Man, it’s so frustrating. Like the kid you put in right field, the one you pick last, who’s got no ability whatsoever. I was dribbling it into the net, if it went that far. The teacher was dealing with me like I was completely inept. I could hit the ball on the fly, but it seemed the pros dropped it and then hit it, and I just couldn’t do this.

So I practiced. And when everybody went off to eat pizza and chips, I continued to practice. That’s when it occurred to me, I dropped the ball and I expected it to come right back up, like a tennis ball. Hell, I’ve been playing with tennis balls my entire life, throwing against the wall, playing baseball, playing catch, never mind playing tennis. The bounce of the ball is ingrained in my DNA. But that’s not the way a pickle ball bounces. In truth, it barely bounces at all, and you’ve got to prepare for this.

I finally got it right. And it felt so good. I knew my talent was in there somewhere, I knew I wasn’t DOA, I knew I could do it.

And then it came to playing.

They split the group into two, those who needed remedial lessons and those who could play by themselves. I went with the group who could play by themselves, there were four of us, on the court. And the funny thing is the worst player, this woman, was a stickler for the rules, she was the one keeping score, the rest of us didn’t really care.

And this was when I learned even more about the ball. If she served it, with little oomph, it was going to cross the net, if it did at all, and die. If I was standing in the back of the court, waiting for it to reach me, it didn’t.

But if the guy on her side served, it was different. It was easier to judge the bounce, maybe because it bounced right in front of me.

But then that guy was replaced by a guy with a wimpy serve and he was dropping them like crazy. I had to move closer to the net. And then the woman was replaced by someone better with a better attitude, that it was all about fun.

And the guy on my side, he was taking it seriously. Thank god, he was having some of the same problems I was having, with the bounce, I didn’t want to be the weak link.

And I’m loving playing, and then my brain starts firing…how am I going to feel tomorrow? At my age running around, clomping on the court… But I couldn’t stop, I was having too good a time.

But after an hour and a half or so, when my shirt was inundated with sweat, I took a break, my game was falling apart, I needed sustenance. And I told myself I wasn’t going to eat the pizza, the heart doctor said to go light on the carbs, but I couldn’t resist, I was just too hungry. And the pizza tasted so good! Having worked out, you know how good food feels after that, and you feel good about yourself.

And after some game where we all tried to hit the ball in a hat, most people continued to kibbitz, or gave up. But there was this one woman, who was unskilled and having a hard time getting it, she was on the court asking questions of the instructors, as if this game could be conquered intellectually. But in truth, you just had to play.

But the guy she was playing with, he was the good time sort. He knew it wasn’t about winning, it was about playing. After all, we weren’t champs.

And I took a blank space on the other side of the court with the instructor. I must say, he could reach balls I couldn’t. And there was one hit…I found myself reaching, extending, on one foot…and I realized that’s how you get hurt. Yes, I was scared off pickleball by that story in the “New York Times” last summer, the one about all the injuries, I didn’t want to sacrifice my ski season: https://tinyurl.com/mt3fwfbr

Then again, I don’t want to be one of those people who’s afraid to experience sport because of the potential for injuries, then you’re not living. It’s all about playing, participating. Believe me, on the court I wasn’t thinking about politics, I wasn’t thinking about anything but the game.

And the way it works is after the ball goes over the net, on the serve, you go forward. Because of the short bounce. And if you can smack it then…

We’d had some good rallies, and they felt so good. Believe me, it wasn’t hard, especially if you’d played some tennis, once you got over the bounce factor. (I know I’m hammering this, but in all my reading about pickleball I’ve never seen it mentioned. Sure, people talk about it being a whiffle ball, but we never played tennis with a whiffle ball.)

And now I’m in the groove. I know not to extend for balls almost out of reach, this wasn’t life and death, we were just playing, not even keeping score.

But the instructor kept on complimenting me, putting his hand out for a slap when I hit a good one. I felt good.

So I’m rushing the net, I’m gonna slap the ball good, hit it where it can’t be returned and…

And…

I’m still not sure exactly what happened. Whether I misjudged it or missed it. And, once again, if you’re used to tennis, the ball doesn’t move the exact same way. But the little yellow ball, about the size of a baseball, came over net and…THWACKED ME RIGHT IN THE EYE!

I didn’t see it coming. My eye was wide open. And…

Did my contact pop out? Did I break the contact?

