He’s a rock star. And nothing he does will alienate his core fans. Sexual peccadilloes, financial improprieties, none of them make a difference, people need hope, they need to believe in something, and at least a third of this country believes in the Donald.

Maybe you read yesterday’s “Times” article. I doubt it, but I did. And it was inside baseball, boring, there was no real smoking gun. Oh, there were Ivanka’s “consulting fees” (the issue here being that Trump deducted them), the low or no payments in certain years and finally the argument over the $70 million plus refund. Which on the surface seems unjustified. Turns out the government just gives you the money, it doesn’t ask any questions until AFTER it pays you, and we all know possession is nine-tenths of the law. Be rich enough to hire the best attorneys and you can fight the government endlessly.

But none of that truly resonates with the public, even though the headlines have been displayed everywhere in the past twenty four hours. But if you follow boxing, and it seems that it’s only those interested in baseball who do, the youngsters are only interested in MMA, which is why Joe Rogan is such a star, you know it’s called the one-two punch. And it’s the TWO that does the damage.

Well, the “New York Times” just landed the two:

“How Reality-TV Fame Handed Trump A $427 Million Lifeline”

No rock star makes it without a manager. And you need a great manager to sustain. We can talk about Irving Azoff, the Q-Prime twins, Bruce Allen…well in this case Trump’s manager was Mark Burnett. Click on the link above, you’ll see him right at the top, in a picture with Trump.

Furthermore, truly great managers can make almost anyone a star, especially if they can sing and are good-looking. Look at what Lou Pearlman did with Backstreet Boys and NSYNC. Yes, Lou did it more than once, he was a great manager, and also a liar and a thief. And Lou invested the money he stole, the same way rock managers invest the money they made dealing dope, to break his acts. It was all about the spend. Took years for Backstreet Boys to break in the U.S. But Lou Pearlman believed.

Mark Burnett may not be a crook, but he’s got the best track record in reality television, one can argue he invented the genre with “Survivor” (oh, don’t talk about MTV’s “Real World” or PBS’s show about the Louds, those were more cinéma vérité). And Burnett had a formula, he was just lacking a star.

Talk to any label head, they’re not looking for talent so much as STARS! Charismatic people who sell themselves. And in the rock era of yore, if you alienated a bunch of people, if you played your game to excess, that was even better. Which is why Led Zeppelin and the mud sharks at the Edgewater Inn and Ozzy biting off the head of a bat burnished their image amongst acolytes. They were the OTHER and that’s what used to sell music, alienation. The acts were not traditional winners, they were outsiders, who were emerging victorious, making bank in a game they devised, leaving in their wake abused hotel rooms and women.

And everybody wanted to be a rock star, they wanted the PERKS!

And as greed grew the economy, made the rich richer and minted new billionaires, the belief was that money could buy the rock star lifestyle, the dope, the girls…the trail of destruction in their wake. And that’s exactly what Trump did, he made himself a local rock star in New York, and then Mark Burnett blew him up nationally, internationally!

It takes money to make it, and Trump had plenty, his father was rich. As for his son Donald being a bad businessman and blowing it, never forget Edgar Bronfman, Jr. sacrificed the entire Seagram empire. The next generation is not known for its business acumen. It was born with a silver spoon in its mouth, with a pedigree, and this second generation trades on it, oftentimes it’s the only thing they’ve got, they’re not educated and they never suffered, therefore not needing to succeed to leave their mark.

So, Trump took his dad’s money to make it. And his dad was a crook too, that was the essence of the 2018 “New York Times” Trump tax story. It’s got to do with middlemen and valuation and write-offs and I won’t bore you, but if you’re sophisticated, which most people are not, and that’s exactly the point, you know how this game is played, and how it’s abused and how oftentimes offenders emerge victorious, especially in an era where the IRS is continually gutted.

So, Trump uses his dad’s money to make a mark. Saving Wollman Rink.

And then he goes on an all-out publicity campaign, FOR YEARS!

