He’s a gunslinger.

This is not the show I expected. I expected Dave would come out and do a soft rock rendition of his hits for a geriatric audience which remembers “We Just Disagree,” and maybe a smattering of fans of “Alone Together.” Instead, it was just like 1969 or ’70, when the Fillmores were still open, before rock moved to the arenas.

Back then it was about the bands. Sure, they had hit songs, as in many knew them, but the concert was more like a space trip, if the act did its job well, you were lifted by the sound, your burdens were released, you did not expect the live version to sound exactly like the studio take, and the entire show was organic, this was long before ELO used tapes, never mind hard drives.

Dave told me that left to his own devices he’d be on the road 365 days a year, it’s the only thing he knows how to do, what he wants to do, and he’s got no hobbies.

Everybody likes the money, but he’s not dependent upon it, he’s just building up his wife’s trust fund.

As for making it to begin with, his father ran a candy store, and had a small ice cream factory, but Dave knew he was gonna make it in music, he was confident.

I’m not confident, certainly not of making it, how did this guy from Worcester make it?

I mean he was in Traffic then out, he put out one of the great solo LPs of all time, with no clunkers, “Alone Together” is a legend, he had a hit on Columbia…wasn’t he more of a hanger-on with a couple of moments of brightness? Wasn’t he lucky to hook up with Winwood? Was he a second-tier guy?

But then I heard him wail.

There was a drummer, another guitarist and a keyboard player. At a few times during the show there was video, mostly of people who covered “Feelin’ Alright,” but it was really purely about the music.

Who was coming to these shows? I mean if you work constantly, people have seen the act, they’ve heard the hits, why would they come back? But Dave said they did, and it wasn’t about youngsters, he had his audience.
The opener was “World In Changes.”

World in changes still going through
You’ve got a lot to learn about me too

Yes I did!

At this point Dave was playing a twelve string acoustic, but after “World In Changes” finished he switched that for a Strat. Which he testified about later in the show, how owning a Strat was a dream back then, how a radio repairman, Leo Fender, had come up with the idea, and irrelevant of the sound, the shape alone was enough to endure.

And with this red Strat…

Now you’ve got to know, the late sixties especially, maybe the early seventies too, was about the guitar. We worshipped the gods, we bought our own axes to play along, a transcendent guitar player defined an act.

Of course there was Clapton in various configurations, same deal with Beck. Page blew up with Zeppelin. But there was also Ritchie Blackmore in Deep Purple, and of course Hendrix.

Why did Dave Mason play with Hendrix? Why was he on “Crosstown Traffic”? Why was he on “Beggars’ Banquet”? Why was he gonna be one of Derek’s original Dominos? He got kicked out of Traffic, what was his key to success?

Now I get it, it was his skill playing the guitar.

That’s right, the show demonstrated Mason’s dexterity, his ability to hit every note, work his way up and down the neck, it was positively astounding. The guy’s over seventy, this should be a last dash for cash, instead Dave’s still got something to prove, he still lives for that seventy five minutes on stage. He not only enjoys it, he wants to show you that he’s got it, as much as anybody!

Now the funny thing is Dave played Traffic songs he neither wrote nor sang, like “Dear Mr. Fantasy,” and “Rock and Roll Stew,” which was on record after he was gone. This seemed a bit strange, maybe the audience wasn’t that well-versed in his canon. But he also played “Black Magic Woman,” which of course was first a Fleetwood Mac song, written by one of the original gunslingers, Peter Green. And there was a version of Hank Marvin/the Shadows’ “Apache.” Dave said he loved the song, that he didn’t care whether we wanted to hear it or not, he was gonna play it for himself.

Now you might think the audience was pissed, that the sound was too loud, that they thought this was gonna be an evening of soft rock, but there was standing ovation after standing ovation. People who looked retired or close to it, with white hair, wearing slacks and button-down shirts, they rose up joyously, some of them even danced, what was going on?

I mean when we die, this music will be gone. Sure, some kids today are into the classics of yore, but this is really baby boomer music, for people over the hill. But I don’t know of any other musical era that was like this, where the players in their twenties came back with the same enthusiasm and skill in their seventies. This was not the Florida condo circuit, this was rock and roll.

And Dave let the band members sing. The other guitarist did a note perfect version of “Can’t Find My Way Home,” best live take I’ve heard other than Winwood’s.

