Now THAT’S a rock star!

I’m trying to remember the first time I encountered Henry Huggins.

Back in the fifties, you didn’t learn how to read before you went to school, not even in kindergarten, reading was for the first grade. My younger sister Wendy always told us she could read at three, but I never truly believed her, maybe because I was jealous, that she was starting before me, that she’d jump ahead of me, and life is nothing but competition, you learn this at an early age, especially in families.

Miss Godfrey was our first grade teacher. At least that’s how I remember it. Do you ever lie awake at night trying to reconstruct your school history? Not only the teachers you had in elementary and high school, but the courses you took in college? I used to know them by heart, now they’re drifting away, like the faces of those in my graduating class at Andrew Warde High School. The fiftieth reunion was delayed. It’s been rescheduled, as Carly Simon would sing, it’s coming back ’round again, but I don’t think I’ll go. I’ll almost definitely not go. Reviewing the names on the class list I was reminded that I didn’t enjoy their company so much the first time around, why suffer another bite of the apple? But even worse, I don’t know who most of them are. They tell me that reunions are really about hanging with your friends, but if they were truly friends I’ve kept up contact, as for the rest…

So, they start you off with big letters. Then sounds, then words, and suddenly you’re reading. In retrospect, it’s a miracle. And these teachers have the patience of a saint, because not everybody gets it at the same time. And I never wanted to be a teacher, I didn’t want to be stuck in time, the students moved on, they stayed where they were. But the older I get the more I understand it, then again, teaching used to be a respectable, middle class job, now you’re fighting for survival, unless you live in one of those off the grid backwaters like Centerbury. There used to be a lot of them, remember Mayberry? But now, in truth, they no longer exist.

And when you finally get a hold of it, they pass out books. This was a different era, today no one wants to own anything, why should they, when what they want is at their fingertips, on demand, and you can always get the latest iteration, as opposed to something passed down over the years, oftentimes out of date. You remember that stamp in the front cover of school books. You had to write your name down. You saw everybody who had it before you. And if the book was really old, there were not enough lines, you had to enter your name beneath the grid. But even worse was the dates. I remember when it was a thrill reading books written in the sixties, woo-hoo! But most of the school books were years old.

But you had the sense of ownership. Which you were proud of. At least until you got to junior high and they made you cover the books, to protect them, tomes that were oftentimes well past their sale date anyway. Remember getting a brand new school book? That was a rare event.

But in first grade they don’t make you cover the books. Then again, you don’t take them home. They don’t have that many words on the page, you graduate from one book to the next, just a little bit more difficult, and about halfway through the year, when you’re up to speed, you get the “Weekly Reader.” I remember reading about the construction of the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge. I don’t think it was until I was an adult that I finally realized where it went. But the “Weekly Reader” was my first periodical, I’ve been hooked by periodicals ever since. In truth, I gave up reading books for magazines long ago, and I didn’t come back to books until Felice gifted me a Kindle back in 2009. I want something vivid, something up-to-date, information that I can use, that fills out my worldview. Then again, the internet is killing magazines, and in truth it’s about time, they’ve outlived their usefulness, it turns out very few had high standards of writing, and now that we can get what we want from experts 24/7…they seem quaint.

I also don’t remember the first time I went to the library. Fairfield Woods Elementary School had its own. Did your school? I think that’s a feature. But really, it was the downtown library that hooked me, there were two, the one for adults and the one for children. My mother used to dump me in the kids’ one while she did her business in the adult building, and I pulled books and discovered… Is that where I first encountered Henry Huggins?

You remember Henry, there was that damn donut machine. But back then they still spelled it “doughnut.” Talk about a vivid memory. Come on, you can see it in your mind. Having to eat all those doughnuts to find the lady’s necklace. It’s one of my most striking childhood memories!

Not that I ever related to Henry himself, I thought he was kind of a doofus. But, he had a life in his town and although it seemed more of a backwater than mine, he was living in a world where the big issues did not matter, where everything was personal, it was a kid’s eye viewpoint, and that I could appreciate.

And then I found out that Henry Huggins had an entire book!

