https://tinyurl.com/yc3anpmh

This book is mind-blowingly good.

But you won’t feel that way at first, you’ll think it’s a trifle, a direct lift of “Saturday Night Live,” akin to Curtis Sittenfeld’s book about Hillary Clinton, “Rodham,” wherein she breaks up with Bill before marriage and a different story ensues. I mean “Rodham” is a good read, but it’s light.

Whereas “You Think It, I’ll Say It,” Sittenfeld’s collection of short stories, is oftentimes dark, and gripping. “You Think It, I’ll Say It” is the best short story book I’ve ever read. I keep recommending it to people but they don’t read it, primarily because they’re turned off by short stories, and I understand that, but this is different.

Anyway, I read everything Sittenfeld writes. Beginning with her debut, “Prep.” I’m a sucker for these boarding school tales. Can I tell you that I love “Dead Poets Society”? Although I went to public school, I went to college with a lot of prep school students. Prep school changes you. Teaches you how to fit in, but when eyes are looking the other way, no one is wilder than a prep school graduate.

So “Romantic Comedy” is Sittenfeld’s new one, released in April. I haven’t felt the buzz, but it’s got four stars on Amazon with thousands of ratings, so people are reading it, I just don’t find people talking about it. Because…

People don’t know how to talk about love. Or they don’t want to, it makes them squirm. Yet it’s what all of us want, so it’s a conundrum.

So Sally is a writer at “Night Owls,” the late night sketch comedy run by Nigel, who’s a direct lift of Lorne Michaels. She’s been there for years, and how she got there is very interesting, I won’t spoil it, but let’s just say you’d be surprised who doesn’t understand your dreams, never mind support them.

And Sally doesn’t want to be on camera.

And she’s divorced, but she’s got a f*ck buddy, she has needs. And she’s 38, and she’s not planning to leave the show and then…

A rock star is the host. And the musical guest. And he comes in with his own sketch, and Sally helps him hone it.

One of the big themes of the book is whether you can date out of your league. The guys at “Night Owl” run with the female celebrities, but can the women? If you’re average-looking can you date a gorgeous celebrity? Sally even writes a sketch about it.

So, Sally feels something from the rock star, Noah, but does he feel it too? And I’m not talking about the Peter Frampton song, then again it’s not a bad soundtrack, because the song is ultimately optimistic, which is what you’ve got to be to fall in love.

So Sally is reading the signs. But is she the only one reading them? Does anybody else notice them? Can she even discuss them with anybody else?

You don’t want to snuff the inner flame, you don’t want people to laugh at you, so you suffer…

And then, when it looks like something might happen between Sally and Noah, when she’s about to find out if he really is into her, she unconsciously says something to push him away. This is not uncommon, I’ve done it. I’ve had tons of therapy to analyze it. Now I’m aware. But ultimately, the anxiety gets to you and your instinct is to go back to your happy place, alone, even though it’s not that happy.

And then…

Correspondence begins during lockdown, and…

This isn’t much different from how I met Felice. I met her, felt something, wasn’t sure if she did, and then months later we connected via fast and furious e-mail and then…

This is the way romance is in the twenty first century. I’m not talking about Tinder, I’m not talking about married couples, I’m not even talking about young ‘uns. But once you’ve been around the block, Sally’s been married, been hurt a few times, how do you navigate the waters? Get old enough and people become afraid to jump in. Sally is not that old.

There’s so much wisdom, baked in to this easily read book. It’s anything but heavy, but then again it is. It’s the anti-Iowa Writers’ Workshop book, you know, rewritten to impress fellow writers, as opposed to writing something the public will truly enjoy reading. Maybe that’s why there’s not more ink on “Romantic Comedy,” because the intelligentsia, the publishing cognoscenti, look down upon it, it’s not dense with incomprehensible adjectives, there’s not endless depiction of the scene, it’s not removed from real life, but rather it is real life.

