Politics is show business for ugly people.

But this year, the politicians are playing the game better than the entertainers.

You’ve got to be able to say no. That’s one thing a musician no longer is capable of. If you’re willing to pay, they’ll show up. They’ll even sing for dictators. There’s no endorsement they won’t sign on to. The whole enterprise is built on cash, and everybody wants some, in fact they want more.

But Elizabeth Warren won’t take corporate donations. Leaving her potentially with less cash, but a stronger bond to the rank and file.

The North Vietnamese won the war because of hearts and minds. South Vietnam and the U.S. didn’t have them. America felt its firepower could conquer anybody, but this proved to be untrue, it couldn’t overcome the guerilla tactics of its opponent.

You play to everybody, not just those with the cash or the supposed power. A cache of individuals can always exceed the power of the so-called “man,” especially today, when the tide is turning. Everybody’s dealing with the results of globalization, and there are far more losers than winners, which is how Trump got elected to begin with. Doesn’t matter if you agree with the Donald’s position, or Warren’s, the future is up for grabs, and those who hew to their own identity and have a backbone ultimately succeed. Warren refuses to go on Fox. She gives up eyeballs for beliefs. And this bonds her core to her even tighter. She’s not willing to do anything to make it, especially when it enriches an entity her adherents abhor.

And you’ve got to be willing to do what is unpopular. Once again, you have to stick to what you believe. Ergo, John Hickenlooper at last week’s Democratic confab in California. He was booed. He said using the word “socialism” would hand the election to Trump. That he was against Medicare-for-all and the Green New Deal, at least for now.

Now we can argue all day about whether Hickenlooper is right, but the question is are you willing to say something unpopular?

The truth is, the audience was extremely left-leaning. Was it representative of the electorate at large?

But as a result of being booed, Hickenlooper got unforeseen traction. Suddenly he was all over the media, there was a lengthy article about him in the political paper of record, “The Washington Post,” because he made news. Furthermore, it wasn’t train-wreck news, but news that begged a lot of questions that were worth analyzing. So, Hickenlooper went from back of the pack to the front page without even contemplating it, he just said what was in his heart.

Once again, it doesn’t matter if you agree with him or not, that’s not the point, as with Warren above. The point is in this social media world where everything is manipulated, where the fat cats believe marketing is king, Hickenlooper succeeded in getting his message out and getting facetime/publicity by doing nothing other than hewing to his core beliefs.

Musicians are incapable of saying something unpopular, they’re afraid of alienating their audience, unless it’s to get in some online war with a competitor. Isn’t that how Meek Mill got notice?

Turns out triangulating, trying to second-guess the public, is no longer working in politics. That’s why Hillary lost, that’s why AOC defeated the incumbent. Everything’s up for grabs.

But not in music. We keep selling the same thing we’ve been selling for years. The big story this annum is Lil Nas X’s “Old Town Road.” Built on a controversy whether it’s country or not. When the truth is its success proves that that’s a non-issue, you can become mega without radio. And “Old Town Road” was built by TikTok and is ultimately meaningless. That’s what we’re selling in music, froth, publicity, cash…did you see that Lil Nas X bought Billy Ray Cyrus a Maserati? Any millennial, any Gen-Z’er knows you’re supposed to give back, fight poverty, give opportunities, clean the air. Hell, look at Nipsey Hussle. Most people in America had never heard of him, but when he was shot dead the story was about all the good he did in his community, that’s what made him a legend, not his music.

So the lessons are there. Stand your ground, be willing to do the unpopular, go with your identity, don’t follow the crowd. Because conventional wisdom is no longer smart. Now is the time for you to stand out.

But you must stand out with substance. Publicity stunts don’t work. Especially in an era where if you shoot someone in the morning it’s no longer news in the afternoon. Hell, if you shoot a bunch of people it’s off the front page in a matter of days. No, you’re building your identity to last. Who you are is what’s important. Entertainers can be leaders. Even though those on the other side keep telling them to stay in their own lane. And hell, that which is outside becomes mainstream overnight. The Beatles sounded like nothing else that came before them, they wiped out Perry Como and the rest of the vapid singers. Nirvana killed the hair bands.

Trump killed Hillary.

Times change. You need to be willing to change. Hew to the past at your peril.

But your core values, those are what you’re judged on, those determine whether your success is lengthy or short.

Stand your ground.

The news is up front, the death of iTunes and the superstar syndrome, as detailed here:

The Economics of Rihanna’s Superstardom

And it’s the best album Clapton plays on, which means “Delaney & Bonnie On Tour” counts, as well as John Mayall’s “Blues Breakers.”