My eye was closed, stunned. I mean for a minute there you think about losing your vision, but then you raise your lid a bit and can still see so…

You still wonder.

And everybody’s concerned. But it’s not their fault. And I don’t want to be the one person injured at the party, there’s always one. The one nobody knows.

So I sat down on the bench and waited to recover. And as I did, I realized I was going to have one hell of a shiner the next day. Kind of like when I ran into that wooden hanger in Oslo. And the black and blue takes a while to go away.

And then I started to wonder if the eye would close up over time. I thought I’d better leave before that happened, while I could still drive home.

But when I got home there was no black and blue, just red smarting spots above and below my eye. As they say, it appears I dodged a bullet.

Not that the sensation is gone. My contact survived, intact, in place. And I was worried it would hurt to get it out, and hurt to put it back in, but that was not the case. It’s the penumbra of my eye that took the brunt, even though my eye was wide open.

So I won’t call it a battle scar. And since I really wasn’t hurt, I’m chalking it up to the cost of playing the game. And still being confused by the trajectory of the yellow plastic ball.

But I’m ready to play again.

This isn’t about violence, this is about power.

It’s not the twentieth century anymore. And the media and titans of yesteryear and those following in their footsteps are ignorant and unaware.

The landscape has changed. For all the doody about adoration of artists, more people now believe artists are no better than they are. The emperor has no clothes. Let me see, the people being hit have been built by a machine that requires willingness more than talent. These acts are foisted on the public like they are gods, when in truth they’re frequently empty vessels, parading their wealth and lifestyles with supposed impunity. The hoi polloi has had enough, they want to bring these people down a notch or two. And whatcha gonna do about it?

Gonna sue ’em like file-traders? Gonna arrest ’em? Are you even able to find out who they are? Are you going to lock down concerts? Give privileges to the beefy security guards who used to be sued on a regular basis after mishandling the public?

Income inequality. It’s your fault you’re not rich. Oh yeah? You keep telling us that, but we don’t believe it. Forget the blind ignoramuses supporting Trump, those delusional people are driving the Republican party off a cliff. I don’t care how old Biden is, unless you’re a dyed-in-the-wool Trumper you’re never going to vote for that man. In other words, the Republican brass has lost control. As has Fox News. Even Trump himself. He praised vaccines and got booed. This is what happens when you feed the monster, the monster devours you.

So what has happened in the past two decades is the public has gained the power of communication. Used to be you needed a media outlet to get your voice heard, and then only a tiny few got the privilege, oftentimes through connections. Media ruled and it was believed the public was going along.

Then the public got a voice.

TikTok is more powerful than Netflix. Think about that. The government pooh-poohs it, the Chinese company spends no money on “programming,” and the public eats it up. Because the public is into visceral, into life. It doesn’t want a bland presentation massaged for mass consumption, it wants the truth, reality, which is always stranger than fiction. Why watch a phony dating show when you’ve got people of all ages and all sexual persuasions testifying as to their experiences online? Regular people, not just the beautiful picked by TV producers. Talking about real issues, like cheap dates who want to split the tab, never mind whacked dates.

The lunatics have taken over the asylum because those running the asylum believed that change does not happen. This is how Trump got elected in the first place, it was a giant middle finger to Hillary and the establishment. They were sick and tired of being told they didn’t count, to get to the back of the line, by people who kept telling them they were smarter.

Of course there was white nationalism. Woken up by Trump via dog whistles online, and then good people on both sides hogwash. Trump understood the media landscape. How it was now one to one, and you had to make news every day. Trump understood more about media relations than anybody else, he went directly to the public, screw the middleman. This is how you do it in music today, forget radio, forget the in-betweens, go directly to fans. And don’t insist on the brass ring. The Grammys, the trophies… The public believes they’re fake, and there are no trophies for them anyway.

In other words, if you’re out of touch and rich, you’re a target. Like Howard Schultz in Congress. You made those billions all by yourself, as if we didn’t buy all that coffee? It happened in a vacuum? And Bob Iger castigating the talent for wanting more when he makes triple-digit millions? And even Zaslav, canceling that Batgirl movie, in one fell swoop he lifted his profile and became an object of hatred.

We’re in the midst of a reckoning right now. Will it succeed? I’m not betting on it, but people are pissed about income inequality. We’ve got unions and strikes and the only people on the fat cats’ side are other fat cats.

