Tonight at the Ivy I was asked what my problem was with Andy Lack.
I replied that he never stayed up till 2 in the morning listening to a great track on headphones.
My dinner companion asked if I wasn't being a bit too ROMANTIC!
I said no. That the equation never changed. That first it was TRANSISTORS, under our pillows. And then we switched to headphones attached to our stereos. And now we just lie there plugged into our iPods.
In the Style section of yesterday's "New York Times" they said it was all happening in Koreatown. I've never felt more out of the loop. Because to me Koreatown is like CHINATOWN! JAKE GITTES' Chinatown. A black hole, where events never translate, never spread into the real world. Really, drive down Wilshire some evening after dark and see for yourself. It's ominous, eerie. There's NOTHING going on. You don't know whether to feel safe, or to be wary of the darkness. Afraid the bogey man, or someone quite worse, will come out and grab you.
KLSX is at 3580 Wilshire Boulevard. About a mile east of Western. In the heart of Koreatown. I was supposed to meet Jill in the plaza, between the twin towers.
But she was nowhere to be found.
I waited the appropriate interval before I lit up the cellphone. And couldn't get a fucking soul.
So, finally, I just went inside. Where Jill already was.
When we were done, after I walked her to her rented car, she asked me for directions. How to get back to the Westside.
I said just to follow me.
Funny how leading someone is so different from driving alone. You're not quite in your own space. Rather you're attached.
I led her through the maze onto Western. And from there, it's a straight shot to the freeway. Still, I didn't want to lose her. We were connected.
I stopped at the yellows. Stayed in the same lane. Wanted to make a phone call, but felt the distraction might detract from my duties. So I just pressed the buttons on my XM receiver. And about a block before the entrance to the 10, the Santa Monica Freeway, I heard the notes.
And when I got on the on-ramp, empowered by the music, I FLOORED IT!
But then slowed down to about 50. Surely Jill was on track now, she knew where she was. Yet, we were somehow in this together.
But now it wasn't just me and her. Now it was me, her and Bruce Cockburn.
I got turned on to Bruce Cockburn via the seventies equivalent of file-sharing. The PROMO BIN!
Yes, every Friday I'd head to the store to check the new releases. That's when the records came out back then. Makes sense, doesn't it? Why in the hell are CDs released on TUESDAY??
And first I'd comb through what the major labels were foisting upon us. And then I'd start fingering what the journalists, what the promo men had dumped off that morning.
Oh, once you had it wired, once you made friends with the help, you could get the MOST DESIRABLE releases in promo form. Hell, I bought the Eagles' "The Long Run" for under three bucks.
But that was 1979. When I started in '76, you could get most promo records for $1.99.
And I was addicted. Except for Ken Russell, I was the store's best customer. I HAD to have the new stuff. It was like water, food to me. I'd go home and go through the religious experience of ripping off the shrinkwrap. I'd spend all afternoon spinning records. Just sitting in front of the stereo, drinking in the sound, reading the liner notes.
But, the records I remember most from that era are not the ones I paid four bucks for, but the ones I paid two. That I NEVER would have purchased if it weren't for the price.
One of my all time favorite records I got for $1.99. Karla Bonoff's first. If you're a fan of Linda Ronstadt, if you're a fan of Shawn Colvin and you don't have this record, you're truly in for a treat.
But I was familiar with so many covers of Karla's songs. Then there were the records of acts I'd just READ about. Like Be Bop Deluxe.
Hell, I heard "Modern Music" on my iPod just YESTERDAY! God, I ended up paying full pop for three more albums after that, and one Bill Nelson Red Noise di sc too. I went to see them at the Shrine. I was HOOKED!
And that first Alan Parsons record. "Tales Of Mystery & Imagination". Shit, they never seemed to sell out of that. I bought promo copies for everybody I knew.
And Bruce Cockburn's double album, "Circles In The Stream".
Oh, I must have heard a song on the radio. That must have been the motivation. I remember playing that double album and being confronted with the INTIMACY! Like a train had pulled into town, and you could either get on, OR TAKE THE RECORD OFF!
And, over the years, certain Cockburn records have hooked me. Especially 1991's "Nothing But A Burning Light". But I wasn't completely SOLD until eighteen months ago, when I saw Bruce perform at a tribute to his longtime manager, Bernie Finkelstein, at an awards show in Toronto.
Awards shows are famous for lame, loose renditions. With the performer constantly mugging and winking. But this was different. Bruce took the stage in his military jacket, stepped up to the mic, and was TRANSFIXED!
He wasn't staring above us, at some unknown spot in the distance. Rather he created this little cloud around himself. Which he inhabited with his picking, his vocals. And when he looked at us, it was almost THROUGH us. CHALLENGING us. To either believe, or give up. Kind of like Kesey. Were you ON the bus, or OFF!
