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!

First everybody played.

Now everybody’s pissed.

For years it was new and exciting. The connection of AOL, the gadgets of Apple, the social networking of Facebook and the arrival of the smartphone. The promise was an improved society, where we were all networked and all important.

But it didn’t turn out that way. We didn’t foresee the Balkanization. We didn’t foresee the lack of individual importance. We didn’t see technology breaking down the world into the haves and have-nots.

Social interaction online used to be cheery.

Now it’s angry.

That’s right, you were sold a bill of goods. You’ve got that smartphone in your hands, all that power, and no one is paying attention to you. You’re inundated with mostly worthless information about successful bozos, influencers and minor celebrities, and it makes you feel like you’re worthless. So what do you do? YOU FIGHT BACK!

Everyone can play. And everybody is reachable.

Analogized to high school, the social misfit is alone with no power, but now he can hassle the quarterback, the prom queen, poke fun at their foibles while risking nothing.

That’s right, there are no guardrails, few laws affecting online behavior. Furthermore, when you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing to lose.

Societal interaction has flourished as a result of the internet. But twenty-odd years later, when the promise has not been delivered, the hoi polloi are fighting back.

Look at Amazon reviews. Read the one star ones and it’s always someone complaining not about the product, but Amazon and customer service. Believing if they just scream loud enough, they’ll get a response. And if the product itself is taken down in the process, who cares, they’re deep pockets and can afford it.

Anybody with a name is the enemy. They need scapegoats. Whether it be immigrants or Jews or… Isn’t Mark Zuckerberg Jewish? It’s his fault!

And by rooting for the Palestinians, you’re standing up to those nasty Jews.

Then again, the Palestinians have their own media machine, painting Israel as the problem, as if it disappeared harmony would reign in the Middle East.

If you can’t get ahead, you must bring others down.

And what tools do you have? You ain’t got no money. Chances are you ain’t got no education, so you can’t get a good job, but you do have a megaphone, your smartphone.

And we have the battling cable news stations. Fox isn’t about the implementation of ideas, rather the heinous behavior of the left. And MSNBC reacts defensively thereto.

And the traditional news outlets failed to defend themselves and have therefore been marginalized. The “New York Times” and the “Washington Post” were so busy making sure they got paid online, blaming Google and Facebook, that they didn’t realize they’d lost their impact in society at large. When you’re demonized by close to half the populace, it’s like you don’t even exist.

Same deal with network and cable. Netflix trumped them and now the streaming giant is the enemy. Misinformation about the expiration of Netflix’s TV show contracts has been rampant, even if it’s untrue. Yes, truth has gone out the window.

Even with Tesla. It’s become a financial story, not a changing of the world story. Those invested in the old game decry the electric car company, even though the international auto giants are trying to catch up, even though every single Tesla owner testifies to the car’s greatness, from no need for tune-ups to acceleration to…

But you don’t see that in the media.

Every step forward has a concomitant tribe demonizing it. To the point we have gridlock, turning the USA into a second class country. Funny how these are the same people constantly chanting USA, USA!

But the future doesn’t exist. No one wants their cheese moved. Whether it be the baby boomers who became doctors and lawyers who are angry they weren’t aware they could become billionaires to the manufacturing workers who believe they should be able to labor for umpteen dollars ad infinitum.

Then again, it’s hard for the disinformation police to get traction when you’ve got a President who tells you China and Mexico will pay the tariffs.

Sure, we’ve now got access to more news than we had in the twentieth century, but the end result is everybody believes in their own news, and is convinced if they just stand their ground, things will work out for them. Used to be we could at least agree on the facts. Now facts are fungible.

So you’ve got the aggressors, usually know-nothing individuals, and those with traction, who are gun-shy, or performing stunts for attention.

You get the impression if you’re a law-abiding citizen not looking to get rich on the internet you’re a loser. When the truth is almost all of us are losers by those metrics. We’re never gonna be famous, we’re never gonna be rich, and most of those with attention will fade back into the woodwork, attention doesn’t keep you happy and it doesn’t necessarily pay anyway.