Yes, you can read about real life, but it’s not the same as living it.

And I was just about to quote some truisms from the book, that struck me, but now I’ve decided not to, I’ve already told you too much.

Once again, if you’re addicted to nonfiction, don’t read this.

If you’re a guy… You’re on your own. Chances are you never talk about this stuff and maybe can’t even own it yourself. You’re so busy bucking up, being one of the guys, a bro, that you can’t be sensitive. But you’ve got to be sensitive to have a relationship, a real one.

If you’re a woman, I think you’re much more likely to love this book.

Then again, there will be guys who love it and women who hate it, that’s what makes the world go round.

And I’ll save further clichés, I’ll just say that “Romantic Comedy” sits with me in a way other books do not. I can relate to it. I think the writer is not that different from who I am, she understands me.

And she just might understand you too.

Check it out.

Spotify: https://tinyurl.com/22bw79kn

YouTube: https://tinyurl.com/mucz3as

I thought it was by Eric Johnson. But it turned out it was by Eric JOHANSON!

I’m a big fan of Eric Johnson. An astounding guitar player sans flashy personality who had a moment of mainstream fame and then disappeared. You see he was promoted by Hale Milgrim when he ran Capitol Records, and when Hale got blown out Eric had no champion. This is important, go with the team that believes in you, needs you, not the one with the most famous name, with the most success.

And so thrilled with this version of “Oh I Wept” I started searching for more. I’m one of the few who appreciates Eric Johnson’s vocals, as apart from his skill on the guitar, and I wanted more of this, was hungry for more of this, was eager for more of this. And I started searching Eric Johnson albums looking for this track and could not find it. So I went back to Qobuz, where I discovered this take of the Free song, and that’s when I looked closer and realized it was Eric Johanson, the type is so small on the phone…

So “Oh I Wept” is from the Free album “Fire and Water.”

“Must have made you their daughter

You’ve got what it takes to make a poor man’s heart break”

That’s the opening track, the title cut of “Fire and Water.”

Although it was released in June, I didn’t buy the album until September, just after I’d started my first semester at college. I went down to the Vermont Book Shop and overpaid for an LP that ultimately disappointed me. I learned there was a guitar break in “All Right Now” that I was unaware of, but this thirty five minute album, a veritable EP by today’s standards, was lacking. There was the one stellar cut, but nothing close to it on the rest of the record. But having paid for it, I listened to it. But I never changed my opinion. Until maybe now.

They don’t make records like this anymore, as in there isn’t much on it. And it’s authentic, no synthesizers and maybe that’s why I was disappointed, the album seemed underproduced, not muddy like the earlier stuff from the sixties, yet somehow not as big as the breakthrough records of the time.

The second side opened with “Mr. Big.” Which was my second favorite cut on the LP, it too existed in an arid landscape, but when Paul Rodgers sang the chorus, MR BIG!, it had an impact, a gravitas that superseded what came before.

And there was the moody final song on the first side, “Heavy Load,” akin to what Rodgers ended up doing with Bad Company, with an intimacy that exuded authenticity.

And the second song on the first side was “Oh I Wept.” But I didn’t really get into it until I heard it play after “All Right Now” on the “Molten Gold: Anthology” two CD package. Funny, you expect less from albums like this. They’re peeks into what once was, historical ventures, you’re raiding the lost ark, you’re assumed to be interested, a fan, you’re looking for roots as well as hidden gems. And three cuts later comes “The Stealer,” a hit that wasn’t, even for Bob Seger when he recorded it for Warner Brothers on a now unavailable album, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hit the spot when you hear it, especially now, decades later. If I wanted to introduce someone to the greatness of Paul Kossoff I’d start with “The Stealer,” a tour-de-force, a track too good, too singular to be a hit on AM in an era where FM was playing more American music and becoming more codified. Bottom line, I’d always let the CD play through until “The Stealer” and that’s how I became enamored of “Oh I Wept.”