And he hoodwinks the press. He learned from Roy Cohn. And if you watched last night’s “Vow” episode you know that with enough money you can sue your opponents to death, Barbara Bouchey spent 700k on her defense just to emerge intact. So, Trump was known as a fighter, and either you liked him for his outrageous antics, like Howard Stern, or you were afraid to go against him because he would sue you ad infinitum, and most people did not have the money to defend themselves and who wanted to bother with Trump anyway.

Yes, Trump had been around New York forever. There are always bands like this, and when they make it you scratch your head. THOSE GUYS? But it turns out they had the one element that truly makes you a star…THEY NEEDED IT! And Trump needed it.

Now Trump spent his own money until he signed with a label, in this case Burnett/NBC, yes, Burnett had a production deal just like so many managers have with their charges, so they can make extra dough.

And it takes real money to make it. You can get started on TikTok, but if you want to sustain, you need that big label cash. And now Trump had it. And he started making money hand over fist.

And like a modern rock star, not one of yore, Trump was not worried about his credibility, he’d whore himself out to anybody who paid. Come on, you’d see him in those ads hyping crap and you’d laugh.

And then, just like a traditional rock star, who knows how to be famous but has little business sense, Trump blew it all. But instead of buying quickly depreciating automobiles, Trump purchased golf resorts. Kinda like rock stars investing in restaurants. Some people make money serving food, but it’s really difficult and there are slim margins. Same deal with golf clubs.

And now Trump is broke.

Now if you’re a rock star, you write off the sins of the past, get a new manager and go on the endless road to pay for your lifestyle. After all, your fans still believe in you.

But there are many more zeros in Trump’s investments. And he’s personally liable for so much of the debt and…

It’s all crashing down on him.

You wanted to believe Trump was smart, he’s not.

You wanted to believe he’s a good businessman, he’s not.

You wanted to believe he was not compromised by foreign countries/investors, he is.

Don’t bother to argue with me, those are the facts. Just vote for him anyway, like you plan to do, and we’ll see you on November 3rd.

As for the horse race, as for tomorrow’s debate, it’s a complete waste of time. It’s like VH1’s “Behind the Music” or some crappy MTV fighting show. There’s little reality involved. And, AND, the truth is there are almost no undecideds, it’s a myth. But, if Biden does well, he might inspire people to come out and vote, but I doubt it.

Speaking of coming out to vote, did you see the “Hamilton” clip?

“Hamilton X When We All Vote”

It’s not a hit. That’s the modern music business. It doesn’t matter who you are, if it’s not a hit, it ain’t gonna fly. Just ask Justin Bieber, who tried to hype himself and game the system with his last work and it fell flat. You smile at Lin-Manuel Miranda’s concept, but you don’t need to see it again.

A hit is really hard to create.

But if you have enough hits you can leverage them into a lifetime career. Which is what Trump has done. People have forgotten his stiffs, and like with Kanye, they like to watch the movie. Kanye’s impact in the recording world has been fading, but when he’s off on one of his bipolar rants/activities the press covers it like he’s still number one. This is the world we live in, and now more than ever you need to light yourself on fire in order to gain widespread attention.

So, read the second “Times” piece linked above. It’s not like the first piece, you don’t have to know that the $70+ million Trump and the government are fighting over has to do with tax law that says in order to take the write-off you can’t have any continuing interest in the corporation, and Trump maintained 5%, this second article is sheer show business. As for the bad business, isn’t that what rock stars do?

So, this is like “Rolling Stone” and rock rags trumping up the Van Halen M&M’s story. Or Alice Cooper’s various stunts. No one fact-checks, no one explains it, they just print it.

As for those who do yell and scream, the mainstream media is afraid of them. Bill Maher claiming over and over that Trump wouldn’t leave. Sarah Kendzior saying Trump’s government was an authoritarian kleptocracy. You see mainstream media is all about the institution, the gravitas, but we live in a world where gravitas and credibility are out the window.

So, you must read this “Times” article to find out how you were conned. How Donald Trump employed show business techniques to pull the wool over everybody’s eyes and become president. It’s akin to Milli Vanilli. Clive Davis was responsible for that, and he sustained, just like Mark Burnett, he blamed it on someone else, but both are responsible.