And “We Just Disagree” was in the middle of the set, shouldn’t he have been saving it for the end?

Now some of those legendary cuts were performed also. Ironically, not “Hole In My Shoe,” the hit from the first Traffic LP, the first song Mason ever wrote.

And no “You Can All Join In” or “Cryin’ To Be Heard.”

But Dave did do “Look At You Look At Me” and “Shouldn’t Have Took More Than You Gave,” the two extended opuses from “Alone Together.”

And usually, if there’s no hard drive, these songs of yore are frail replicas of the originals. But all the parts were there, the little flourishes, Dave and the band were so tight. I mean nobody was dressed up, there was no flash, it was only about the music. And even though the tunes were old, Dave was positively making them fresh again.

Now they did “Can’t Find My Way Home” because Dave opened for Blind Faith as part of Delaney & Bonnie, who he kept bugging Chris Blackwell to sign. And then, while images of those two and the rest of the band performing flashed on the screen, Dave ripped into the number.

I don’t mean to mislead you
It’s just my craziness coming through
But when it comes down to just two
I ain’t no crazier than you

Now that sounds like Delaney and Bonnie themselves, looking at their images took you back when…when there was no internet, when musicians were cool, had chops, and were still in their twenties. That’s why you became a musician, to play music and be crazy, you couldn’t be contained by four walls, you couldn’t work at the factory, this was all you were capable of and you worked damn hard to make it continue, having more fun with the perks than worrying about the money. Why would you endorse some product, it would detract from your essence, what you believed, your credibility.

And all that money is gone now anyway. From high living back then. From getting ripped-off, the only thing left is your skill.

So the band walks off stage and then comes back for what you’re expecting, the encore of “Feelin’ Alright.” Dave prefers Joe Cocker’s version, that’s the one he plays, not the original from “Traffic.”

It was the opening cut on Cocker’s debut album, you heard it all over FM radio, before “With A Little Help From My Friends.”

Dave said the song only had two chords, that was about his speed.

But suddenly over the speakers comes Artie Butler’s keyboard part. I had to look at the player to make sure he was, playing that is, the sound was so perfect.

He was.

And on screen were images of all the people who had covered the song. Blackwell had the publishing, but Dave still has the writer’s share.

Everybody’s standing, one person even with a cane, they’re grooving on the sound, literally fifty years later.

They were feelin’ alright.

And when the music stopped, I told myself “I’d come see this again.”

Usually the oldsters are just a notch in your belt. They pretend they’re still young and give you what you want and it’s creepy, once is enough, even though they keep selling the same show.

But if you look through Dave Mason’s setlists, you find they’re not identical. He’s done “In The Midnight Hour.” “Chain Of Fools.” “Shake, Rattle and Roll.” It’s about music, not stardom, just like it used to be.

These acts are old, sometimes physically incapable, most of their contemporaries in the straight world have already stopped working. But Dave Mason is remaining true to himself, he’s doing the one thing he always did, that he’s great at. You can come and experience the blistering guitarwork or you can stay home in the peace and quiet.

But you’ll be missing out.

He was the first guy we saw with two bass drums and the first guy to do an extended drum solo on record.

Cream straddled the transition from AM to FM. When their first album came out, the only underground FM radio station that existed was WOR-FM in New York. We were still California dreamin’ on the last train to Clarksville. The Beatles were huge, but we all lived in one big homogeneous musical society.

Of course there were hipsters, as there have always been, like the folkies and blues lovers of the late fifties and early sixties, there were always people ahead of the scene, but it was much harder then, there was no internet, only true word of mouth, nothing went from zero to hero overnight unless it was played on AM radio, and Cream was not.

“Disraeli Gears” was released in November ’67, the year underground FM radio began to burgeon, with KMPX in San Francisco joining the aforementioned WOR.

Yup, the scene was that small. So most people were unaware of “Fresh Cream.” And “Disraeli Gears” too.

And then, during the summer of ’68, “Sunshine Of Your Love” crossed over to AM and the band and the scene exploded.

There were a few renegade radio years back then, before Lee Abrams came along and codified the rock format on FM in the seventies. It was kinda like the internet back in the mid-nineties. There were people who had modems from the eighties, and others who got the word in ’96 and instantly bought computers to play on AOL. There was no hate, only exploration.