My favorite is the very first solo LP, produced by Delaney Bramlett. I remember learning “Easy Now” on the guitar, the track was from the heart, a harbinger of things to come. My second favorite is the closing cut, “Let It Rain,” whose five minutes and two seconds is not a second too long. And, of course, the first solo LP contains “Blues Power” and “After Midnight,” and I know you’re gonna say “Layla” is your favorite, the version of “Little Wing” was definitive before Sting’s rendition, even though they’re completely different, and I love “Anyday,” it’s just that “Easy Now” touches my soul in a way nothing on “Layla” does.

Then again, my favorite cut on Cream’s “Goodbye” is “Badge,” with the George Harrison solo, which I believe is more memorable than Eric’s on “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.”

And am I the only one who hates Eric’s version of “I Shot The Sheriff”? My favorite cuts on “461 Ocean Boulevard” are “Mainline Florida” and “Let It Grow,” in that order.

Tune in tomorrow to play.

“Lefsetz Live,” Tuesday June 4th, on Volume 106, 7 PM East, 4 PM West.

Phone #: 844-6-VOLUME, 844-686-5863

Twitter: @siriusxmvolume/#lefsetzlive

Hear the episode live on SiriusXM VOLUME: HearLefsetzLive

If you miss the episode, you can hear it on demand on the SiriusXM app: LefsetzLive

Where The Crawdads Sing

It’s rare that number one delivers. It’s oftentimes dumbed-down, made to appeal to the masses, when the truth is we want something that appeals to our hearts.

A book is a journey. And you don’t want to find out halfway through that you don’t want to get to the destination. You’ve figured out the plot, you know where it’s going, and the rest of the ride is akin to that flat track at the end of the roller coaster, not exciting at all.

Now I read the synopsis. And it didn’t appeal to me.

That’s right, I check out the book reviews. Don’t read ’em ’til the end, because they usually give away too much of the plot. Like Pauline Kael, I don’t watch a movie twice and I don’t read a book again. I love the ride.

But today’s literature is often written to impress a small coterie of intellectuals, the supposed seers of literature, who feel they, and only they, should control where reading goes.

So you oftentimes get a book with good writing that goes nowhere. Oftentimes with too much description. The first rule of reading is readability, if it’s not easy to read, it doesn’t matter how important the text is. The second is plot. It’s like a great performance of a bad song, no matter who sings and plays on it, it will never succeed, because that’s not what we’re looking for. What we’re looking for, always, is something different, that resonates, that pierces our hearts and makes us feel warm all over. You know the feeling of hearing a hit track the very first time through. Sure, you might get tired of it down the road, as a result of too much exposure, but… I think of “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” or “You Oughta Know,” or “Crazy.” They might be a synthesis of what came before, but with a twist. Nirvana’s song was like punk, fused with the songwriting of the sixties, melodies and a magic chorus. “You Oughta Know” was so in-your-face it was hard to deny. And “Crazy” encapsulated exuberance with a beat…a melding of old soul with today’s sounds.

But the only one of those songs that got me the first time through was “Crazy.” But I felt the same way about Alanis’s “Hand In Pocket.” I’d dance around the house with the volume cranked and it made me feel good.

Most books are not hits, irrelevant of how many copies they might sell. They’re formulaic, or overwritten. When you hear someone say rewriting is the essence of writing run away. That’s like the modern tracks with sixteen writers, art is always about inspiration, and any true artist will tell you you don’t want to mess with the original inspiration, which is why you hear the stories of the demo being the final record.

Furthermore, there are too many genre books. Which I avoid. You know, whodunits, romance. I don’t need to read James Patterson, that’s about commerce, not writing, you might as well sit your ass down in front of a network drama. As if that were satisfying.

But no, we’d rather watch “The Sopranos,” or “House of Cards,” which are too edgy for the usual suspects but end up being legendary because of the truth they contain.

It’s damn hard to create a story out of thin air. But those are the ones we like best. I didn’t feel like I’d read “Lake Success” before.

And almost everything worth reading is fictional. If you’re reading business books to get ahead, the joke is on you. Fiction has more truth than non-fiction. But when non-fiction is well-written with a great story arc, it too can deliver, like John Carreyrou’s book about Theranos, “Bad Blood.” You can’t put it down, even though you know the story. Don’t think if you watched the documentary or listened to the podcast you know the story, there’s so much more. Which is why it’s rare that a movie is better than the book. Ninety minutes compared to ten hours?

Now you’ve got to suspend disbelief if you read “Where The Crawdads Sing.” It won’t be long before you’ll think that can’t happen, and it truly can’t. But, Delia Owens depicts detachment and loneliness so well. The urge to be connected, but the inability to achieve this. Kind of like those incels, they want to get laid, but they don’t know how to approach women, don’t know how to go on a journey littered with anxiety, indecision and cloudiness. If you can’t handle the tension, you’re gonna have trouble in this life.

