It’s about the money.

We all need something to live for, and if you ain’t got it, life is gonna be quite boring.

That’s why Javi went back to Colombia.

That’s what people don’t understand. We’re not rational. We’re driven by our desires, influenced by friends, and sex and money.

And when you get old there’s gonna be someone to take your place.

That’s right, the baby boomers didn’t believe it, they thought they were gonna rule forever, but now they’ve been squeezed out of the corporation and are entering retirement and a whole bunch of other wankers are in control.

That’s right, it’s about the size of your unit.

And I hate to say that looks matter, but…

Minorities and women are fighting the wrong battle, you don’t complain about abuse, you don’t bitch that you’re being held down, you seize power, like a cartel.

I know this is politically incorrect, and for all I know it might be different in the future. But if you want something in this world, you’ve got to fight for it, you’ve got to take it.

So the DEA’s entire plan is flawed. Because they’re playing Whac-A-Mole, and if you think “Narcos” is ancient history, you’ve got no idea what’s going on south of the border. Yup, there are turf wars, cartels killing each other, but you know why they exist? Because your sons and daughters, your relatives are hooked on dope, and they provide it. Blame Purdue, no, not Frank, who spelled it differently, the chicken king, although chickens are a big part of one episode, but the pharmaceutical company, which foisted OxyContin on the populace and said it was not addictive, basing this fact on an obscure report in a medical journal having to do with hospital patients. That’s right, you have an operation, you want to get off drugs. But if you have no life, drugs are the biggest thrill you’ve got. And the government cracks down on Oxy and the cartels provide cheap heroin and people are dropping dead across this great country of ours.

And you think the problem is immigration, that building a wall will solve all your problems. Why don’t you tell your kids to stop shooting up, they won’t, but the net effect will be equivalent…NOTHING!

Pablo Escobar is dead. “Narcos” should be shite. And the first episode was uneven at best. But then…

It’s a true story. Albeit with a few changes. But hell, they show real footage of what was going on down there, back when you weren’t paying attention, when you were making bank in the go-go nineties.

So one cartel wants to give up.

But no one wants to retire as number two.

They’re dropping wisdom left and right in this series. You’ve got to understand men, they’re all about penis-size. Why else would they buy cars that look like genitalia? And Teslas to demonstrate how hip they are. While women compete on performance statistics that men don’t even care about. The clothing, the diets, all that other crap, real men just want women to listen to them. And sure, the bozos ruling the world, like our nincompoop President, want eye candy by their side, but you get older and you realize how ridiculous that is. That’s just another guy leading with his dick.

And if you can put your dick in your pants, you can win.

That’s the power women have over men. The one they want to deny in public. Pussy power. If you don’t think this world is run by women you must be one. Women can bring men to their knees, can influence all their decisions. Men are all bro-happy but it’s women who really support each other. if your goal is to be a bro at the law firm or the corporation you’re doing it wrong. The key is not to be like men, but to be yourselves, and then you can win. But you can’t say that in today’s politically correct world. That’s one of the reasons the left has lost and continues to lose, because it’s so busy believing it functions in a pretend world that it denies reality.

Relationships… Love, family, they rule this world. You look out for your kin. You’ll lie for your kin. Blood is thicker than water. It’s all still tribal, millions of years later, and we hope the government levels the playing field, but if you’re depending on the elected to solve your problems you’ve already lost, the elected are in the pocket of the donors, rich people, corporations, they own the government, and your only hope of victory is to band together and fight for what you want.

Come on, Trump pardons Arpaio and…

I thought there would be riots in the street. I thought when they started restricting abortion, same thing. But NO, we’ve got the left now saying it should be soft on abortion, and who cares about immigrants anyway.

That’s right, the wealthy keep talking about immigrant techies. How about the immigrants, legal or not, who are washing your clothes, watching your children, picking your fruit? There’s hypocrisy.

And you wonder why no one believes in anybody but themselves anymore.

That’s right, they capture a drug kingpin and the government functionaries want to let him out, but then the President says if they do, they’re gonna lose the trust of the people, and once that happens, they’re done.

That happened with Arpaio, you just don’t know it yet.

And you righties playing gotcha, e-mailing and posting when any leftie bangs on the President, the joke is on you, don’t you get it? They don’t care about you, they never did. They’re laughing at you. Giving up your government benefits just so the supposed “takers” don’t.