“Oh I wept

For days

Filled my eyes

With silly tears”

Men mourn personally. A woman experiences heartbreak and she calls her friends, who circle around her, soothe her, whereas a man might not even tell anybody, never mind get succor.

“I take my seat on the train

And let the sun come melt my pain

Come tomorrow I’ll be far away

In the sunshine of another day”

That’s the instinct, to run away, to lick your wounds, at least emotionally, but physically is even better. And let’s not forget, this was pre-cellphone. Even pre-answering machine. As much as you wanted to sit at home and wait for the phone to ring, you knew if you left home you were unreachable, out in a world no bigger than today, but completely unconnected, so it felt incredibly large, you could reinvent yourself if you just got away from your trappings.

“Oh I Wept” is subtle and personal. Once again, there’s not much on it, but it serves the underlying song, the message. He’s weeping personally, and that’s how the song sounds. And somehow on Sunday I needed to hear it, I don’t know why, and that’s when I pulled it up on my phone and saw the version by Eric Johnson, er, Johanson.

Although there’s so little on the Free take, it’s clear it’s a band. You don’t think Paul Rodgers is playing the guitar, never mind the drums, no, you can see a combo in your mind, whereas the Eric Johanson version is singular, it’s clear it’s only one person.

And the Eric Johanson version is the same, yet it’s different. You can hear the individual strings being strummed, the guitar is not a wash, anything but. And the vocal… No one can be as great as Paul Rodgers, but this guy isn’t just going through the motions, he’s feeling the song too. And the end product being rougher its edges catch you, you want to hear it to the end, and then again.

So what else is on this album “Covered Tracks: Vol.1,” and if there’s a “Volume 1,” doesn’t that mean there’s a “Volume 2,” maybe even more?

And I’m scanning the tracks and see a cover of “Midnight Rider.” And one of “House of the Rising Sun.” And then I’m interested, who exactly is this guy?

And I go to the Wikipedia page, at least he has one, meaning he’s got a certain level of fame, and I see that Eric Johanson has performed with a number of famous musicians, that he’s located squarely in the blues. And I see that these songs were recorded as part of a live stream. But did he add the electric guitar after, or was there another person in the room…who knows?

But one thing is for sure, Eric Johanson isn’t making music for the Top Forty. And I wouldn’t exactly call it Adult Alternative either. It’s definitely rooted in the blues. It’s like he digested all the music of the sixties just like those musicians listened to the progenitors and kept the flame a-burnin’.

I mean this guy Eric Johanson has a whole career, appears to be making a living making music and there’s no mainstream press, no hype, just acolytes keeping him alive.

The two covers albums, yes, there are two, were self-released. There were labels for the studio LPs in 2017, 2019 and 2020, but I don’t think Whiskey Bayou and Nola Blue Records can really help you out, no, if you want to go down this path, you’re on your own, you need to create your own fan base to keep you alive. And obviously this guy has, otherwise who would tune in to his live stream?

And the opening cut on the initial covers LP is Chicago’s “25 or 6 to 4,” which was always seen as a drug song, even though I saw a video on TikTok that debunked this. Once upon a time, Chicago had credibility, don’t confuse the post-Terry Kath band with what came before. But how does Johanson know this? From his parents? His own exploration? After all, all these songs are hiding in plain sight, assuming you know where to go, and care.

And on the second covers LP Eric plays “Can’t You See,” the Marshall Tucker classic. As well as the Beatles’ “And I Love Her.” Can’t say I hear that “Hard Day’s Night” material much anymore.

But it’s “Oh I Wept” that reaches me. I mean this is a deep cut by a deep cut band, other than “All Right Now” Free had no commercial success, still is unknown by most, how did Johanson know this song, and why does his rendition reach me so?

Then again, it’s clear the Free version was cut in a studio. Whereas Johanson’s version sounds like there’s less between him and the listener, it’s more immediate, and then there’s that emotion.