Burnett took a middling act and made it a superstar. And then Trump behaved like every other rock star and doubled-down until he burned it all to the ground.

And Trump won by being outrageous, by not observing the norms. Like the Beatles, smoking and doing dope and saying they were bigger than Jesus. Sure, there was blowback, but their fans loved them even more for it!

Not only had the media never seen the act, but neither had government, neither had D.C. Trump was like hip-hop coming along to kill rock. People still say rock is alive when hip-hop has been here for ages, and is flourishing.

You can’t live in the past.

But the truth is America is dumb. And so are its institutions. It’s not only Trump, but people like Lindsey Graham, begging for cash on Fox just like Macy Gray hyping her new album at the VMAs. If you’re looking for someone to believe in, look in the mirror. Only you know your personal truth. Only you can decide if you want to rip people off or be honest and trustworthy. But it’s hard to fly straight when all the winners do not. But in an era where the gap between winners and losers is greater than ever, the losers are desperate, to glom on to anything to try and make it, like Trump University, otherwise life is just too damn depressing.

And never forget, true fans are the last to let go. I still get e-mail and tweets from Taylor Swift defenders. As Taylor and her team manipulate the chart to say she’s the biggest act of the summer when nothing could be further from the truth.

But hey, that’s SHOW BUSINESS!

Why BOOMERS Hate POP Music – Rick Beato

I had to watch this to see how Rick deals with the hate.

We live in a funny world, with so many marketing messages incoming, people are preaching to their choir, the usual suspects, it’s not only politicians who do this.

So…if your income is dependent upon recording income, you say you love what’s on the radio, in the Spotify Top 50. If you’re a boomer, or even a Gen-X’er, you act like you’re younger, you say that today’s music is no different from what came before, it’s just as good, and that the nature of music is it’s made to offend parents.

I’m not down with that. Don’t believe it. I think that’s an easy explanation. Yes, are some parents offended by the new sounds? Of course! But the story is most millennials grew up with the music of their boomer parents, and they like it. Furthermore, many rappers know not only the history of hip-hop, but Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith too, so just because older people don’t like the new sound that does not mean that older people are inherently wrong, that they just don’t get it.

And then there’s the touring side of the business. Where the most bucks are made by the boomer artists. Furthermore, it’s not only old people going to the shows, talk to anybody on stage, they’re stunned by the number of youngsters in the audience.

But the world revolves around the new. The fresh. Today we’re crippled because there’s so much of it, but inherently we want new experiences, that’s what thrills us. Sure, it might be fun to watch one of your favorite old movies, but the thrill is when you see something new that is great.

So, Rick Beato references the blowback, and then he delineates what the dislike is about. And as you listen to what he has to say, as he plays the keyboard to illustrate the sounds, it’s hard not to agree with the boomers, because it seems modern music has been chiseled down to the most basic elements. As Rick says, boomers are looking for changes, and a lot of today’s music doesn’t have any. But isn’t it the Beatles who’ve lasted longer than anybody in the past fifty years? And their records were loaded with changes!

After watching the above video, you might want to listen to the video that inspired it:

“I just listened to the Top 10 on Spotify…WTF?”

Actually the title does not reflect the content of the clip. Beato is respectful of the new sounds. And in both clips he talks about the production… But that’s like admiring the assembly line and at the end you get an Edsel, not a Tesla. It may be well-made, it may be interesting to see how it was made, but is the end product really interesting?

In today’s L.A. “Times,” there’s a story on TikTok:

“TikTok has been saved. But for music, is that a good thing?”

Once again, I don’t think the content truly serves the headline, at least not artistically, but the question is significant. What works on TikTok is bites. And some music can be distilled to this, but a lot of music cannot.

So, we might be seeing a great bifurcation. Between pop music and everything else. Everything else never enters the Spotify Top 50, never gets on Top Forty radio, the mainstream music business ignores it, the blockbuster mentality rules in a world where nothing is as big as before nor as successful. It’s akin to the movie studios making high concept movies that can play around the world…now their thunder has been stolen by Netflix and other streaming outlets, making niche product, the kind of stuff that used to be Hollywood’s bread and butter.