And speaking of takers, Cruz lied to the media saying he didn’t vote against Sandy payments, but the WaPo fact-checked it and he did, there was almost no pork in that bill, but that’s the world we now live in, where politicians lie and get away with it, where Google fires a think tank employee when they come out against the company, when Exxon says climate change is a joke and the real joke is on…

Us.

That’s right. We believe in the system. Tell me what that system is gonna do for the people in Houston? Oh, the corporations with connections will lobby to come out whole. The poor people? They’re screwed, they’ve got no flood insurance and no one cares about them.

That’s the joke of America, we donate a few bucks and slap ourselves on the back, saying how gracious and caring we are while we shut the gates behind us and turn on the alarm, we want nothing to do with these people, anybody who’s been unable to climb the greased pole.

That’s right, the truth is ugly.

The truth is you can write letters to the editor all day long. You can complain about the glass ceiling, but did that affect Travis Kalanick’s judgment whatsoever? NO!

And the joke is on you, because now Uber is hobbled and Lyft has moved in, and if you think any of these companies are soft and cuddly and care about you, you’re not driving for one.

So it’s every man for himself in this world. I’m supposed to say “person,” but changing the word is just gonna make those happy who refuse to get in the pit and fight. Sure, let women run the world, it’s fine with me, but I hope they run it better than men.

Because men are all about notches in their belt, status, looking good when they’re hollow inside.

But we’ve all got to play a game.

Decide which one is yours and put your nose to the grindstone. Otherwise you’ll find out your life has been wasted.

And watch “Narcos,” to see how the world really works. Sure, in America, they may not pay off the government, but they pay off everybody else.

This is what you’re up against. The sooner you admit it, the better you are.

But no, you abhor violence, Netflix is the enemy, CDs must be saved, Spotify’s the devil, there’s nothing like going to a movie theatre.

Wake up!

Or don’t, as you’re eclipsed.

I thought it was a joke.

At this point the most famous rock writer was Jon Landau, before he saw God and went off to manage Bruce Springsteen. Lester Bangs was just another scribe, before his death and deification by Cameron Crowe, but his words in “Rolling Stone” were undeniable, he was testifying about a new Alice Cooper album called “Killer.”

Hmm… The guy who made two unlistenable albums with Frank Zappa, who was about threads and theatrics as opposed to music?

This was not long after the Masked Marauders. It’s hard to explain pranks to the younger generation. That’s something from the sixties, maybe started by Kesey’s Merry Pranksters themselves. The greatest goal was not to score bread, but to put one over on those so busy running the gauntlet of life that they’d left their sensibilities behind, they were not only unable to take a joke, they couldn’t see it.

The Masked Marauders was a hoax. A review of an album featuring every superstar of the day that was supposed to be released imminently but never was. Now it was two years later, and we were once bitten, twice shy, even though Ian Hunter had not yet written that song, never mind Great White covering it, and Bangs’s review was so over the top it couldn’t be true.

Or was it?

I decided to buy the album and find out.

Now at the time I was in college. In upstate Vermont. That’s another thing that’s difficult for the younger generation to comprehend, being out of touch. No only were there no mobile phones and no internet, but no television and no radio but the college station and no movies except for one theatre playing mainstream product downtown. We lived by our wits. Our ability to converse was paramount. And when I went to the metropolis I’d stock up on LPs, because it might be months before I could buy any again.

And this was over Christmas. I was a sophomore. I had my stereo on a table I’d built in seventh grade shop, with plastic tiles on top, and I placed the record on the Dual turntable and dropped the needle and…

Today everyone just bitches, says the odds are stacked against them. The problem is radio, or Spotify, or pirates, everybody but themselves. But you could not drop the needle on “Killer” without being immediately wowed.

The telephone is ringing
You got me on the run
I’m driving in my car now
Anticipating fun

The guitars are jerking back and forth, your head is in a pinball machine, and the lead singer is going on about having her under his wheels and you can’t stop cracking up at the metaphor, in car-crazy America, when everybody got their license at age 16, when music was serious, but this was not, yet it was.

And just when that finished, the music slowed down and an equally appealing number emanated from the speakers, “Be My Lover,” with the lyric:

She asked me why the singer’s name was Alice

Why was that? Were they trying to shock us, like Marilyn Manson decades later, or was it…

A joke?