I believe I first read a Huggins story in an anthology. Maybe in school, maybe in a library book, and then when I was cruising the aisles of the library…

I remember reading about the doughnut machine before anybody else in my class knew about it, and then everybody did. In truth, as much as you recommend books, you want them to be personal, you want to own them, you have a special relationship with them and you don’t want to share.

So I got hooked by Henry.

And that’s where I encountered Beezus, and Ramona.

Now in Beverly Cleary’s obits they focus mostly on Ramona…

Wait a second, it turns out my memory isn’t that good! I wanted to make sure I had their identities right, Beezus and Ramona, and doing research I learned that it was HOMER PRICE and the doughnut machine, not Henry Huggins! And Homer was kind of a doofus, but this now makes it clear, I discovered Henry Huggins at the library, all by my lonesome,

In today’s era of child enrichment, you feed kids books. But back in the dark ages, kids found them on their own. Assuming you were looking. You see some people learn how to read and the whole world opens up to them. And others see reading as a chore, something school makes you do, and turn off right away.

So, do you know what it’s like to find the travails of Henry Huggins all by your lonesome? Not through word of mouth, not by parental push, but purely via your own hunt fueled by curiosity?

You remember curiosity, don’t you? Too many adults have lost the ability to be curious, but if you’re a young kid, your whole life is consumed by curiosity, you want to know EVERYTHING! Life is a bazaar, that is sometimes bizarre, and you can’t get enough of it. The same thing is true as you age, and the discovery process can be just as enticing, it’s just that while they’re teaching to the test they leave this lifetime learning skill out, the ability to be interested, peel back the layers, analyze…

In any event, I read Henry Huggins long before the Beverly Cleary tsunami. It’s like I found her in her Hamburg days. Or maybe on the first single, before she broke big. But I knew she was great, and I had to read everything of hers that I could get my hands on.

But there was no internet back then. I’m stunned reading her bibliography, all these books I never came across, never mind one I did!

Yes, that was called “Centerbury Tales.” That’s where Henry and his compatriots lived. Maybe it’s an anthology, a greatest hits, but I’ve always remembered it, because even at that young age I knew it was a takeoff on “Canterbury Tales.”

Kind of like Henry Huggins himself. His name always reminded me of the character in “My Fair Lady,” Henry Higgins. I thought Beverly Cleary did this on purpose. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t. But that’s one of the great things about being a reader, you come with your own background, you add your own insights, which is why great songwriters tell you what you think the lyrics mean is just as important as what they do.

Anyway, “Beezus” was short for “Beatrice.” The only Beatrice I encountered growing up was Beatrice Foods, which made Dannon yogurt, which my father ate and I did not, back when yogurt was considered a health food. And when that royal family member was named Beatrice… It stuck with me, still does.

And it was Ramona who was the terror. A pain in the ass. Beezus was Henry Huggins’ contemporary, and when you’re in the single digits, age is everything. And the truth is every kid comes with their own personality, I didn’t learn that until recently, I thought you could groom them, make them your own, but that is untrue, you can stifle their personality, but you can’t eliminate it.

And Ramona couldn’t be stifled. Come on, you remember growing up. You’d be in a group and tell the younger kids, the hangers-on, to go home, you were going on an adventure and you didn’t want them to hold you back. At some point they’d cry and…if they came along, they always did. Then again, there was always a kid who could act like their elders, fit in, and they were embraced.

Also, as parents have more children they become less strict, and the younger ones have fewer boundaries and act out more, and without constant supervision they go their own way, get into their own trouble. Then again, does this even happen anymore? We were never supervised. We were told to go outside and not come back until supper. Playing inside? Illegal, only if it was dark or raining. Those were my mother’s rules, back before you spoke back to your parents, for if you did you paid the price, usually with a hand or the belt or the hairbrush or soap in your mouth. Yes, by today’s standards, we were abused children. But we survived. And survivors are always proud, they don’t want to make it easier for those who come after. Like the bar exam, they just shortened it, made it easier to pass, because not enough people could jump the hurdle in California, which was the highest in the nation. Then again, it’s progress.