So you take the stage at some overpriced gig, not only the tickets, but the fare. And then someone in the audience feels empowered by their buddies and throws something at you, demonstrating their power. Whatcha gonna do? You can’t sue, these people are judgment proof, it’s the star who has the cash. And if you think you’ve got the public on your side…

Miranda Lambert stopped the show and criticized the people down front for taking selfies and… The woman in the audience got national publicity, sympathy. She paid, why shouldn’t she be able to do what she wants? She became a hero instead of a zero.

And the wealthy and supposedly powerful keep trying to corral us. Tell us we’re wrong. Don’t use TikTok, it’s bad, you’re sacrificing your privacy! Meanwhile, we’ve got no privacy, our data is everywhere and the government helps collect it. And now you’re worried? That ship sailed long ago.

Like Congress in general. Nitwits like Lauren Boebert and Marjorie Taylor Greene. They delusionally believe they are powerful. And they have been elected in their gerrymandered districts, but in truth they’re laughingstocks. The institution of Congress has been brought down more than a couple of notches. I mean if these nincompoops can get elected… And then there’s the Supreme Court. Getting endless gifts and making excuses about it like a five year old. Well, if I didn’t take the seat on the private jet it would have gone empty, so there was no gift to me. In what world does this wash? None!

But you expect the public to respect you and the institution? Used to be people were afraid of lying in court, now we’ve got an ex-President who lies every time he opens his mouth and a rigged judicial system that can’t be trusted. Who are you gonna believe in? Yourself!

Don’t tell me I’m wrong, don’t even think this is about politics. Those are just examples, it crosses many lines. Like the Bud Light boycott. That’s about the public, not the leaders. They want to give the middle finger to Budweiser, show the company who’s boss. And they did!

The corporations are hipper than the government. But they’ve got no backbone. Hell, Bud Light should have doubled-down, instead it caved, satisfying no one. This is the age of credibility, it’s oftentimes more powerful than money. Have an identity, have beliefs, and stick to them. Don’t do anything for the money, those are entertainers. And sure, influencers will take corporate money, but many are brain dead and even though their audiences might be large, they’re de minimis in the overall scheme of things, and the media just focuses on the stars because that’s all it knows how to do, when really it’s about the nobodies, the endless sea of nobodies, that feels it’s been pissed upon for years and isn’t going to take it anymore.

The public is on the side of the unions, both nascent at Starbucks and Apple, and striking like the WGA and SAG. People can’t understand how Apple, the richest company in the world, can’t lay out a little more. Why not? Ditto on Starbucks, on every corner, an American institution, why should Howard Schultz get all that money?

This is what the internet has wrought. It has brought us together, showed that we are like-minded and have power, that we are not lone wankers. Come on, go online, you can find a group for anything and everything. You feel included. The media might not pay attention, but you feel powerful.

This is the story of our age.

And the powers-that-be think they can just quash it as opposed to appease it, get in bed with it. Only a police state could change the course of history. Which some people want. Yes, those Trumpers feel powerful. As for that Jim Caviezel movie, a conspiracy-mongering piece of trash, it’s got a huge gross based in large part on people not going to the theatre. Don’t you know that story? Sold out shows are empty. They’re gaming the system.

You have to pay attention.

And the way you do this is by participating too. By going online, by being on social media. But all traditional media can do is decry the internet. Put your phone down! Don’t upgrade it! Take time off! As if everybody is a harried executive working 24/7. No, the average person… Do you know anybody without a smartphone? Oh, I hear from Luddites and will after just writing that, but I do not know anybody without a smartphone, ANYBODY, except for people under ten. Think of the power, more computing power than landed men on the moon, right in your pocket. And the ability to not only consume, but broadcast your thoughts and beliefs across the entire world, instantly.

But even some supposedly bright people are clueless. Like Elon Musk. Turning Twitter, er, X, over to bros who ruined the platform. That’s what freedom looks like. Hell, the public doesn’t even understand free speech. A social network can edit and censor anything it wants, it’s a private company, not the government. But people believe they’ve got a raw right to say whatever they want whenever they want. Are you surprised people are throwing objects at entertainers?

You shouldn’t be.

1

The absolute highlight was Stevie Wonder singing “You’ve Got It Bad Girl” from “Talking Book.”

History is wrong, “Songs In the Key of Life” is not Stevie Wonder’s best album, not even close, that’s “Talking Book.”