No one has a sense of humor anymore. Come on, the vaunted techies? The bankers? And musicians are busy dissing each other. And the greatest sitcom is from someone of the same vintage, that’s right, Larry David and “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” but Alice Cooper is singing that dead babies could take care of themselves and instantly “Killer” was my favorite album.

Me and nobody else.

I went to college with nerds. Conservative people who thought life was all about following in the footsteps. Whereas I wanted to go off on my own path.

I put Cooper’s poster on my wall.

I went to see the band at Boston’s Music Hall.

And when my creative writing teacher told me my story on the show was good, unlike my previous crap, but it needed a twist, I gave up, didn’t write another thing for fourteen years. I asked him if he’d heard of Tom Wolfe, the New Journalism, which was already old at that point, there was no twist, THIS WAS THE ALICE COOPER SHOW!

Where the joke was on the audience. Where he threw money at his minions. Where he taunted and the band delivered and it was WONDERFUL!

We all need things to believe in, and I believed in music, it got me through. They didn’t print the top ten in the newspaper, it was a movement, outside of the mainstream, that infected us all.

Alice Cooper went on to write hits, the joke got even bigger. Then he was in the first issue of “People” playing golf and you couldn’t tell exactly who he was anymore.

But if you listen to Maron’s podcast you will.

Marc Maron’s shtick is he knows nothing. He interviews celebrities with no preparation. And this drives you crazy if you’re familiar with the act. It’d be like talking to Babe Ruth and asking him…so you play baseball? How does that work? Are you any good? Are you paid well? It’s excruciating.

But it didn’t bother Vince Furnier, aka Alice Cooper. Cooper gives it his all.

And tells you things you’ve never heard before.

About coming up in Phoenix. Miming a hit at pep rally, changing the chorus to fit the moment. Playing clubs. Starving in Los Angeles. Living in the basement of the Chambers Brothers’ house. Getting girlfriends to pay the rent.

Oh, that’s right, it’s politically incorrect. But this was almost FIFTY YEARS AGO! When music drove the culture and performers were gods.

Alice lives up to the image.

That was a game we used to play, which musician we’d like to have dinner with. Rock stars were inaccessible. If only you got the chance to hang.

Now everybody’s accessible.

But Cooper lived the life.

Hanging with John Lennon, who came to the office every day to hear the acetate of “Elected.”

Headlining over Led Zeppelin at the Whisky.

Headlining over Pink Floyd at the Cheetah.

Getting called by Groucho Marx at 2 AM to come over to watch movies, listening to Groucho riff on the actors.

This is what a rock star was. Not some money-grubbing asshole in an expensive suit who’s all about lifestyle. Hell, Cooper invested all his cash in his stage show for “Welcome To My Nightmare,” it had to work!

And then he studied records and realized all of the hits were written by Desmond Child so he called Child who ultimately concocted “Poison” which became Cooper’s biggest worldwide hit.

And yes, it was a band, but then Cooper went solo. And now, decades later, the band has gotten back together.

And sure, the tours today are a victory lap.

But if you were there back then…

I moved to Los Angeles. I drove to the Troubadour, because that’s where the magazines told me the action was.

Sitting in the corner of the bar were Alice Cooper and Keith Moon.

I told Coop, whose nickname was created by Frank Sinatra, I loved his new teeth. That I’d read about, maybe in “Creem,” which I bought a back issue of for his “Alcohol Cookbook,” that’s why I started drinking Golden Cadillacs.

And Coop smiled.

And Moon’s teeth were imperfect.

And I’ve been trying to get up close and personal ever since.

P.S. Through the magic of the internet, you can read Lester Bangs’s “Killer” review here:

Alice Cooper: Killer

P.S. If you’re not a fan of Maron’s, you can fast-forward to 13:45, when Cooper comes in

WTF – Alice Cooper

WTF with Marc Maron Podcast – Alice Cooper

IT’S RUBBISH!

Jack Douglas holds these dinners at Ago every month, it’s like a Mafia movie, there’s a private room and the maitre d’ picks appetizers and you choose your main and you b.s., like it was still the fifties, like you were a member of the Rat Pack.

I went last night.

Actually, I thought it was just gonna be the three of us, Jack, me and Geoff Emerick, but that was back before I found out this was a regular affair, I’d been invited previously, but was out of town, last night I was there.

Along with my frenemy Richard Lewis.