Maybe there no longer is a mainstream. Maybe it’s not as simple as other genres superseding hip-hop and pop on the Spotify Top 50. Maybe it’s more about other genres growing in mass, just like a lot of what is distributed by the majors is actually indie, they’re claiming market share based on the indies utilizing their pipeline.

So, in this world if you’re not questioning yourself, your opinion means little. But we’re also in an era of groupthink, and if what you say is contrary to the accepted wisdom not only are you alone, but you’re excoriated, hated, burned to the ground, and that doesn’t feel good for anyone.

But music was always the land of individuality. It was always based on those undeniable hits, the one listen smashes, the innovative stuff in between not only the tripe, but the B’s and B+’s. It’s one thing to create for TikTok, it’s quite another to push the envelope with something that is for your ears only.

Food for thought.

“Bill Murray Faces Legal Threat From Doobie Brothers – A lawyer for the band demands that the actor pay for using the song ‘Listen to the Music’ in an ad for his William Murray golf wear.”

What kind of crazy, fucked-up world do we live in where a letter from a lawyer gains more traction than the work of almost every musician?

One in which said letter evidences creativity that the music does not.

Google shows 1,250 results when I search on “paterno doobie.” Furthermore, my e-mail inbox and iMessage threads have been going wild since yesterday. I didn’t get this much reaction when Bruce Springsteen released new music, I don’t get this much reaction when ANYBODY releases new music!

Now if you know Peter Paterno you know two things. One, he actually is a music fan, a big one. And two, he’s a real lawyer. Too many music lawyers are actually schmoozing business people masquerading as attorneys. And if you think you can’t go against Trump, they consider themselves part of a club, which protects each other. The acts come and go, but they and those who are ultimately responsible for their revenues, labels much less these days, sustain. But Peter will give you the legal theory, and he’ll stand up to anybody. He’s one of a kind. HE’S GOT PERSONALITY!

Oh, I’m not saying he’s dancing on the table being the life of the party, just that he’s in color when too many are in black and white. And he’ll challenge precepts. Whether it be those in the music business or traffic court. Too many lawyers are by the book, not Peter. Which is why after his tenure at Hollywood Records he went back to practicing law and his clients came back, which has never happened before. Yes, if you know your music business history especially in the seventies, labels were run by lawyers. They’d leave for the big check and after their tenure was over, and it always comes to an end, if they were lucky they could get a gig at a big firm and fade away. The clients did not come back, they had new people, and their old attorney was not THAT good, but that is not Peter.

But this isn’t about Peter’s client roster, which includes everybody from Dr. Dre to Metallica, but the nature of our business.

Too many are unwilling to rock the boat. Both creatively and in business. They get locked into a mind-set and then they repeat it endlessly. And we haven’t had a breakthrough sound in decades. Used to be something would come along and wipe out what was stale, the way grunge killed hair bands and their ballads, but not today. It’s possible to ignore new music and be quite comfortable, whereas music, its acquisition and listening to it, was religion. You didn’t go to the gig to shoot selfies, you went to meld your mind with the band!

If you can teach creativity at all, it’s when kids are very young. Then again, our educational system beats innovation right out of children. It teaches them to conform, by rote, schools teach to the test. Isn’t it funny that some of our greatest legends dropped out of college? I went to college, it didn’t set our minds free, if anything it taught us to respect our elders and do what was expected of us. And if you tested the limits, even got close to the rails, even if you were doing the work well, you were blackballed. I know from experience.

And I went to law school where they teach you to write in a way the rest of the world cannot understand. The gobbledygook you see in record contracts. They could be written in plain English, but then lawyers would not get paid as much and labels would have less elbow room to screw artists. Ever since Watergate no one respects attorneys, no one! And even the best are compromised, like David Boies with both Harvey Weinstein and Theranos.