It’s just like the Republican Senators afraid of their base. If you go against Trump you’re going to earn the wrath of people tweeting and primarying you so you’d better stay quiet. Just like the Republican Party infrastructure has lost control of its party.

And on the left, the ethos is a distillation of social media. If you’re not posting, you don’t have a voice. So what do those silent want, Biden or Bernie or..? It’s hard to tell, everybody’s guessing.

It isn’t going to stay this way forever. Just because you made a record that does not mean anybody’s going to listen to it. And all over the world there’s a return to the right, authoritarians pledging to make the trains run on time, to get rid of the chaos. That’s right, people are willing to give up their individual power just to not have to think about these things anymore, they want someone to lift the burden from their shoulders.

Meanwhile, the small will get smaller and the big will get bigger once the small learn they truly don’t have any power. Yes, one person can change the world, but it probably isn’t you. Decision-makers have to ignore the rabble-rousers and do what’s right. But they’re afraid.

Then again, everybody’s so busy fighting there can be no progress. If you don’t have power you’re gonna make sure the powerful pay a price. That’s why you’re a troll.

But the trolls have inherited the earth.

I saw Linda Perry speak at Canadian Music Week. They have these conferences all over the world, usually supported by the government, and there are two halves, a festival for the wannabes performing in search of deal, and meetings and speakers on music topics. Now the truth is some people make it, but most don’t. But at every conference around the world, the speakers give the attendees false hope.

This happened to me at USC when I was on tour with Jason Flom. He told the students that it was easy to make it in music, that business was booming, jobs were plentiful, and we were eagerly awaiting graduates’ arrival.

Wrong.

I, of course, led with what I always say. I told the students to give up. Unless they were willing to starve and get fired, the music business wasn’t for them. It wasn’t a hobby, there was no need of temps to fill office jobs, the truth is that many people are willing to work around the clock for free, and their job is always on the line, a manager’s acts don’t hit, you lose your gig.

Actually, the business is made up of self-starters, entrepreneurs, who literally couldn’t do anything else.

Linda Perry said this in Toronto. Along with the fact that no one in the audience was a rock star.

Whew! She was not giving false hope, not trying to make the audience feel good, she was challenging them, and almost none are open to the task.

But this hard news went out of favor with the baby boomers and Gen-X. Now youngsters are coddled, given a trophy for participation, told they can win each time they play.

Oh, don’t tell me about millennials and their work ethic, the truth is there are very few standard jobs in the music industry, where you’re working for the man, the corporation. Most gigs are for entrepreneurs, who can fire you at will. And do! The truth is unless you control the talent, your job is always on the line. As for talent… Perry is pissed that it’s all about social networking as opposed to hard practice. The 10,000 hour rule is about hard practice. Social networking does not qualify for musicianship. It may make you an influencer, but it won’t make you a recording star.

Then again, no one wants to hear that. They want to believe the world has changed, but it still comes down to hits.

So Linda Perry has her own recording studio, in a house. This is not the typical home studio, with a Pro Tools rig and little more. Sure, they’ve got the requisite Mac, but an API board, multiple rooms, a zillion guitars…hell, there were three axes in the bathroom!

Linda isn’t here to play around, she’s here to write hits. Which she has done for Pink and Christina Aguilera and Gwen Stefani. Hell, she’s even worked with Weezer and Adele. She’s in demand. She hasn’t taken a vacation in years. She’s writing, she’s delivering.

And she’s intense.

Now I’m not challenging in an interview, there’s no point. People will get their hackles up. The key is to let someone feel comfortable so they can tell their story, always revealing what most rapid fire questions won’t.

And I’m trying to connect with Linda, make her feel comfortable, but then after about ten or fifteen minutes she asks, WHO ARE YOU?

Whew! I took it as a challenge, to put forth my bona fides, so I did. Early in the podcast you’ll hear me tell my life story, albeit quickly by my standards. And then I felt accepted by Linda and…

I wasn’t sure we were totally connecting, but when the recording was over and I went to leave, she asked for a hug.

Linda’s in the belly of the beast. And on a rainy day in L.A., I was there too. Linda climbed her way to the top, she had a vision, and she executed it. if you’re interested in making it, you should listen.

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