Never forget the influence of public radio back then, especially WBAI in New York. That’s where I first heard Phil Ochs’s “Outside Of A Small Circle Of Friends.” We twisted the dial, we looked for excitement, we found it, it drove record purchases, but most people were out of the loop.

Of course some people knew Eric Clapton, being blueshounds, knowing his work with John Mayall, but that “Bluesbreakers” album didn’t really blow up until after Cream broke through.

So, you heard “Sunshine Of Your Love” on FM.

Now “Fresh Cream”‘s production was credited to Robert Stigwood, it’s unclear who really twisted the dials, who was really responsible for the sound, but it didn’t have the edge of what came after, it was almost like a blanket was thrown over the speakers.

But Felix Pappalardi produced “Disraeli Gears,” and it was a much better representation of the band’s sound. This was back when stereo was stereo, when instruments were in different channels, when we sat in front of the speakers, put on headphones to get the full effect. This was also when there was so much less on the records, you could hear all the instruments. You could hear Jack Bruce’s voice on “Sunshine Of You Love,” but the key to the track’s success, it’s infectiousness, was that guitar.

But not every track sounded the same. I couldn’t get over “Tales Of Brave Ulysses.” And you didn’t like all the tracks immediately. It was like they were cut in an alien world and delivered to you on this vinyl platter for you to consume, digest and understand.

By now it was ’68. “Are You Experienced” was released in August of ’67, “Axis: Bold As Love” came out in January of ’68, so Cream was no longer alone, “Purple Haze” sat along “Sunshine Of Your Love” at the apex of riff-rock, which really didn’t become a genre, didn’t reach its apotheosis until Deep Purple’s “Smoke On The Water” in ’72, really the live version from “Made In Japan,” which dominated the AM airwaves during the summer of ’73, before everybody had an FM radio in their car, when suddenly the alternative sound was a staple on AM radio and what was left was irrelevant.

But it was still 1968. “Sunshine Of Your Love” was a hit on AM radio and then “Piece Of My Heart,” by Big Brother and the Holding Company. Janis Joplin got a lot of ink, she was a dynamic performer, she could not be denied and when people purchased “Cheap Thrills,” with its R. Crumb cover, we were not in Kansas anymore, although eventually we did get bands from that state, the screw had turned, it was a whole new world in music.

And “Wheels Of Fire” was released in August of that same year, double albums were not unknown, but this one came in silver foil and the second record was a live one.

Now Janis Joplin was the star, she had the energy in Big Brother.

But the energy in Cream all came from the man behind the kit, Ginger Baker. Clapton just stood there. As did Jack Bruce. You couldn’t help but focus on the drummer, who seemed on the verge of losing control as he stoked this freight train down the track. The sheer power impacted your gut.

And the Fillmores were open, but arena rock was still in the future. Acts played the typical music venues, there were few purpose-built spaces, I saw Cream at the Oakdale Theatre, a tent in Wallingford, CT. They added an afternoon show after the evening one sold out. It was theatre in the round, but not in the afternoon, the place was maybe a third full. The band punched the clock, played forty five minutes, but the star was definitely Ginger Baker.

And then “White Room” became a hit and the word got out. Suddenly everybody was talking about Cream. People you thought were decidedly unhip, out of the loop, got the message. And “Wheels Of Fire” started to explode. And on side four, there was a sixteen minute drum solo entitled “Toad.”

Yup, blame “Toad” for that execrable five to twenty minutes in every live show where everybody takes a pee break and the drummer flails on. They were all inspired by Ginger Baker, he was the progenitor, they all wanted to BE Ginger Baker, suddenly the drummer was no longer an afterthought, but a virtuoso who could express himself.

And then the band said it was breaking up and went on a final tour. I saw them at the New Haven Coliseum. I stood maybe six feet away. There were maybe a couple of thousand people there. I made a cassette of the performance, long before bootlegs, I listened to it incessantly.

And the victory lap, “Goodbye Cream,” had a bigger impact in the public’s consciousness than anything that came before, it was the zeitgeist, people bought it after the band broke up, lamenting they’d never gotten to see the act. “Goodbye” resurrected “I’m So Glad” from the first LP. “Sitting On Top Of The World” was definitive. And “Badge” was a gift for those who’d been there all along.

It was like not only the band, but its members had died, there were posthumous live records, everybody wanted more of what they could never get again.

But they did get Blind Faith.