If you’re not willing to challenge convention, if you’re not willing to hang it out there, don’t even start in the music business, we don’t need you. Which is why some of the most legendary songs of all time were written in a matter of minutes and Berklee and other schools training musicians rarely turn out hitmakers, these schools teach you to be members of the group and conform, when true artists are individuals with an edge. Come on, those you respect, like John Lennon, also had reputations for being assholes…maybe they just couldn’t suffer fools.

Paterno injects humor into something that’s always dry. And it’s not only one line, it flows throughout the letter. And he insults the product when it’s got nothing to do with the subject matter at hand. Murray is a comedian and he knows he can’t keep a straight face. And the dirty little secret of high level business is lawyer letters are sent all the time, usually sledgehammers, and oftentimes the recipients ignore them, if anything they’re laughing at the money and force spent in delivering them. But Paterno is showing Murray that they come from the same irreverent background, and zetzing him to the point where I’m sure Murray is ashamed.

What most people don’t know about the law is it’s all about the end result. I certainly didn’t learn this in school, but from a sole practitioner. You don’t sue someone who can’t pay and you don’t waste money setting up your lawsuit if you can settle it easily. And it’s almost always about settling. It’s only the deep-pocketed assholes with attorneys on retainer who fight you to the end.

As for copyright infringement? WHAT WAS BILL MURRAY THINKING? There’s no excuse. You can’t use his likeness or anything related to him without paying. He can try to blame someone in the chain, but it doesn’t ring true. As for all that e-mail I get from business owners pissed that performing rights associations are charging them to play music in their establishment, just one boom box in a coffee shop, maybe this will make them understand what is at stake. If you use it, you should pay for it.

But, what is worth using?

If you didn’t crack up, if you didn’t smile reading the Paterno letter I feel sorry for you, you’ve got no sense of humor. You marveled at the creation, it sustained its tone and quality throughout. It was an album where all the tracks were great, and how often do you encounter that these days? It made its point without overplaying its hand, like a musician who knows what you don’t play is often more endearing than what you do, in other words you can layer so many instruments, add so many notes, that you end up killing the production.

So, everybody talks about virality but almost no one achieves it. Furthermore, it’s all done by established recipe. Old wave PR is especially excruciating. Get hype ink in traditional media, to the point if you’re paying attention at all, and most aren’t, you’re turned off. Or, manipulating TikTok. Yes, the business and its artists find a formula and repeat it to the point it’s stale, they use it up and the public goes elsewhere. Meanwhile, Peter Paterno writes a private letter and it goes wild, everybody knows about it, even people who don’t care about music, who’ve got no idea who Peter Paterno is.

The story was broken by Eriq Gardner on Twitter:

Bill Murray receives a legal demand from the Doobie Brothers. And it’s everything you’d want it to be… pic.twitter.com/R1L99yZSBj

— Eriq Gardner (@eriqgardner) September 24, 2020

Eriq’s only got 10,700 followers. He’s not Kim Kardashian. He found the story interesting and then it went wild. Everyone always asks me how they can get their song heard, how can they spread the word. WRITE SOMETHING AS GOOD AS PETER PATERNO’S LETTER!

Which may be one reason Paterno’s still working and so many have been excommunicated from this business. Yes, if you’re old, you’re gone, unless you’re working on the touring side or on stage playing your hits of yore.

And Peter could not have written this letter without experience. He tapped all he’d been through, learned to deliver this short letter. Which is why the music of the prepubescent is so often worthless. Who cares if your kid is twelve, I don’t want to hear what she or he has to say, there’s no insight, no wisdom, no road miles. Which is why kid stars usually don’t have any legs, once they grow up, no one’s interested, the main attraction was their youth.

Too many of our creative fields are stale. Because they’re not populated by people like Peter Paterno. These people call themselves “creatives” well, all I can tell you is Paterno is more creative than seemingly everybody employing that moniker, and he’s a lawyer. Creativity is something you exhibit, you need to earn your stripes over and over again, testing the limits, pushing the envelope.

Like Peter Paterno.

I’m afraid to go to bed.