But how many people know “Oh I Wept”? How many even know Eric Johanson?

But this guy has a place in the firmament.

Everything we used to know no longer applies. Sure, there’s a chart, but if you want soul fulfillment, people who are doing it not for fame, for the buck, but for the music, they’re elsewhere. Still out there, on their own journeys. Knowing if they even succeed odds are they’ll end up journeymen at best. But if you listen to them, go to see them, you’re getting an experience akin to the juke joint all those years ago, where it’s not for everybody, just those of you who are there, hearing and feeling the sound.

There’s definitely something here. And it’s coming clear.

It’s not the major labels’ nor the media’s music business anymore. It’s the audience’s. The machine’s reach is narrow. But if you go outside the push and instead pull, it’s amazing, the hit music used to deliver, it still can. And isn’t it funny, it’s stripped bare. And therefore it touches us even more than what is pushed.

Pull this.

Man, I was really f*cked up.

I’d spell out the f-word, but then you wouldn’t receive this. For all the positive stories about the resurgence of e-mail newsletters, in truth it’s very hard to get past spam filters. Furthermore, Substack is in financial trouble. It’s even asking its writers for cash. This is like the movie studio asking the cast and crew to put money into the production. Never do it. If you’re gonna lay down cash do it from dollar one, and own it.

So yesterday I had an infusion of Rituxan at Cedars. That’s a legendary hospital in Los Angeles. Used to be atop the pyramid, and then UCLA was built up and now there are two powerhouses, and few independents, they’ve bought up not only all the facilities, but the doctors too. Now most doctors work for the man. And they hate it. To the point where a certain elite jump ship and go off insurance. And after decades you’ve found and established a relationship with these providers and you go with them, and it costs you.

But then you realize all you’ve got is your health.

There’s this rock star I correspond with intermittently. She said she had been grappling with health problems. And she’s younger than I am. And then there’s that lawyer who’s just a couple of years older who has crippling back pain. And the friend who has prostate cancer… You may be unscathed today, but that doesn’t mean you’ll be fine tomorrow. Yes, the boomer generation that believed it would rule forever, would live forever, believes that it’s immune, that the rules of life don’t apply to them. But this is patently untrue. The body is made to break down. Imagine still driving your first car. That’s the equivalent of your body. You’re patching it up and cannot buy a new one.

Now Cedars has two infusion centers. One at the hospital, and one on Wilshire. And in truth, you can get someone to give you the infusion at home, but I’m not that rich, I’ll drive to save thousands. However, my doctor was surprised when I said I would.

You see I’ve got this condition pemphigus foliaceus. The odds of you getting it are insignificant. Worry about cancer, not pemphigus. Few people get it, mostly Ashkenazi Jews, and it tends to be triggered by surgery. And if you really want to know what it is, you’ll Google it, but I recommend against this. And the way you treat pemphigus foliaceus is with Rituxan, a lymphoma drug. But Rituxan wipes out all your B-cells and then the vaccine doesn’t work, not only Covid, but the flu vaccine and…

But everybody is proud of going bare. Yesterday, Mark Cuban got in a Twitter argument with the anti-vaxxers. You see there was finally a study and it turns out almost nobody died from the vaccine, relative to other treatments. But people don’t want to believe it. I guess those people are not the beneficiaries of an elite education, which is all about learning how to analyze what is coming down the pike as opposed to accepting it. That’s something you learn from being a liberal arts major. Which is one reason our uneducated tech pioneers always get it wrong. Not only can they not see the tech future, they can’t see the effects of their products, they’re not trained to do so, you see it doesn’t pay.

So I don’t get this desire to reject modern science. Believe me, if you get really ill you’re going to want the hospital to save you. I don’t want to die of Covid, but so many people believe they’re immune. But they’re not. But everybody’s so singular today, believing they’re not a member of the group, that they don’t realize people are dropping like flies, or can no longer taste or smell. Today, you subsume your own feelings, at least don’t tell anybody else, because you don’t want to appear weak. Then someone will walk over you.