But some things are forever. Most are not, but then there are Beverly Cleary’s books, not only read by new generations, but remembered by everybody who read them.

And the truth is you outgrow the books of your youth, your reading skills improve and you move on. Actually, it’s kind of a thrill, to have your world widened, to be able to comprehend more.

But getting my memories in order, I now remember Henry Huggins was not a doofus. He didn’t feel like a brother so much as a kid I’d like to befriend if I lived in his neighborhood. Funny how you find your level, your friends, your matches. For me, it’s people with an interior life, who are never the most popular.

So, Beverly Cleary died, at 104, quite a long ride, no complaints. And most of the obituaries talk about the arc, the transition from Henry to Ramona as the star, kind of like with Huckleberry Hound and Yogi Bear. It was Huckleberry’s show, Yogi just had a feature, but you can’t keep a star down, they shine and…

I hope I’m not gonna die soon. You never know, people have been dropping like flies, some from Covid, some not. And it all makes you realize your time here is limited. Everything they tell you about life is true, it goes by in the blink of an eye. Life is short, but it’s also very long, quite a conundrum. And when the years go by, what do you remember? Oh, the stupid TV shows you watched. Maybe most of those you had sex with, their names fade too. But Henry Huggins, Beezus and Ramona…THEY’RE FOREVER!

That’s quite a skill, try to match that. You paid your dues, you built a career, and if you broke through at all, chances are it’s only your generation that is aware and cares about you.

But not Beverly Cleary. Her books mean as much to younger generations as they did to us. They lasted. There was no plan, it just turned out that way. That’s what happens when you start, when you do your best to be original, when you try to write truth as opposed to fantasy, when you’re concerned with what resonates as opposed to what impresses. If only we had more of this. This is what we’re looking for in all of the arts. Something different, out of the norm, something that does not pander, something that reverberates.

Like Henry Huggins. And Beezus and Ramona Quimby.

NOTE: DO NOT EMAIL ME WITH WHAT HAPPENS AFTER EPISODE 4. AS FOR SPOILERS BELOW, REALLY THERE ARE NONE.

We don’t make shows like this in America.

In America, your problems are always secondary. You’re told to be thankful that you’re one of the haves as opposed to the have-nots. Lucky you were born in the greatest country in the world. Of course, people are starving in Europe.

Although they aren’t anymore. But this is what I heard growing up. That’s why I had to finish everything on my plate. Last week it was reported that the average American wastes $3.50 in food every day. Why is our entire nation focused on what we put in our bodies? On one hand, chefs are exalted and cooking shows are triumphant, on the other we keep hearing that we’re eating all wrong, too much, and now we’re throwing it all away?

And it’s impossible to do it right. According to everybody else. You’re eating meat, you’re not eating meat. If you just don’t eat this one thing you’ll be healthy, why is everybody in our business when the truth is they don’t care about us?

Yes, your problems reside in the backseat, if they’re in the vehicle at all. Your tribe is more important, the fight between the enlightened and the ignorant. And now they’re demonizing private schools. Let me tell  you, even though I’ve got no kids, there’s not a parent alive who doesn’t want the best education for their kid, and if they can afford it, they’ll pay for it. I went to college where 45% of the students came from prep schools, and believe me they were prepared, they made me feel like I’d stayed at home reading comic books while they were getting educated in the classics. I thought you pronounced “Celtic” like the basketball team.

That’s another thing an elite education will teach you, how to interact with elite players. You’re sitting at home, believing you can make it if you try, but the truth is you probably can’t, because not only are you unaware of the game, you don’t understand the mentality of the players. I’ll give you a tip, if you meet someone famous…DON’T TALK ABOUT THEIR BUSINESS, DON’T TALK ABOUT WHAT MADE THEM FAMOUS!

But those who’ve been through the system always look back and tear down their exact experience. Which is a head-scratcher, you taught at the elite private school, now you want everybody to go to public school, why didn’t you teach in the public school to begin with?