Jack Bruce was the frontman, in many cases the writer, but he was not the star. Yes, his solo album “Songs For A Tailor” was anticipated, but despite some airplay for “Theme For An Imaginary Western,” it was ignored, and the work after that was only for cultists.

The stars were Clapton and Baker, nearly equal. And with Winwood thrown in…

Blind Faith was the first supergroup. That was the definition back then, they had to coin it for this concoction, an act made up of the stars of other acts, come together to make something new and triumphant.

And of course Blind Faith imploded, but the album gets short shrift, the first side is phenomenal, everyone knows the cuts, from the explosive opener “Had To Cry Today” to Clapton’s first shining solo moment, “Presence Of The Lord” and the cover of Buddy Holly’s “Well All Right” to Winwood’s piece-de-resistance, “Can’t Find My Way Home.”

The second side had Ginger Baker’s fifteen minute opus “Do What You Like.” Filler or a nod to Baker’s genius, who knows?

And when Blind Faith broke up, Winwood tried to go solo but got back together with Traffic. Clapton decided to play small, with Delaney & Bonnie, Ric Grech disappeared, and Ginger Baker formed his Air Force, yup, he was gonna continue to play for all the marbles.

Now testimony to the ascension of rock and roll was the fact that Blind Faith did play arenas on their one and only tour in ’69, that’s how hungry and dedicated the fans were.

Baker’s Air Force album sold, but then the act faded away, there was great playing but no songs.

Clapton joined up with Delaney Bramlett for an exquisite first album which was to a great degree overlooked, but when Eric hooked up with Duane Allman and other greats ultimately named the “Dominos,” Clapton established a place in the firmament that would never go away.

“John Barleycorn Must Die” was the most successful of the initial post-Blind Faith albums, people now knew who Winwood was and they embraced this work of art.

And then there were more acts and it became harder to focus and Ginger Baker…he was no longer omnipresent, he wasn’t gone, but he was always in our minds.

Eventually Baker played with the Masters Of Reality, in the nineties, which seemed a step down, but the truth was there was no band big enough to contain him. He was kinda like Joe DiMaggio, if DiMaggio had had an edgy personality and could still play ball. Everybody knew who Ginger Baker was, it’s just that we didn’t hear his playing that much.

He was one of the first to go to Africa.

He was drunk, he was stoned, but he was the original Keith Richards, nothing could kill him.

He played polo, he was involved in shenanigans, which were ultimately detailed in a documentary, but the legend always exceeded the present. What Ginger Baker meant, his playing, his place in the rock firmament as a legend, as a progenitor, as maybe THE progenitor, exceeded the man himself.

Yes, there were the Cream reunion shows. A triumph in London, an almost queasy afterthought in New York. He was still Ginger Baker, he could still do it, but this was nostalgia.

And now he’s dead.

How will history treat him?

Well, what will be remembered at all?

But one thing’s for sure, no one ever challenged Ginger Baker’s skill. Oh sure, at the height of his fame, naysayers said he was bombastic, always loud, but when you’re that big there are always people who have to put you down.

And eighty ain’t a short life. This is not a guy who got cut down before his time.

But they’re dropping, if not quite like flies, they soon will be. Ian Hunter is eighty too, he just had to cancel his Mott The Hoople reunion tour because of his health, Overend Watts and Dale “Buffin” Griffin are already dead, and Mick Ralphs has health issues.

If you weren’t alive back then, if you weren’t musically conscious back in the late sixties, these might just be names to you. But if you talk about legacy…

Ginger Baker is right up there. He was the first. He showed what could be done with the kit. He was a trailblazer, a true rocker, one who couldn’t be contained, there was nothing corporate about him.

He was a beacon, may he continue to shine.

Why was everybody there?

There’s been no radio, no print, but the gig was sold out, at just over 20,000. What is happening here?

No one exactly knows.

The label head said it was the similarity to Depeche Mode.

The manager said it was Coachella. That they dominated the Gobi tent. And that everywhere they play, when they come back, attendance is doubled.

The agent was flummoxed too. The band’s been around for nine years, it’s been paying its dues, but they didn’t ply down the road of traditional music business success.

Music is not a zero sum game. It’s not tech, where if I win you lose, and if I don’t keep innovating, if I’m not putting up walls around my product and buying or putting my competitors out of business, I’m soon gonna be toast. Every musical act is singular. There’s enough audience for everybody. Assuming you can get one.