Oh, they’re going to try and walk over you anyway. The world runs on bluster. Play and you’ll find there are people who put you down, in order to make themselves feel good. It’s hard to ignore them, but you must learn how.

But at the hospital, everybody is equal.

Now at the Wilshire infusion center you need a ride, for some reason you can drive yourself to the hospital, the infusion center on Beverly Blvd.

You must wear a mask. You put it on right when you get inside, and then you take the elevator down, underground, and after checking in… They always tell you to come fifteen minutes early, but then they make you wait fifteen minutes… A nurse greets you, weighs you, and shows you to your booth.

Yes, you get your own little nook. With an adjustable chair and even a curtain if you want some privacy. But the curtain is a pain in the ass. You see you have to get up and go to the bathroom, and you take your pole with you…

Yes, your pole. The medication drips in from a bag attached.

So, the first thing they ask you is if you want anything to eat or drink. I’ve learned through experience not to take the crackers, you get high on the carbs. However, I do go for the apple juice. Yes, apple juice is for when you’re young and when you’re old, seems no one in between drinks it.

And then you take the pre-meds. The Benadryl and the steroid.

And soon you’re numb. Not exactly flying, but in suspended animation. And just when you think you’re ready to take a nap, they start dripping the medication into you. They’ve poked a hole in you earlier, have flushed it out with a drip. And now you get the real thing.

And Rituxan is a lymphoma drug. But lymphoma patients get it once a month, I get it every six months. But now that we have Covid, the key is to wait longer, to the point that the vaccine will work. And I got the bivalent booster at the end of April and…

The dermatologist said to get the Rituxan. You see I’ve got these spots that itch and they’re only going to get worse. And the Rituxan doesn’t work instantly, it takes six weeks. And last time I waited so long that even then my symptoms didn’t go away. I had to take steroids thereafter. I wanted to avoid this.

But I asked the dermatologist whether I could wait until September, after the new vaccine came out. She said I wouldn’t last that long.

And there’s a Stanford study that says what I got in April wouldn’t be wiped out by this infusion so I agreed.

And I thought it was no big deal until…

I hear all these people say they want to die at home, not the hospital. I’ve always disagreed. I wanted to be in the hospital, with all that attention and care at my fingertips. Yesterday I changed my mind. You see the hospital is death. Maybe not physical death, but emotional death.

Because of the pre-meds, you can’t concentrate. All you can do is scroll endlessly on your phone. And that gets old very soon. And you cease caring. It’s very weird. You can’t concentrate enough to watch a show on your iPad or to read a book, and you’re not quite in suspended animation, and you are conscious… You’re just existing.

But it’s gonna be over. In this case relatively briefly. Less than four hours.

But I’m at my limit. I didn’t realize it previously, but sitting in the chair… You see I had three rounds of IVIG during the winter, that cleanses the blood, wipes the pemphigus cells out, hopefully. It’s three days of four or so hours once a month, for three months in a row. This was only gonna be one day. But somehow my tolerance was gone. I was squirming. Holding on. Looking at the bag on the pole, waiting for it to empty. Actually, one time with the IVIG they put plastic over the bottle and I couldn’t see how close I was to being finished. But…

Eventually I was done.

And I went to the bathroom. You’ve got to, otherwise you won’t make it home without needing to pee.

And I was hungry and wanted to reward myself. And on the way back home, on little Santa Monica in Beverly Hills, there’s a Shake Shack. And parking. And I decided to go in and if they had a bathroom, I’d stay and eat. Sans bathroom I wasn’t going to make it.

And by time I got through ordering it was twenty two bucks and change. Huh? I realized I’ve got no sense of the worth of a dollar anymore.