The first step in the new Wonder paradigm, wherein he had total control over his albums, was 1972’s “Music of My Mind.” Despite opening for the Rolling Stones on the biggest rock tour in history, and including the track “Superwoman,” “Music of My Mind” had minor commercial impact. People still perceived Stevland Morris as Little Stevie Wonder, not an auteur who could do it all by himself, competing not only with Paul McCartney and Todd Rundgren, but every rock and roll titan.

“Talking Book” changed that. But not everybody was buying albums at that point, many still saw Stevie Wonder as a singles artist.

But then Stevie doubled-down with “Innervisions” and “Living For the City” and “Higher Ground.” But it was more than that, it was “Too High,” “Golden Lady,” “All in Love is Fair,” “Don’t You Worry ‘Bout a Thing” and “He’s Misstra Know-It-All,” the final cut an engaging masterpiece that seems to have been lost to the sands of time.

And then came “Fulfillingness’ First Finale,” a more subtle work that took time to seep in. The hit was “Boogie On Reggae Woman,” but the killers were quieter, and penetrated further, cuts like the magical “Heaven Is 10 Zillion Light Years Away and “Creepin” and “They Won’t Go When I Go.” If you were on the trip, you were fully satisfied, in the same way you were with the two previous LPs.

And then came “Songs in the Key of Life.” What a difference a few years make. The systems were streamlined, albums could be promoted in a heretofore unknown fashion. And the press finally caught up. But so did the public. We live in a racist nation, it wasn’t until “Songs in the Key of Life” was released that everybody embraced Stevie Wonder. But he’d been fantastic for years, even better.

Look at the track listing for “Talking Book.” It opens with “You Are the Sunshine of My Life,” a song my modern music hating father could sing along with just as well as me. Then the subtle “Maybe Your Baby.” The jaunty yet not slight “Tuesday Heartbreak.” The second side opened with “Superstition,” a track you only had to hear once to get, the sound of that clavinet alone was enough to close you. Then my favorite at the time, “Big Brother,” which was more akin to a singer-songwriter number than anything on the R&B chart. Then the killer “Blame It on the Sun,” followed by “Lookin’ for Another Pure Love.” And then the piece-de-resistance, a modern classic which many people first heard performed by Peter Frampton on his second LP, the one with the group, Frampton’s Camel, “I Believe (When I Fall In Love It Will Be Forever).” Which leaves us with “You and I (We Can Conquer the World),” recorded by everyone from Barbra Streisand to Joe Cocker to Mariah Carey, which is the worst song on the album. That’s right, this near standard is the worst song on the LP! And then there’s “You’ve Got It Bad Girl.”

“Yes, you know the plans I am making are intended to capture you

So you practice false reaction

To delay the things I do, the things I do, things I do

Oh, foolish you”

She’s got it bad girl, so bad that Quincy Jones covered the song on his 1982 album and used it as the title of the LP, which is why Stevie played it last night.

But, but, but… These moments are becoming rare. Stevie is not on the road constantly, he’s not playing the deep cuts, what are the odds I’ll hear this again? Almost nil. It was a thrill.

2

And there was a plethora of name talent opening the first half of the show, but it was the backup singers taking solo turns who put the show over the top in the second half, as well as Siedah Garrett, who came out looking like a space alien and took us out of this world with her rendition of her song “Man in the Mirror.”

The show was somewhat chronological. I was hoping for a nod to Q’s venture with Donna Summer, the Geffen album that ultimately stiffed, before she delivered her next LP to Mercury and came back with “She Works Hard for the Money.” But that Geffen LP…

The single was “Love Is in Control (Finger on the Trigger).” Anything but a conventional melody, a conventional song, and if you listen to it enough you get it. But the  absolute killer is the sultry “The Woman in Me,” the aural equivalent of the movie “Body Heat,” you can feel the sweat. And then Jon and Vangelis’s “State of Independence,” that would have been a great number for the assembled multitude. But it was not to be. What we got was Michael Jackson.

Who’s been dead for fourteen years. His personality, his identity has been picked over, and he looks anything but pretty. But the music, that remains. It’s still standing. Untarnished. Superseding the tabloid drama.

Michael hadn’t put out an album for four and a half years. Can’t say the audience was waiting with bated breath. Childhood singer who came up at the same time as Donny Osmond, a lightweight trifle, and then came “Off the Wall.”