Now there’s no rule book in music. No course. No degree. Oh, they’ve got these schools teaching the biz these days, but that’s for middle management, the real winners cannot be contained by an institution. Irving Azoff, David Geffen, Scooter Braun…they’re all college dropouts. These are renegades, square pegs in a round hole, but they know how to make things happen, they’re visionaries, they thread a needle many people can’t even see.

The manager grew up with a member of the group. They’re “brothers,” they’re in it together, after all, who can you trust?

Certainly not Columbia Records, the band licensed an LP to the company which subsequently did nothing. That’s the problem with labels, they just need something to hit, not necessarily your thing, they tell you all they’re going to do, but there’s no guarantee they’re going to do it, usually they don’t.

The band is on Warner Brothers now, but the big radio track has yet to come.

But it’s always about hit songs, whether they get played on the radio or not. The aforementioned manager Danny Robson told me to wait for a certain song, that everybody in the audience would throw their hands in the air and sing along.

This was true. This music was part of their lives, woven into the fabric of their existence, it didn’t matter who else was into it.

But a lot of people are. In this case, half men and half women.

Danny told me they’d done an east coast tour with ODESZA, that it had helped them back when. I said it was the same audience, Danny insisted it wasn’t, that Rufus Du Sol’s audience was older, 25-35.

And Danny was right. These were sophisticated millennials. You didn’t get the impression you were gonna get robbed or run over, then again I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was anxious about going to an outdoor concert at night. I’m not gonna not go, but at this point, mass events in the great wide open…you never know what’s gonna happen.

But everybody looked like they had a job, this was not the ethos of rock and roll, a workingman’s world, but something more upscale.

So what we’ve learned is it’s no longer your father’s music business. Used to be it was all about the label. You wanted to get signed, the company bought tickets. Now it’s more about the live show, the agent is oftentimes more important than the label.

And despite the instant hits of the Spotify Top 50, the acts that sustain have paid their dues, they’ve experimented, they’ve got it down.

As for Rufus Du Sol’s sound?

Bob Moses played before them.

Now for the uninitiated, there’s no one called that in the band.

And the music thumped, it had energy, it took you away from this world.

But the headliner was most definitely Rufus Du Sol, they got more applause, they had a much bigger production, and production is key in this world.

And what world is that?

You could call Bob Moses EDM, but there was a guitar and a bass and drums, this is just not a deejay with a laptop.

And Rufus Du Sol has a drummer too, and the lead singer oftentimes slips from behind his keyboard to play guitar.

You see there’s been an evolution. Maybe that’s why rock is dead, it has stopped evolving.

But Rufus Du Sol was much darker than Bob Moses, with much less thump. There was melody. And the music truly set your mind free.

This is what music used to be about.

Now it’s about going to see the hits played by rote while you shoot selfies…it’s more about the audience than the performer.

But not tonight, not in this world. Everybody was there to be enveloped by the sound, to levitate their own bodies and souls. They wanted a hit of that elixir only music can bring. When done right, it pulls you away from the humdrum world, makes you feel like you’re in a protected bubble, as long as the sound sustains, you’re all right.

Now some might say Rufus Du Sol has been around forever, at least that’s what Phil Blaine told me after the show. He accused me of being a johnny-come-lately.

I am, but at least I’ve arrived.

But most people are out of the loop, and that’s just fine, there are enough believers to make it all work, more than work. You can’t make tech money, nor Wall Street money, in music, but it’s a different profession, it’s about your interior not your exterior.

In the straight world you pick a path and stay on it until you accumulate rewards and then you die. It’s all about investing in the system.

But there’s no system in music. Every act is reinventing the wheel.

So you hone your chops, wait for a reaction, start small before you’re big. Rufus Du Sol played for two hundred, they didn’t start out at the top. Yup, one hit and some acts play arenas! Got to get that money now, while it’s still available!

Most of those acts fade away, not all of them, but most of them.

And then there are acts further off the radar screen. And they play and play until…

They’re touring the world, tired as hell, but with all the perks, the money, the sex, the… They stand on stage and play for multitudes who not only adore their surface, but want to know what they’re thinking, where they’ve come from.

No, the internet did not kill music creation, quite the opposite, in fact.