Because I know I won’t be able to stay asleep.

Last night at ten my phone rang. Which was weird, because I was streaming music to my ears, at first I thought there was a reception problem, being high in the Santa Monica Mountains. But then I heard the ring, fished my phone out of my pocket, saw it was my sister Jill and I slid to connect.

She asked me how my day was. Kinda strange, that’s not how she usually opens up a conversation. And the older I get, the less I say on the phone. Something happened to me thirty years ago, and now unless I’m in the groove, unless I know you really want to hear what I say, I tell a very short story, and in this case I did. Then Jill told me she’d had a really bad day. She was dropping adjectives and she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders and I expected more about my mother and my nephews and then she said…

Judd Magilnick died.

I was shocked. Literally stopped in my tracks. Unable to speak or move. Jill thought the connection was lost. Ultimately I said yes, I was still there.

We grew up together. His mother and mine had a business, Day Trippers, that ran bus trips to cultural institutions. They never made any real money, but they committed themselves, and loved to laugh, tell jokes over the mic on the bus, they even got some ink in the local paper. As for business sense? They had none. So my father would comment, trying to set them straight, which would make my mother furious, and Maury, Judd’s dad, gave the needed legal advice. My father and Maury grew up together, without a pot to piss in. Maury went to Yale and became an attorney and in the early sixties he said to my father…”Moe, they’re going to do redevelopment in Bridgeport, and if you become a licensed appraiser, I’ll use you on all my cases, because no one knows as much about real estate as you do.” So my dad took a two week summer course at UConn, and then a one week one at the University of Chicago during a cold January thereafter, and he was in business. Normally a real estate appraiser is a schlepper, in a bad plaid sport jacket. My father only wore the finest threads, he was legendary, he made as much money as any lawyer or doctor, and whenever we got on the new Route 8 connector, he’d say it was the Morris Lefsetz Memorial Turnpike, that’s how much money he’d made on condemnation, the state’s attorney general told me they should have just paid my father a million dollars to go away, Connecticut would have come out ahead.

Judd went to a different elementary school. But once we hit junior high, we were all thrown in together at Fairfield Woods. I remember going to his Bar Mitzvah party. We got in a bus which took us to Mill River Country Club, which my parents ultimately joined, where they had a number of hits and dropped the bodies by the parking lot, but that’s a story for another day.

Judd wore braces. Mine came much later, but in junior high they were legion. And he had this orange wax he employed to lessen the pain.

And when we got to high school, Judd decided to run for student council. A friend of his family made stickers for him, in an era where that was exotic, they said “Hey Bud, Vote For Jud.” Yes, they spelled his name wrong. We laughed about it. And now I remember another, “You won’t relish Diane Melish.” That was his opponent. Judd won.

And in geometry, there were too many students, not enough seats, so Judd and I sat at a table in the front of the room. Judd would crack jokes throughout the class, we all did, that’s what made the class interesting, Mrs. Spitalny laughed along with us. And I’ll never forget, we’re studying imaginary numbers, and Judd sings in my ear…”These i’s…” Yes, the Guess Who song was a hit then. And Judd was famous for his puns. Literally, he seemed to have introduced them to the school and he was an endless fount of them.

Another hip teacher was Mrs. Hurley. She took us to see Janis Ian in New York. Actually, Judd started a film company, Halcyon Films, and used the end of “Society’s Child” in his first movie. Ultimately I was his sound man, because I knew how to use a Nagra, for a film he made for the Town of Fairfield, but making a movie back then…that was rare, making one on your phone was science fiction, not even something we dreamt about.

So, Mrs. Hurley was the advisor to the “Crimson Crier,” the school newspaper. And she made Judd the editor when we were juniors, which was unheard of. And in the last issue of the previous spring there was a drawing on page two which said “Crown Prince…Judd Magilnick.” I ended up sports editor.