You see we had this altercation at McCabe’s, when we went to see Terry Reid. I was saving seats for us all, me, Jack and Richard and their wives, I got in early, knowing Lincoln, the majordomo at the joint. And then Richard took the seat I was sitting in when I stood up to find Jack in the crowd and therein ensued a moment. I’ll tell you when I see you, but it was straight out of “Curb Your Enthusiasm.” And Richard apologized in the green room after the show, he said at the time he didn’t realize who I was, but I was not looking forward to my next encounter, but I’m not gonna hold a grudge and when Jack e-mailed me yesterday to say Richard was coming too and he hoped that was okay, I said fine, all I could think of was BYGONES, from “Ally McBeal,” and when I arrived at the restaurant Richard bent over backwards to accept blame and make peace, which was cool with me. Then we talked music. You see Lewis knows all the rockers, he quizzed me on the band Robin Trower was in before Procol Harum, I had no idea, but that’s how deep Richard’s knowledge goes. Also, he told me not to be afraid to ask Geoff Beatles questions. Because you know, the first rule of famous people is not to acknowledge they’re famous, so that was good to know.

As for the others in attendance, there was movie producer extraordinaire David Permut as well as playwright/filmmaker Mick Davis and actor Steven Bauer, it was a motley crew, but all had a pedigree.

And then DeNiro’s buddy came in to give everybody a personal hello and I wondered if I could live up to this room. Richard started cracking jokes and everybody was doubled-over in laughter and I was afraid to say a single word. But then we all engaged in private conversation and…

The hit of the night was Steven Bauer. He entranced Jack and me with the story of his emigration from Cuba to Miami. TWICE! Yup, his father took the family to Florida and then went back to get a gig as a pilot and I’ll leave the rest for Bauer’s book, which he says he’s gonna write.

Although I did quiz him on his three marriages. I forgot he was married to Melanie Griffith. That was back when she was in “Night Moves” and looked completely different. Everybody in Hollywood has a path. And although we hear chapter and verse about the superstars, we’re in the dark on so many others. And Bauer did not assume I knew everything about him and after admitting I did not watch “Ray Donovan” he proceeded to break into character, to do Avi, the Israeli, and the funny thing is Steven has a Jewish grandparent and he got the role in “Scarface” because he spoke Spanish and we just about closed the restaurant but much earlier, I asked Geoff Emerick what he thought about the “Sgt. Pepper” remix…

He didn’t want to talk about it. He scowled. I could tell he had negative feelings, which are inexpressible, since the hoi polloi uttered hosannas, but this was the guy who recorded and mixed the original!

And after telling him that this was the way I felt, that it was sacrilegious to remix the album, Geoff lit up and uttered the words at the top of this post.

He said the stereo mix was not an afterthought. That it took four days, three days a song. After all, it was all on four track. They discussed it with the band and then were left to do the work, this was not uncommon. And the mono mix did not take much longer.

And then Geoff got specific. He asked me if I knew “A Day In The Life.” He said in the remaster the maracas were as loud as the vocal. He started going deeper. You could tell he was really offended. As he should be! As Geoff told me, they spent a lot of time getting it just right and then people who weren’t even born yet were changing it?

Then Geoff told me he got a call from Paul saying the master tapes for “Tug Of War” were lost and they were gonna remix it. And Geoff said on the original they had three consoles when they mixed, the complete opposite of the “Sgt. Pepper” experience, he said there was a backward echo at the end of…and how in the hell could it be reproduced?

Hell, it pisses me off every time I hear “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes” on Sirius, they always use the alternative take from the boxed set, that’s the one they played today, and if you don’t think the original can get lost in the shuffle, you don’t know the history of rock and roll. It would be a crime if this dash for cash remix of “Sgt. Pepper” became the standard.

And Geoff told me he likes to use the equipment he originally worked on. API board, tape when he can, and he talked about this Neumann cutting head for vinyl…

You see Geoff is still working, and still cares.

As does Richard Lewis. He’s going on the road imminently for five gigs. I asked Richard if “Curb” made a difference. ABSOLUTELY! Everywhere he goes people notice him now, business went up, and…

What I love about Richard is it’s all improvised. He told me he goes out with nothing these days. If the audience is hot, so is he, just like when he started riffing when we all sat down last night.

And Steven Bauer just did a cameo on “Queen of the South” during his “Ray Donovan” break.

And Jack has a cornucopia of projects. He’s the connector, he’s the straw that stirs the drink.

And I was gulping it all up last night.

Hot Summer Nights – Spotify

Hot Summer Nights – YouTube

Same as it ever was.