And I went to public school, but that’s not the point. The point is the only truth that remains is your own, your personal truth. And I’m not talking about the big issues, the economy, I’m talking about your emotions, your choices, chances are you get no direction. And if you get direction, it’s heavy-handed. David Fishof told me he started his rock fantasy camp for doctors, they’re the biggest customers, they spent their whole lives doing something they didn’t want to. Really, they just wanted to be musicians, but their parents wouldn’t approve, and the path was not clearly delineated and the truth is most people would like to be told what to do rather than have to figure it out for themselves.

Like the super-religious.

That’s what “Shtisel” is about, the ultra-orthodox living in the modern world, trying to resist its temptations as they walk a path established for millennia. Orthodox Jews do that in America too. Education is focused on the Torah, not on math and social studies. You have a zillion children. And the government is your safety net. Makes me crazy when other Jews make Jews look bad. Then again, they’ll say they’re saving Judaism, and they may be right, intermarriage in America, the western world, is putting a huge dent in the Jewish population, Judaism just may fade out of its own accord, wouldn’t so many people be happy if it did.

But the Shtisel family lives in Israel. And the Shtisel family doesn’t want to tell everybody else how to live, they look down on everybody else, they just know how they and their tribe live. And you can try to leave, but years of indoctrination, life in the cult, will have you coming back. You yearn for freedom, but you can’t tolerate it. And that’s not only in religious families, think about all the dreamers who just can’t leave their hometown, they’re stuck in a rut, being who they were always supposed to be.

So, Akiva doesn’t fit the mold. Do you know what it’s like not to fit the mold? You feel the blowback everywhere. You can be the teacher’s pet, they dig that, but question authority and you’re out, you’re a troublemaker, even though all the Silicon Valley titans were rulebreakers, it’s part of the American ethos, to think individually and push the envelope, it’s astounding that so many people want to keep us mired in the past.

And you can have a parent who says they care about you, but really cares only about themselves, unless there’s a crisis. Shulem is focused on his job, as headmaster of the cheder, the school, it’s his complete identity, and when it is jeopardized…you cannot take away a man’s job, it’s defines their essence.

So, Akiva lives on emotions and it’s constantly getting him in trouble. He’s late to marry, but he wants a love match. Nobody else gets a love match! And at what age do you become betrothed? When you’re still in school, assuming, if you’re female, that you’re in school at all. It’s scary just to watch, you get married, start having kids, how are you supposed to feed them?

And they may not be endlessly studying, but the women are the heart of the family. The men can’t live without them, and although the wives are supportive, they end up making the final decisions, pushing the family forward.

But all the issues of humanity don’t evaporate just because you’re religious. Nukhem is depressed by personal loss, he can’t get off the couch. Hopefully you’ve never been there, too many have. And Racheli Warburg is rich, really rich, but it doesn’t solve all of her problems, she’s got nobody in her life, and your money won’t make you happy.

And Akiva can’t detach from the past, never mind move into the future.

Ruchami gets married to get out of the house, she gets almost no attention from her young husband who is constantly studying, but she wants what she wants, and that’s…a baby.

Nechama reconnects with her childhood love, their affection never waned, it resided in the back of their minds, just waiting for reignition upon running into each other again.

And people hide the truth, from not only others, but their spouses.

These are all the issues people have, all over the world.

Parents want the best for their children, which might not be the best for the kids. Parents are worried about image. Children are told what to do but can they ever break free?

And finding someone to love… If there were arranged marriages would there be so many mass shootings? Too often they’re perpetrated by those who can’t get laid. What if they could? But we live in a society where you’re either a winner…or everybody else. And if you’re everybody else, you’re ignored and told to pull yourself up by your bootstraps. How exactly do you do that again? I couldn’t have a long term relationship until I went to see a psychiatrist. How could I? I was constantly teased by my family, told what to do, no one satisfied them, and my father was anything but a man’s man, anything but a bro. If anything, my father was the anti-bro, chastising the groupthink and baked-in elitism of the bros. Yes, there are hierarchies not only in business, and if you’re not a member of the group, you’re forgotten. Akiva? Just marry someone and work at the cheder, that’s the family business, everybody else does what they’re told, puts their mind on hold, how come you can’t?