And forgetting the incels, the rank and file male is just as confused, which is why you end up with rape. They know what they want, they just don’t know how to get it in a reasonable manner. And also don’t realize you can’t always get what you want, even if you’re Mick Jagger.

And that’s in the book too. An aggressive man.

And I don’t want to give away that much more, because it will ruin the experience.

And just because it was recommended by Reese Witherspoon, that does not mean it’s lowbrow crap. That’s what the high and mighty always say when something becomes popular that they didn’t anoint. I wish this would happen in music, not a playlist but one or two tracks a week, but no one’s built up enough credibility to do this. Yes, less is more. Recommend two tracks and I’ll listen, recommend ten and I won’t. Which is why Witherspoon doesn’t recommend a book every week.

Now this is ultimately a genre book, a murder mystery, and you keep thinking you’ve got it figured out when you don’t. But really, it’s not about the mystery at all, but the people. Some never grow up, live in their tiny town on past glories from high school. The star athlete, the prom queen.

And the truth is we’re all ultimately alone, and we feel self-conscious and worried about our interactions. We yearn to be safe, when we never really are. Then there are those afraid of interaction, for fear of loss. You know, like those who have sworn off romance. But without romance, all you’ve got is yearning. So you must try, try and try, and not be frustrated when you keep kissing frogs, your prince is out there, but you’ve got to work on yourself first, know your own foibles and grow. Personality always trumps beauty. May take a while, but the truth always outs. You want someone you can read in bed with, who gets the jokes.

Now there’s too much description in “Where The Crawdad Sings.” And some of the characters are paper thin. But the truth is you reach a point where you can’t put it down.

Not at the beginning. This is one of those books you’ve got to stay with until seven or ten percent of the way through to get hooked. And the more you read, the more you’re hooked, I spent all afternoon finishing it, even though I was only halfway through last night.

Books are different from records. It’s a personal experience. There’s no party, no gig where everybody listens to a song or a performance.

And sure, there are legends whose books are hotly anticipated.

But we’re always looking for something different, something new. And the funny thing is that takes a while to get attention in the marketplace. Most books, like most records, die on arrival. But some limp along until they catch fire, those are the ones we’re interested in.

And if you judge life by how many likes you get, or the car you drive, you probably can’t take time out of your busy day to read a book. But the dirty little secret is breaking up your schedule, ridding yourself of rituals, delivers the greatest rewards. Not only in the doing, but the cleaning out of the brain, the inspiration.

And the funny thing is women rule the book world, because they read. When most men, if they read at all, are into facts, not concepts, and it’s always concepts that win in the end.

So “Where The Crawdads Sing”” is not as good as “Lake Success,” then again it’s totally different. And if you stick with it, it’ll deliver rewards. Then again, if you doubt my credibility read the Theranos book first.

This could have been lousy, but instead it was JOYOUS!

You know, ancient rocker listlessly sings his hits, would rather be anywhere but here and you can feel it, going through the motions for cash. BUT IT WASN’T THAT WAY AT ALL!

First and foremost because Peter Noone has a sense of humor about himself.

And secondly, although in reality firstly, he/Herman’s Hermits HAD SO MANY HITS!

You can’t imagine the sixties unless you were there. A strange combination of innocence and progressiveness. At first you were just minding your own business in the greatest country in the world, playing baseball, and then suddenly there was a crack in the system and it became all about the individual, thinking for yourself, feeling empowered.

And the grease was the music.

Malcolm Gladwell pointed out all the work the Beatles did before they hit. Hell, they were recording in the fifties! Today, you cut a song on your laptop and post it to Spotify and spam everybody to listen to it, even though it’s the first thing you ever did.

But you used to have to pay dues. And you performed live without any crutches. No hard drives, no auto-tune. You lived and died on your talent.

I first saw Herman’s Hermits back in ’65, at Kennedy Stadium in Bridgeport, Connecticut. This was back when they were naming or renaming edifices with the moniker of the dead President. We had to go, because Herman and his Hermits topped the chart. I had the albums. When he performed “Sea Cruise” last night, I remembered, it was on the first LP. Which initially promoted “I’m Into Something Good,” but then sported a sticker promoting “Mrs. Brown You’ve Got A Lovely Daughter” shortly thereafter. “I’m Into Something Good” is one of those weird records that sounds even better, with more meaning, all these years later. It got a boost from its use in “The Naked Gun,” but that was over thirty years ago. The song keeps getting better and better.

And Peter started the show with it last night.

Woke up this mornin’ feelin’ fine

Remember that? With the birds chirping and the sun shining, when America was about optimism and you weren’t born with the inability to get ahead, but the opportunity to be all you can be.