But the truth is the business has morphed and the oldsters don’t want to admit it. There’s more than one way to skin a cat, but one thing’s for sure, what brings people in is the feeling, the excitement, the energy, the irresistible pull of music. When done right, there’s nothing like it.

The Black Keys Get Real About the Music Business | Joe Rogan

What kind of crazy, fucked-up world do we live in where an appearance on Joe Rogan’s podcast is more important than any TV show?

One in which Howard Stern gets all the A-listers. They make news on Stern, it’s all fluff on TV.

We’re in the era of the cult of personality. And the most important personalities are those who’ve been in the game for decades, honing their chops, just waiting for that moment when word spreads enough that they turn into a supernova. I can talk all day about what I’ve seen on TV and no one else has a clue, but if I talk about what happened on Stern, everybody knows! (And if you don’t, the joke is on you.) The biggest news splash re Billie Eilish was her interview with her brother on Stern last week. She appeared three-dimensional, and she reached the unreachable, so many in Howard’s audience have no time for anything else, they ignore hype, but they check out what Howard promotes, which is what makes him so powerful.

I remember when Joe Rogan hosted “Fear Factor,” back in the beginning of network reality TV, after “Survivor,” when it was about games and quasi-truth as opposed to the fake crap that followed it. I didn’t get Rogan and the show was canceled and I knew who he was and then I heard…

He was the king of MMA. Instead of worrying about whether boxing is relevant, whether it should be banned, the younger generation moved on to MMA and the UFC, where Rogan was a host. That turned him into one of them, someone on the edge, he became part of the fabric, to the point when he launched his podcast he had a built-in audience.

Not that I listen. I don’t find him that funny and I’ve got limited bandwidth, like all of us. But today I got an e-mail about the Black Keys being on his show:

Hi Bob,

I think you’ll enjoy this short video from the Joe Rogan show in which The Black Keys talk about the state of the music business (stay for the end for the story about Aerosmith at the MTV video awards)
The Black Keys Get Real About the Music Business | Joe Rogan

Cheers,
Stephen Humphries

Note, Humphries was not promoting himself. I laugh at those e-mails that say whatever I’m writing about is junk and _____ is the shit. And then I realize ___________ is the writer’s band! And I wanted to hear what the Black Keys had to say, so I clicked through.

Patrick Carney is explaining the bundle game. Wherein the act has to pay money from their tickets to get to number one on the Soundscan chart, how the money ends up in the label’s hands, and it only counts on Soundscan if the purchaser clicks for the digital album, and only half of them do this.

In other words, the Black Keys would be paying to be number one. WHAT WOULD THAT DO FOR THEM?

You see it every damn day, someone here or there promoting that they went to number one on the chart, the newspapers write about it, the brain-dead websites repeat it…BUT WHAT DOES IT REALLY BUY YOU?

You’re impressing people in the media, who matter less than ever before, there’s a reason why social media posters are called “influencers.”

It’s all a sham and you lose money in the process!

And everybody in the biz knows it’s a joke, oftentimes your album immediately drops off the chart.

And then Carney goes deeper. About kids running records up the chart by playing them a zillion times, like he did with Vanilla Ice. But is that good music, is that what people really want to hear, is that what music FANS really want to hear?

Now never forget, it’s this system that built the Black Keys. So, it’s easy to pooh-pooh it when you’ve been the beneficiary of it and can coast on the spoils, but…

Today a new act like the Black Keys can’t even play that game, the major labels don’t want to promote anything but hip-hop and pop.

Now it used to be there were two sides of the story, the outward-facing hype and the truth, and the hoi polloi were never privy to the truth. But in the era of the internet, it’s out there (along with a lot of b.s., but that’s another story). Artifice is revealed. And it’s credibility that has longevity.

Patrick Carney brilliantly delineates today’s music business. How the Spotify Top 50 is just a niche, oftentimes a manipulated niche, and only a small, relatively young audience is even listening.

The point is, where do we go from here?

If you’re chasing trends, the joke is on you. Sure, if you top the streaming chart, you can make real money. But never forget if the devil gets you there, i.e. the major label, he wants his pound of flesh. Whereas if you go your own way and own everything you can make all that money every musician is complaining they haven’t got.

But very few players deserve the attention. The barrier to entry is too low in all creative fields, anybody can make a record.

But if you can get on Joe Rogan…

People are gonna pay attention.