So, Judd went to college, at his dad’s alma mater, but our families being close I’d see him all the time anyway. And after our freshman year, we went to visit my roommate on Cape Cod, in Wellfleet. We took Judd’s mother’s Country Squire. And we listened to Jethro Tull’s “Stand Up” on my portable Norelco and…I vividly remember listening through Rhode Island. And I remember hearing the Raiders’ “Indian Reservation” when we resorted to the radio, this was long before most cars had FM.

And there were so many other memories. Judd getting Kneissl Blue Star skis. And getting “Electric Ladyland” for his birthday. And Judd was not the best athlete, nor the biggest rock fan, but he was game.

And when I finally moved to L.A. permanently, I lived with Judd in Culver City. He introduced me to Pronto Market, which was a predecessor to Trader Joe’s. But…I bought this car wash fluid to wash my 2002 and somehow the bottle flipped and it got on the rug and Judd was apoplectic. He was worried about the landlady, who ultimately placed a mini-frisbee of new carpet in the space and didn’t mind at all, especially since the rug was one of those cheap, super-thin jobbies in an era where it was all about shag. But this put a rupture in our relationship. I’ll admit, I didn’t take it all as seriously as Judd did, but somehow this problem was fuel for all the issues he was going through at the time and not long thereafter, I got my own apartment, a dark single in West L.A., which had been the plan all along, but my ‘rents didn’t want to lay down that much cash at the time, but then I convinced them this was the cheapest place I could get as I went to law school.

But once we lived separately all the discord fell away. Judd worked for a movie producer and…

Someone stole his Camaro. He bought an MGB as a replacement and he cracked it up and he just couldn’t tell his father. Eventually, my dad was in town, could see Judd was depressed and asked him why and after Judd told him he convinced him to tell Maury and it ended up not being a big deal, and the best part of the story was nearly two years later the cops found his Camaro, painted blue instead of white, in much better shape than it was when it was stolen and Judd ended up driving it for years.

We went our separate ways. We were on different tracks, but we were linked, primarily through our mothers, who were best friends. I knew every lick of Judd’s life, his wife, his kids, even though I only saw him face to face once in a while.

And all this went through my brain last night, during that silence, during that shock, my sister was talking but the memories were flooding back, first Mrs. Spitalny’s class, then the Bar Mitzvah party, then the Blue Stars, I just couldn’t believe it.

And I still can’t believe it.

Judd was 67. Would have been 68 in December. He’s just a little older than me, or was. You can’t die at this age, we’re not prepared for it.

Oh, you can die tragically, in a wreck, as a result of illness, but regular end of life stuff?

Yes, I’m now at the age where people die.

And I kept telling Jill “The end is the end. It’s over.” I thought Judd had one Hail Mary left, to achieve his artistic dreams. But that’s kaput. Over. Done.

He had a massive heart attack. Can you imagine? All of a sudden you feel something, you’re wide awake and…the lights fade out, that’s all she wrote.

And just days before Toby had a heart incident. He’s my age too. Needed two stents. The bomb was ticking, the widowmaker was blocked, but he listened to his body and was saved.

I don’t know Judd’s health routine. All I know is my doctor told me if I continued to see him I’d never ever die of a heart attack. And when some of my numbers were off, he sent me to this heart specialist, who does these in-depth tests and then creates an individual regimen for you. The first time I saw her, she said I was “near heart attack.” I mean I’m just wandering the planet, I feel fine. And to this day I think she was overstating it, and I have gotten into it with her, and her point was…the odds were low, but it could have happened. And this doctor costs a fortune. She doesn’t take Medicare, you lay down $1800 a year. But to me, my health is worth it. I’ll save you from a quote of my shrink bill. But what does it matter how much money you’ve got if you’re dead? And statistics will tell you the wealthier you are, the longer you live, and they attribute this all to health care. So I’m spending a fortune on such. I’ll pay extra to see the best doctor, even though I’m not rich and I haven’t got a ton in retirement savings, but…

Well, my father was similar. And his good friend Harry was not. But my father died at 70 and Harry died at 90. So, you can do your best and still get screwed.