“Shtisel” came back for its third season this week. The last one was five years ago. Things have changed, not only in situation but age, people look older, more mature. And it’s been the highlight of my week so far. Because I’m yearning for truth, I’m yearning for the personal, I’m yearning to relate. Isn’t that what art is supposed to be all about, reflecting ourselves back at each other? You’re not gonna get that in “Peaches,” Justin Bieber’s juvenile new song:

“I got my peaches out in Georgia (Oh, yeah, sh_t)

I get my weed from California (That’s that sh_t)

I took my chick up to the north, yeah (Badass bi_ch

I get my light right from the source, yeah (Yeah, that’s it)”

And you know how many people it took to write that? Can anybody identify with those words? At best they’re aspirational, but really they’re just cartoon dreck. Yet, “Peaches” is #1 and is lauded by all music outlets. It’s like we live in a disinformation society. Same deal with TV shows. Everybody watches what is served up to them, by the network, cable outlet or Netflix algorithm. You can research to find out what’s great, but that’s too much effort, even though everybody lives on their mobile all day long.

Brian Wilson had it right over fifty years ago. He sang about being in his room. We all live in that room. You can hang with your bros, but at some point you’ve got to retire to your bed, what goes through your brain then? Or do you do your best to shut it off, with a mantra, or affirmations, or some other third world wellness b.s.

Yes, there are tons of people who will tell you how to live your life. But the challenge is if YOU can live your life, if YOU can make your choices. Most people are too scared to do this.

Everybody’s the same. No matter how rich or poor. We’ve all got the same problems, and we’re all told our problems are irrelevant, don’t amount to a hill of beans, that we must focus on bigger issues. But first world problems are just as significant as third world problems, if you’re living in your body and are aware. And the truth is you can never shut off your mind, just can’t be done.

The best art draws you in, you meld with it. You don’t watch it, you feel it.

I feel “Shtisel,” and the worst thing is in five episodes it’s gonna end, then what am I gonna do?

We’re all looking for that hit. And despite the plethora of information, of options, it’s very hard to find that connection, that stimulation, that feeling that makes you warm inside, that has you cracking a smile, opening your mouth and saying ahh…

Chances are you can’t relate to the “Shtisel” situation at all. Chances are you’re not Jewish, and chances are if you are Jewish, you’re not super-Orthodox.

But that’s irrelevant, you’ll connect with “Shtisel” just as much.

Art is best when it’s about people. And their truth.

Like “Shtisel.”

Michael Fremer is the king of vinyl, he believed in its comeback when everybody else was selling their LPs. We discuss the availability of presses, demand, sound… Also, Michael is Senior Contributing Editor of “Stereophile” and thus we discuss audio equipment, what you should buy, how much you have to spend for good sound, turntable set-up… Fremer is a giant in his field, you want to listen to what he has to say.

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/michael-fremer/id1316200737?i=1000514347651

https://www.stitcher.com/show/the-bob-lefsetz-podcast

https://music.amazon.com/podcasts/9ff4fb19-54d4-41ae-ae7a-8a6f8d3dafa8/The-Bob-Lefsetz-Podcast

Spotify: https://spoti.fi/3vPg6kl

YouTube: https://bit.ly/3vTi7f4

Did you watch “New Rules” on Friday night? Bill Maher excoriates the wannabes. Turns out people only want the best. And if you’re not, GFL! (I just made that up. Don’t think it’ll be embraced by the mainstream, almost nothing is these days, which is kinda my point. As for the meaning, let’s just say the middle word sends this missive to your spam folder, the last is what you need in Las Vegas and the first is the opposite of bad.

“New Rule: Equality of Outcomes”: https://bit.ly/3lIxu5s

Every day people e-mail me that streaming is unjust and Spotify is the devil and that user-centric payments are the key to equality. Turns out that Spotify itself addressed all these issues last week: https://loudandclear.byspotify.com All the questions are answered, but too many would rather live in darkness believing that they’ve been unjustly persecuted, that their millions have been stolen (I refer you once again to Bill Maher’s “New Rule” above.)