But even worse, the burger was bland. I needed to go for the real thing, In-N-Out, but that was not convenient. But next time…

And when I finally got home… That’s when I realized how awful I felt. I didn’t want to do anything, nothing felt good. It was all about waiting for the effect to wear off.

I napped a bit.

And then… Wow, talk about existential depression. All the usual exploits, all I normally do to entertain myself, none of it worked. I surfed a bit online, but I’d already gotten my fill of that back at the hospital. I mean how long was this gonna last?

And I knew I was edgy, and if I spoke with anybody I was gonna blow up. No, this was a personal journey back to reality, however long this was gonna take.

And by late evening I was together enough to watch this Jimmie and Stevie Ray Vaughan documentary. And you’ve got to pay for it, otherwise I’d say to watch it. It’s hard to fathom a plethora of this stuff when it used to be so rare. In other words, you can make a documentary, but good luck getting people to watch it. And the streaming outlets won’t pay for them anymore and… Welcome to the modern world, where it seems like you’re pissing in the wind 24/7.

Eventually, long after two, I put my head down. And after nightmares I woke up and thought I felt better but after about twenty minutes I realized I was far from 100%. I took some Tylenol, took the edge off.

And now… I’m forcing myself to work. Don’t feel up to it, but the opposite, the suspended animation, is anathema, I don’t want to go back there.

And believe me, in a couple of days I’ll be just fine.

But what gets me is when it comes down to health, nothing else matters, who is President, all the stuff that fills the newspaper. That’s for people who are still here, in the flow of things. And you think you are.

Until you’re not.

It’s going to happen to you, just you wait.

And know you’re not alone, I know where you are, I’ve been there.

But it’s not pleasant.

Yet it’s inevitable.

And no one really cares. If anything, they just want to deny you health care, as if you should buck up and take personal responsibility. But most of these conditions are natural, there’s nothing you can do. And then they arrive and you find that no one really cares about you, they’re too invested in themselves. If you die, life won’t end, it’ll carry on. And even if you get sympathy, your pain is personal.

It’s like a bad dream.

But it’s real life.

Did you see that Mark Volman of the Turtles has Lewy body dementia? Wow, no one here gets out alive. They tell you this, but you don’t really believe it. Until you do.

“Deliver Me from Nowhere: The Making of Bruce Springsteen’s Nebraska”: https://tinyurl.com/2vyfav58

It’s not the book I thought it would be.

And that’s a good thing.

I thought it would be a detailed explanation of each and every track on “Nebraska,” whereas it’s a snapshot of Bruce more than the work. In the vernacular, it’s about where his head was at.

Now Bruce Springsteen used to be a different guy. Or was perceived differently. Or both.

In truth at first his career was a disappointment. And when he finally delivered on his second album, “The Wild, The Innocent & the E Street Shuffle,” eyes were no longer upon him, but that record was a breakthrough, what’s a Springsteen show without “Rosalita”? With the indelible line about the record company giving him a big advance?

I was so impressed with “The Wild, The Innocent…,” that I lined up at the Bottom Line this time of year back in ’74, just so I could get up close and personal. And I heard “Jungleland,” a year before it came out on wax.

Yes, in 1975 Springsteen was on the covers of both “Time” and “Newsweek” (the former I subscribed to, but switched to the latter after reading it every week in my shrink’s waiting room, realizing it was superior), but the backlash worked against him. I’m not saying that you never heard “Born to Run” or “Thunder Road” on the radio, but the stink didn’t really leave Bruce until three years later, with the follow-up album, “Darkness on the Edge of Town.”

“Born to Run” was cut to sound like an earlier era, a throwback, something that came out of the ten dollar speaker in the dash of your car, you couldn’t pick out individual instruments in the mix, you could only get carried away by the sound. But “Darkness” was more distinct, and darker, more world-weary.

And Bruce played the Roxy and it was broadcast over the radio and if you really cared you could buy the double-album bootleg, which I certainly did, but the mainstream hype was gone. However, Bruce had paid so many dues on the road that his fans supported him, they needed to go to the show.