And it's a funny style Bruce employs. He doesn't exactly sing, rather he seems to SPEAK! And he's not exactly playing chords, not laying down the rhythm so much as a GROOVE! Punctuated with random flourishes. It's like YOU'RE supposed to fill out the notes yourself.
And it's not in your face. And you can't quite ignore it. And it's not loud. But it's so POWERFUL!
I was just pushing the XM buttons and I heard this GROOVE! With the little flourishes in between the chord changes. And then there was a drummer akin to a Subdudes record. Not someone powerful, like Keith Moon or Corky Laing, rather somebody laying down just as much as needed. It was unmistakable, this was Bruce Cockburn.
"(I woke up thinking about Turkish drummers It didn't take long - I don't know much about Turkish drummers - But it made me think of Germany and the guy who sold me cigarettes Who'd been in the Afghan secret police Who made the observation That it's hard To live
Then I was reminded of the proprietor of a Vietnamese restaurant in Quebec who used to be head of the secret police in Da Nang - and it occurred to me I was thinking about all this stuff to keep from thinking about something else... Isn't that just what secret police are all about now???)"
This was not Ashlee Simpson. Nor her sister or even Norah Jones for that matter.
Oh, Norah's pretty good. I don't want to lump her in with the airheads. It's just that her music, it SOUNDS right, but it JUST DOESN'T MEAN ANYTHING!
Rap USED to mean something.
Mariah Carey NEVER meant anything.
Now NOTHING means anything. Oh, not EVERYTHING! But what's mainstream, what's sold by the now four major companies. That's ENTERTAINMENT!
When this business was focused on entertainment, it was profitable, but it WASN'T BIG BUSINESS!
Frank sold a lot of records, but major corporations weren't swooping in to acquire Capitol Records.
But when the acts started singing from their hearts in the late sixties, suddenly EVERYBODY needed to own the records. You didn't have to get the acts on TV, didn't have to sell them AT ALL! The audience FOUND THEM! They NEEDED THEM! Because they SPOKE TO THEM!
That's my problem with all this focus on fashion and music. Fashion doesn't SPEAK TO ME! Doesn't touch my SOUL! That's LOOKS! That's TV! When really, music is something you FEEL!
I sit here after midnight with Bruce Cockburn's "Get Up Jonah" pouring out of my iPod through my Bose headphones. I can see my house, but I can't hear the fan to my right, there are no random noises, I'm in a COCOON! It's just me and my MUSIC!
Don't bastardize my food, my RAISON D'ETRE, with all this crap about overhead, costs. Because if the people RUNNING this business UNDERSTOOD what they were selling, everything would be COOL!
Oh, we're WAY off course. Music used to drive the culture. Now it's something you give away at McDonald's or put in video games. As if the only way people could be interested in John Kerry was if he made an endorsement deal with Nike.
Not that it's ALL bad. There are new, younger acts, that don't care about the system. Who are doing it for the love of it. Like Dispatch. Did you hear they did 110,000 at their GOING AWAY show? AND, most Americans never even knew they were HERE!
But if you don't know the power, the ATTRACTION, of great music, then you can't steer a major music corporation. Because you just don't GET IT!
You see music is like sex. It's mainly BETWEEN THE EARS!
Oh, ADVERTISERS will tell you it's about your complexion, your weight, your clothing, but really it's about your VIBE! What you RADIATE! What comes out of your CORE!
True artists speak from their core to yours. Hate to tell you Clive, but the label is just a MIDDLEMAN! Which is probably why all the tripe you sell nobody wants after its initial sales flourish. Whereas there are acts that NEVER had a hit whose records are still in demand THIRTY YEARS LATER!
Bruce Cockburn never really had a hit. But he's good enough that he's been able to maintain a career for DECADES!
And you never know...guys like this SURPRISE you. Suddenly they release records and they BLOW UP! And you can't really figure out why. Why NOW?
But one thing's for sure. People still want to SEE Bruce Cockburn. Because what he delivers live the modern acts don't.
Oh, Dave Matthews does. But ever notice that he always SELLS OUT!
People want to be touched. By music. There's an INCREDIBLE HUNGER amongst the populace. Obscured by a disinformation campaign led by the major labels and major media outlets. They tell us there's no demand for MUSIC! That people WANT tripe. That they REJECT quality.
I'd say they're keeping the real stuff from the peeps.
But the labels and media don't want the real stuff. Because real acts won't listen to the label, they won't appear at the radio show, they do what they want.
The era of real acts is returning. And those who will be left out are the scum at the major labels. Because they just don't GET IT! Oh, they THINK they do. Maybe they once did. But really, they're like Russians who joined the Communist Party because everybody else did. Whereas the rebels, the musicians, never gave in. A true musician NEVER sells out. Because this is the one and only thing he has, he doesn't want to FUCK WITH IT!
And until you realize it's about THIS, not remaking somebody for mass salability, you're FUCKED!
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