This was no longer Motown, this was Epic, a machine, that could ship product and bring success home. But still… “Off the Wall” started in the Black market, took a while to cross over. Its success was subtle, anything but what came thereafter. It didn’t sound quite like anything else, and nothing sounded quite like it. “Off the Wall” was ethereal and unique. Otherworldly. And you might not have heard it upon release, but it was only a matter of time before you were at a party and someone dropped the needle on “Don’t Stop ’til You Get Enough.”

I’m as white as can be. But when the orchestra started playing the notes, I jumped to my feet and started contorting my body in ways I didn’t know possible, it was like I was infected. Politics fell into the rearview mirror. This was the power of music, to take you completely away, sans consciousness, just feeling.

“Don’t Stop ’til You Get Enough” is not a ditty. It’s a six plus minute journey. It locks into a groove and never lets go. You can’t resist it. It doesn’t beat you over the head, rather it penetrates you somewhere deep inside and then it doesn’t let go.

They wanted to be startin’ somethin’, and they most certainly were. This was not a rock crowd, this was mostly a white crowd. An aged white crowd. But if you surveyed the boxes, the benches, you saw these people in their seventies grooving, it was nearly unfathomable that they had it in them.

And then there was “Billie Jean,” the song that started it all, that turned Michael Jackson into a superstar. All it took was one television special. The world saw the moonwalk and people never recovered, Michael Jackson ascended into the pantheon in a matter of minutes. “Off the Wall” was still private, not ubiquitous, but suddenly “Thriller” was “Frampton Comes Alive,” and beyond.

And I’m standing in the crowd realizing that we will never see this again. No one will have this ubiquity. No one will make music that we all know. Oh, it’s possible, and I hope so, but no one’s even playing on this level, no one’s creating music that is transcendent, that crosses all ages and demos. And Michael may have had incredible moves, but it was all in the grooves.

Michael ultimately lost the plot, labeling himself the King of Pop, needing to top himself when the only alternative might have been to go smaller, but that wasn’t his style. Michael ultimately became a cartoon, and then a train-wreck, but that music, it’s set in stone. I’m there realizing why he could sell out all those shows in London at the same time thinking there was no way he could have ever performed them. If for no other reason than there was not enough of him to go around, people wanted everything, but he was only one person, he was crushed by the pressure.

And credit goes to Walter Yetnikoff, who has been nearly completely forgotten. But it was this substance abuser, ultimately more powerful and memorable than the self-aggrandizing Clive Davis, who told MTV that either they played Michael Jackson’s video or he’d pull all of CBS’s product. MTV didn’t want to, but when it did the course of history was immediately changed, turned out that there was a huge untapped market for the music video channel, and Michael Jackson was the perfect person to bring people in.

Oh, Michael was rolling. He was already the biggest star on earth. But then…

He decided to spend an astronomical sum with the movie director John Landis to create the “Thriller” music video, which was even longer than the six minute song.

MTV treated the “Thriller” video as a tablet from God. With the premiere and subsequent airings. It was an event. The VJ would announce it was coming. You’d make a mental note to turn the TV on, or to leave it on.

I really didn’t think they’d play it last night. But Avery Wilson strode to the front of the stage and… Avery Wilson? Who is that?

Turns out he was a contestant on season 3 of “The Voice.” And Avery’s doing a credible job as my mind is flashing on that red jacket and then during the break…

Wilson moves to the front of the stage and starts making Michael’s moves. Throwing his arms. It was like 1983 was yesterday. We all know this choreography by heart. We may not think about it on a regular basis, but it’s there, buried inside our brains.

Whew!

WHEW!

Michael’s exclamations were in full force. And it was not like the man himself was in the house, but the music was an excellent stand-in. A remembrance of what once was. When a musician could stand with world leaders, could be as rich and powerful as anybody on the planet. When in studios across Hollywood there were people working long after dark, in the dark, trying to get it exactly right, wanting to please, wanting to titillate the audience, wanting to THRILL the audience!

Money didn’t matter. Spend away, because if you got it right the return would pay for the expenditure many times ever.

The music was built block by block. By Michael, by Q, by writers, by studio musicians. And when you do it this way it’s easy to lose the plot, to get so deep inside that you miss the target. But for a moment in time it was bullseye after bullseye.

It was thriller night. FOR YEARS!

Tune in Saturday July 29th to Faction Talk, channel 103, at 4 PM East, 1 PM West.

Phone #: 844-686-5863

Twitter: @lefsetz

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