And this was not the Grateful Dead. Bruce needed you to like him, he overpowered you, needed to prove how great he was, the band was seamless, they came on stage, stayed for hours and left and you never forgot it.

And then in 1980 came “The River,” a double album with the lightweight single “Hungry Heart” crossing over to AM, with its Flo and Eddie background vocals, and an arena tour that cemented the Boss’s legacy, assuming you were paying attention, and not everybody was. Oh, it was not like today, where you can be number one and no one knows your music, it’s just that if you did not own the records, you did not know every Bruce song.

And speaking of the Boss…

That’s one of the best quotes in the book, Clarence partaking of a substance and telling the assembled group not to tell the Boss.

You see we were told they called him the Boss, and it came out that’s what the band named him, yet it never truly resonated. But reading the book it’s clear, Bruce was the boss, and you didn’t want to upset him.

Because he cared so much.

That’s not the Boss of today.

Springsteen released an album so successful that it has affected public perception of the man for decades thereafter. We still remember him playing ball in the video for “Glory Days.” Yes, suddenly Bruce was everybody’s. He went on a stadium tour. And although “Tunnel of Love” had great highlights, what came after, the two solo albums, was rejected by the public, and Bruce reunited with the E Street Band and it’s been an endless victory lap ever since.

You see the audience now owns Bruce Springsteen.

But he used to be afraid of that.

And now Bruce is embraced by the establishment, the news media and the government. He smiles, he laughs, but in truth, at heart, he’s still an alienated f*ck.

That’s what this book is all about, describing the alienated f*ck.

To quote Bruce:

“‘I’m an alienated person by nature,’ Springsteen told Brian Hiatt in 2010. ‘Always have been, still am to this day. It continues to be an issue in my life, in that I’m always coming from the outside, and I’m always trying to overcome my own internal reticence and alienation.'”

This is what his fans don’t understand. Because they’re not alienated themselves. Of course some denizens of the pit are, but most are just regular people living regular lives, they might live for the music, but at this late date they don’t get it. That Bruce Springsteen never fit in, has trouble making friends and this was his only way out, making this music. He needed to get it exactly right and if he did people would love him, his life would work out, but it didn’t.

And then he fell apart.

That’s what this book is about.

Bruce comes off the road from the “River” tour, rents a nothing house in nowhere New Jersey and starts making demos.

This is where the hagiography begins. If you’re not a fan, you’re gonna puke. Not only does Warren Zanes put Springsteen on a pedestal, reading this book you’d think “Nebraska” was “Sgt. Pepper,” or even “Nevermind,” something that came out and completely changed the landscape. This is patently untrue.

Zanes goes on and on about the Teac Tascam 144 Portastudio the Boss made the album on. Like he was the first to use this rare equipment, like his recording was an inspiration to musicians everywhere and a harbinger of what was to come.

Hogwash.

Even I knew what the Tascam Portastudio was and I don’t make records. Being able to record four tracks on a cassette, wow, that’s incredible power. I remember the sixties when the goal was to own a two track reel to reel that had sound on sound. The Portastudio was not exotic equipment, you could buy it at your local shop, which is where Bruce’s guy got it.

As for being inspired…

I bought “Nebraska,” I played it. Is it my favorite? Is it so influential? Zanes quotes musician after musician, it’s creepy. Like they were all lost in the wilderness and Bruce made an album on a Portastudio and they realized they could too. If you weren’t around, you’d get a completely wrong impression. But if you weren’t around…

You’d have no idea what it was like in that era. That’s the best part of the book, setting the scene.

It was just before MTV. The worst we’d experienced was corporate rock and disco, and in truth that Boston album was fantastic, still is, and we’re still listening to disco today, it never went away, they just call it something different.