And I can never forget Warren Zevon, who was afraid to go to the doctor, so by time he had so much pain he went for a visit and found out he had cancer, it was too late. And Toby reinforced what I already knew, that men have a hard time showing weakness, even going to the doctor, they think they’re gonna tough it out. Yeah, tell that to your biology.

So, I can only speculate what happened in Judd’s case. Did he tell his doctor his dad died of heart problems at 68? Did he do everything right and the odds were against him? All I know is it’s over, done, kaput.

And I came home and woke up Felice and told her.

And when I turned out the light…I could not fall asleep. And ultimately I’d sleep for an hour or so and wake up, over and over and over again. But the weird thing is today I’m not tired, adrenaline is pumping.

And I was so weirded out I called my mother, because Jill said she’d told her. And my mother, who’s almost 94, told the story of Judd over and over and over again, because that’s what she does, repeats herself and can’t find words and can’t remember what she just said and recently she’s hopped off the phone quickly but today she couldn’t stop talking and what I thought would be five minutes was over half an hour and I didn’t want to throw her off but I had a commitment, to do a podcast, never mind all the e-mail I was planning to answer that I was now too shaken up to respond to.

And Jill said she couldn’t sleep either.

And today was one of those crazy days when everybody is looking for me. You know, you’re answering e-mail, new e-mail is coming in, meanwhile iMessage keeps dinging and you’re responding to multiple threads and it takes a toll but one thing’s for sure, you feel fully alive.

Then Felice and I watched “The Stranger” on Netflix and she went to bed and I contemplated doing the same, but when I walked into the kitchen, I was wide awake. So I finished the day’s newspapers, which I hadn’t had time for earlier. I tried to read some magazines, but my mind was racing and I couldn’t comprehend them and they were so lowbrow anyway. That’s one thing you can definitively say about Judd, he was never lowbrow. And then I read this great book figuring it would tire me out but it never did.

And that’s when I realized I could put my head on my pillow but still never sleep.

Oh, I forgot. Just before I read the papers I checked my phone. Jill told me there was a Zoom funeral tomorrow, Friday, at 9 AM.

Now I’m never up at 9 AM unless I’m skiing or it’s an emergency. But now all I could picture in my mind was Judd in a casket. The image just wouldn’t go away. And I really should call his mother, but what exactly am I gonna say? You don’t want to outlive your kids. And when someone is taken prematurely it’s hard to laugh, even though Judd himself was always ready with a joke.

So here I am. It’s three in the morning. And I know life is for the living, but I just cannot get Judd out of my head. The imagery keeps flowing. And then, and then…the thought creeps in that this is only the beginning. More of my contemporaries are gonna die. Will they have accomplished what they wanted to? I think about this all the time. I sacrificed everything for what I’ve got, people think they know me but they don’t, even when I tell them the facts. I remember having fewer than twenty dollars in my wallet, writing bad checks for the rent and then…shortly thereafter, I had a physical problem. Would I have gone to the doctor sooner if I had cash? Probably. Then again, it was illegal to be sick in my family. But the night before, I had dinner with Judd’s mother and his sister-in-law. Then I walked in my neighborhood all night because the pain was so bad, yes, two, three, four a.m., waiting until I could call my doctor, my friend’s father, who didn’t charge me. Later that day… After shuffling from test to test I found myself laying on the table at Cedars while they cut out a body part. I had pain for years. My wife had left me. I was broke…

At least Judd had a full family life. He became very religious and had five children. And maybe that’s what it’s all about, how would I really know, I don’t have any.

And the truth is ultimately no one is remembered, nobody, not even the Beatles, so if you’re doing it for the legacy…forget about it.

But, at the end…is it all just meaningless? You pass and your people remember you and then they’re gone and you’re a distant memory, scratch that, no one remembers you at all, no one thinks of you.

And Ginny, Felice’s mother, had a friend, a famous friend, married to a household name who passed away and left him alone and he was in his nineties and all his friends were gone and he was just waiting to die. You think you want to live forever, but the truth is you don’t.

So, keep your eyes open. Don’t wait until tomorrow to take action, don’t procrastinate. You may not get another chance.

Like Judd.