In case you’re focused on Harvey, and we all should be, you might be unaware we’re experiencing a record-setting heat wave in Southern California, and unlike in the rest of the country, so many of us don’t have air conditioning, we look forward to driving in our automobiles, none of which come without A/C, except for high-end racing models, and we used to go to the movies or the mall, when those were still a thing, but instead I’ve spent the last two days in front of the fan, schvitzing.

Until I went to dinner last night at Ago.

But that’s another story.

And what astounded me as I was driving down the 10, onto La Cienega, was it got dark, this is the first time this summer this has happened. Even last weekend, when I drove downtown to see Tony Hawk and his film, it was still light out, but the seasons are changing, fall is imminent.

But not yet in SoCal.

In SoCal it’s blistering. And it’s different from the east coast. It’s not humid, it’s more akin to the desert. It’s a dry heat with a soft wind and it’s almost exotic, if it weren’t so damn hot. But late at night, around midnight, the temp drops a bit and it’s quiet, L.A.’s an early town, and this song started going through my head. And I immediately went inside and fired up my phone to hear Walter Egan’s “Hot Summer Nights.”

The hit was “Magnet and Steel,” but my favorite was always the closing cut, “Hot Summer Nights.”

There was a time not too far gone
When I was changed by just a song

Like driving down the avenue today and hearing classics on Sixties on 6. We were all addicted to the radio, we were all in it together, and the irony is that paradigm continued into the seventies, only it switched to the FM dial. Ignore the “Billboard” charts, they don’t reflect reality, the culture. An extended number one today is not like one from yesteryear, when the records moved faster and everybody knew them.

So in 1978, AOR ruled, disco was a sideshow, it wasn’t until a year later that both crashed, that the record business tanked. The Stones were playing stadiums and the biggest American bands were the Eagles and Fleetwood Mac.

And isn’t it funny that those are the two biggest bands of the seventies still. And you see Lindsey Buckingham produced Walter Egan’s album “Not Shy,” from which the two songs above emanate.

On the radio, in the car
The pounding electric guitars

I miss that era. When gatekeepers exposed us to what was worthy and we knew it. Now there are no gatekeepers and no ads but utter chaos. I love hearing great new music, but oftentimes when I do I wonder if I’m the only one listening. But back then, we all were.

Now today all the rappers work together and the old farts excoriate them, saying that’s not music. But it wasn’t much different way back when. Hell, Lindsey and Stevie performed the same trick for John Stewart the next year when “Gold” became Stewart’s only solo hit.

Now “Hot Summer Nights” is positively Egan. But it’s the subtle Fleetwood Mac overtones that put it over the top.

First and foremost, there’s the mood, it’s dark. Kinda like being at the lake skinny-dipping in the dark, something we used to do way back when, before there were cameras everywhere, when if you were nekkid only you and your friends knew. And the night has a different vibe. Your body turns off and your brain turns on and you feel strangely alive.

Return with me to when times were best
We were friends who could pass any test
We shared our hopes, our dreams and our goals
And the Fundamental Roll

That’s a reference. To Egan’s prior album, entitled “Fundamental Roll.” But the past is full of these moments, that only mean something to those who were there, you reflect back and smile, wonder if those times will ever come again, and your brain is turned on by the record.

As we sang in the hot, dark rooms
Happy just to play our tunes

Club music. Before deejays. When you had to get out of the house, when there was no action at home. You went to the bar to get loose, to get lucky, and there was always music in the background, sometimes records, oftentimes a band, and you envied them, because they were doing what they loved and making money at it.

It felt good when we did it right
It felt good on a hot summer night

Listen for Stevie Nicks’s backup vocals.

But you’re enraptured by Lindsey Buckingham’s guitar-playing right away. Hell, I looked for my vinyl, I can’t find it, but it’s somewhere, so I’m not absolutely sure without credits that Lindsey is playing the intro, but it’s his style, and then there are the accents that could only be him, it’s a Fleetwood Mac track today’s generation has never heard.

And then comes the solo.

“Hot Summer Nights” is infectious.

And so it lives and it always will
The songs we’ve sung are in us still
Ringing out with all their might
In the heart of a hot summer night

So it’s forty years later. But I’ve never forgotten the song. And when I fired it up on my phone I felt this warmth spread through my body, reminding me of the power of music, what it means to me, a whole era started to spool through my brain, what I was doing, who I was with…

On a hot summer night.