That’s what love is, optimism. It makes you feel good. It still makes you feel good. But there isn’t that much to feel good about anymore in this divided country. But back then everybody under the age of thirty was on the same page, we were infatuated with music, it was buoying up society. Sure, the Beatles could be dark, but most of their music was inspirational, it rode shotgun on our adventures. We sang it. We played it. The songs seem simple today, but there’s a virtue in simplicity, your inspiration and talent have to get to the essence and shine bright.

And when you have that many hits, you can start with a big one, you don’t have to wait.

And you can roll right into another one.

Don’t know much about history

We went with my mother to a discount store in Bridgeport that no longer exists. We bought 45s. This, and Sam the Sham and The Pharaohs’ “Wooly Bully.” Yup, the hits didn’t have to all sound the same as they do today.

There was a memory in every song.

And Peter said it was a trip back to the sixties so some of the songs weren’t Hermits hits, but we knew them just the same.

Like “Love Potion #9.” We know the lyrics by heart, we remember taking our problems down to Madame Ruth.

And Peter was a cheerleader, doing shtick and a campy version of “Ring of Fire,” which we all sang along to. That was a feature of the show, audience participation. Not because Peter was tired or uninterested, but because we were that excited, in the moment, bonded to Peter in a salute to what once was, and which forever more will live in our hearts.

That’s the kind of show it was, your whole life flashed in front of your eyes. Summer camp, family vacations, it was like “Mrs. Maisel” but it was real.

And I never ever looked at my watch, or checked out my cell phone, you see I was enraptured and I DIDN’T WANT TO MISS ANYTHING!

Come on, “Dandy”? I never heard the Kinks’ original until Napster, with Ray Davies’s sneer. But Herman’s Hermits made it a hit.

“A Must To Avoid.” Better take it from me, she’s poisonous!

And there was a cover of “All My Loving,” done lovingly, all I could see in my brain was that first time the Beatles were on “Ed Sullivan,” when they played this and the crawl beneath John Lennon said he was married.

And when the band performed “Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” Peter pranced around like Jagger, it was funny, we knew, we were in on the joke.

And it was a band. A drummer, two guitarists and a keyboard player. Only a backdrop, no pyrotechnics to detract from the performance, which was about the songs. And it made me remember, not only going to shows back then, but picking up the guitar and forming bands, and believe me, I never ever thought I could become famous, I just didn’t have the talent, but it was a thrill to play while you were grinding it out in school.

But the hits just kept on coming.

Peter sang in his original ethereal, high-pitched voice on “Listen People,” it made me want to give him a standing ovation. He wasn’t faking it, the band was down low, and the gravitas was evident.

These were short songs, without long instrumental breaks, they’d come and they’d go and you’d want to hear them again. Like when I saw Gary Puckett & the Union Gap at Fordham in ’68 and they started with the smash “Young Girl” and finished with a replay.

“There’s A Kind Of Hush” brought me back to that bus trip to Butternut Basin. It played on the way back to Westport.

I remembered skiing at the Concord.

All those moments, they were still inside me, just ready to be awakened by the performance of these songs.

And at first, I thought I didn’t need to go, after all, I’d seen Peter on the comeback tour, at the Yale Bowl. But then I realized, THAT WAS 49 YEARS AGO!

That’s right, we’re getting older by the day. Strange, you look at aged audience members and then you realize you look that way too.

But it would have all fallen flat if it weren’t for Peter’s patter. Joking about dreaming of playing the Saban back in Manchester. Saying he sometimes thought he was seventeen, but the truth was in the reversal of the numbers, he’s seventy one.

Peter wasn’t asking for respect, he was a tour guide, whipping you into a frenzy from note one. You were whisked away on a Magical Mystery Tour, a journey of wonder.

And when it was all over, you were ready to hear it all over again. It was a moment in time, both the performance and the memories, and you wanted to go back.

Hell, singing “I’m Henry VIII, I Am” was like participating in the Olympics at Camp Laurelwood, the height of the summer season.

You can’t go back. But the truth is these songs are forever in our brains, they rekindle memories whenever they are played. And when the original performer is still so robust, with the lines in his face just like yours, you feel happy, like it was all worth it, that you lived through a special era, that you were privileged.

P.S. Rick Nowells cornered me in the lobby after the show. He said he goes to all the shows at the Saban, testified about Frankie Valli, who is eighty five years old. Said these performers were gonna be dead in ten years and that you had to see them now.

P.P.S. I asked Rick if he was still into it, still excited about the music. After saying yes, I asked him about the beat-driven hits of today. He said he was a MELODY GUY! And that’s when I realized this was the essence of the British Invasion.

P.P.P.S. When it was all over, and the house lights came up, Felice turned to me, and all she could say was…THAT WAS GREAT!