To be a rock star…

Tech? People didn’t have a computer on their desk, they still marveled that they had a remote control to change channels on their tube TV!

Incomes had a lot fewer zeroes.

And music had a lot more impact.

MTV commercialized it beyond comprehension. Suddenly, you could be famous all over the world, and coupled with the advent of the overpriced CD, riches were rained down on many.

And that’s been the paradigm ever since. Worldwide domination.

But in truth it’s working the other way. It’s the music from other continents that is growing, not rock spreading from the U.S. and U.K.

And it’s about becoming a brand, selling out. It’s part of the paradigm. No one leaves any money on the table. They want more. There are so many perks to acquire, and if you’re lucky you can do privates for the man and fly in his jet. Who’s jerking off who here? Who’s winning?

The corporation.

But it used to be different. Used to be reversed. The musicians were at odds with the corporations. It was all about truth, laying down the essence of life. That’s what Springsteen’s goal was.

And he cut “Nebraska” thinking it was just demos, and since he wasn’t trying to get it right, he got it right. And could not get it right with the group thereafter, or by himself. Something was captured on that cassette. Sound like the major music business today, where you have twenty writers and endless mixers? Of course not!

So money is not primary to Bruce, it’s the sound. Just getting the album EQ’ed. I lived through that, I remember the stories from the mastering engineers.

And Bruce was not on the cover of the record and there was no hype.

Have you been following the Mellencamp hype? In the last couple of weeks there have been stories everywhere, about this inherently unlikable guy, his own worst enemy. Uber-talented, but… He needs to sell tickets, so he hired a team to get the word out, and odds are you’re unaware or you’ve seen the message so many times as to be turned-off, I certainly am.

But the bottom line is it doesn’t work anyway.

Springsteen recently put out a covers album. Endless hype and explanation. Since then, crickets.

As for the brouhaha over ticket prices? It died down and we never heard about it again. It was ugly, people who spend a C-note on dinner complaining a concert cost more. Talk about being two-faced and living in the past… And it turned out you could get tickets no problem. Speaking of tickets, AmEx just sent me a message saying I could get great Taylor Swift tickets at face value. Yet the media makes it sound like it’s akin to trying to get a covid vaccine in December 2020, impossible.

But that’s all rabble-rousing. That’s how it is today. But it was very different yesterday.

So what you’ve got is this alienated f*ck with ideas in his head, and no one could say no, because they believed he was tapped in, that Bruce was bringing tablets down from the mountaintop. And they only wanted to serve him.

And then the album came out and he cracked up. Moved to Hollywood and entered a deep depression. What next?

This is not an overpaid exec at the corporation. All Bruce has got is himself. He’s got to feed the machine, he wants to feed the machine, he wants the attention even if he isn’t quite sure how to handle it.

And what does it all mean?

How does it all fit together?

Bottom line, most people can’t understand. They see the dollar signs first. They’re all about jumping through the hoops of life: high school, college, job, marriage, kids… But if you’re an artist, none of those exist!

This is a very easy book to read.

But if you’re not interested in Springsteen, do you care?

There’s almost no buzz about it. But if you’re a Boss fan it’s a must-read. And if you’re not, you should read it anyway. Overlook Zanes’s frequently over the top analysis, but stay for the insight into Bruce.

This is not the Broadway show.

This is the real nitty-gritty.

This is not your friend, this is someone on a trip, a venture into the unknown, he doesn’t know what he wants, but he’s gonna go on the journey anyway.

And it’s a solitary trip. There is no posse, no hangers-on. No dinners with friends. It was very lonesome.

But Bruce has no problem being alone. It’s people he’s got a problem with.

The people need to read “Deliver Me from Nowhere” to understand the real Bruce.

Then again, I’m not sure Bruce understands himself. He’s on a journey of discovery, pushing the envelope, and he ultimately got millions interested in going on the ride. The same millions who now don’t want him to change. He’s rich, but he’s in prison.

Fascinating.