Anyway, if you read Spotify’s “Loud & Clear” you’ll find out that Spotify is not going to allocate any subscription revenue to podcasts, that it’s all going to music. As for having a million streams, which almost none of the complainers even has, it turns out 207,000 songs had a million streams last year, 550,000 songs have more than a million streams and over a hundred songs have a billion. So, put your act in perspective. And, oh yeah, one more thing, revenue is divided up per country. And another, studies show that outside the top 10,000 artists, user-centric payments would only generate at most an extra few euros. But Spotify will try it, if the labels approve it. Once again, a lot of the blame Spotify keeps getting should be directed at the labels, who are taking most of your streaming money if you’re signed to them.

But it just doesn’t FEEL RIGHT! You’re working so hard, where’s your money? Well, check out the two links above and you’ll have answers, but we live in a country where people cannot only not handle the truth, they don’t even believe it!

And then you hear Van Morrison’s “Latest Record Project.”

All day long people send me music, more than could be listened to in a day. And I’d say finding a great one, one that stands above, is like trying to find a needle in a haystack, but the truth is finding that needle is easier.

You know it when you hear it. Even if it’s in the background, even if there’s conversation, other noise, amazing how greatness perks up your ears, primarily because it’s so damn rare.

I’m not sure I can forgive Van Morrison for his anti-lockdown songs, especially when Covid variants were ravaging the U.K., then again he’s always been insane, so many artists are, everybody can’t do everything, politics is a skilled job, as is music, and it’s the lifers, the professionals, who can deliver.

So, now that there’s nowhere for Van Morrison to reach the masses, he’s not like the classic rock acts touring every summer playing the same old damn hits, now he’s making MORE music, albums galore. And unlike David Crosby he’s not complaining, he’s just composing and recording.

“Have you got my latest project?”

Huh? A legend speaking the vernacular in a song, coming down off his throne and selling himself like some social media influencer?

“Not something that I used to do”

Ain’t that the truth!

“It’s not something from long ago

It’s not something that you might not know

It’s something that I wanna grow

In the present, in the moment”

Van is not working in a bubble, detached from reality, then again, we can question his perception, i.e. Covid-19, but unlike all the oldsters, and the youngsters thinking Spotify is ripping them off, he’s not looking back, he’s living in the present, and he wants you to too!

Come on, if you go to the show and they don’t play the classics you feel ripped-off. There’s nobody as calcified as a baby boomer listener.

And at first you might think that “Latest Record Project” is pedestrian junk, and then you hit the change AND IT FEELS SO RIGHT! If anything, it sounds like the work he did with Them back in the sixties. It’s simple, with the nonsense backup vocals, there’s nothing extra, it’s not laden with effects, it’s raw and human and alive, so uncomplicated that a computer couldn’t come up with it, it wouldn’t be programmed for something so simple, in the pocket.

So I’m flicking through new songs. From someone addressing my taste. And I’m stunned that all the music is reasonable, but when I think about hearing it again…nah, it’s not that good. And then I come across this Van Morrison track!

There’s nowhere in the business for a record like this. It couldn’t be further from what Top 40 radio plays, and unlike all the country acts playing the rock of the seventies, it’s not pandering to the audience.

And the truth is Van Morrison has made so many records, and not all of them spectacular, that very few are tracking his new work. But that does not mean he should stop, after all, isn’t this what a musician does, write and perform music?

Van Morrison is 75 and he’s more alive than most of the acts on the chart, singing their written by committee, overwrought records. When done right, music can be so simple, why does it have to be encrusted with all this junk, all these features…BECAUSE IT’S JUST NOT GOOD ENOUGH!

And Van Morrison comes back and teaches us all a lesson.

Come on, if you were alive back then, you can hear this in your ears at the sock hop, in that basement, at that house party. Yet it doesn’t sound retro, but FRESH! Even with the hokey, untreated organ solo, come on you don’t hear that on records anymore, if it’s a keyboard it’s a synth, or it’s treated nearly beyond recognition.

This is what excited us about music so long ago. It wasn’t something you could explain, it was something you felt. And instead of playlists, we had 45s, which we played ad infinitum.

You can play “Latest Record Project” ad infinitum.

YOU SHOULD!

Scratch that, YOU’LL WANT TO!