Music becomes the Great Equalizer.

What do I mean by the great equalizer? Well, I can remember being in gym class around 4th grade and the gym teacher going on about “Someone has to take Jack on their team,” and the kids going “Not Fat Jack.” I can also remember with joy how many times I heard “I like you as a friend.”

When we hit the age of dating, the visual becomes a bit important, a bit too important (though I am guilty of becoming a low-life steeped deep in the superficial after my success), and so it goes to “I like you as a friend”. So while my scumbag cousin was excelling in sports and getting all the hot girls, there I was with my retractable, telescoping cup at the water fountain in school, hoping that drinking eight glasses of water a day would help me shed pounds. All it did was make me piss more.

Fat, poor, smart and full of urine is no way to win over chicks. Oh yeah, I forgot short too. I some days hit five foot four according to my daughter, though I think I’m five foot five.
I spend 7 days a week in the gym now and have been addicted to martial arts for 30 years. Compulsive? You bet! I do prefer staying healthy and in shape and my wife is a doctor so that helps motivate me.
So things have changed.

But I found the Great Equalizer! I always loved music; we all do. Got my first guitar when The Beatles hit it big, but I hated the lessons and put it in the closet. At around the age of twelve I started playing it again, mostly out of boredom because most of my friends were out on dates. Then Bam! It hit me and hit me hard, this all-consuming fire spread across my body like a virus and took my body and mind the fuck over. I was hooked, addicted and dedicated like a crack whore to the pipe. I couldn’t put the guitar down. I sometimes would fall asleep with it draped across my lap, and my Mom would gently remove it.

I lived for music twenty-four hours a day. I found the great equalizer! You play baseball? Cool. You are on the Pop Warner football team? Cool. You’re thin and tall and good looking? Cool. Can you play the guitar and write songs motherfucker? Well I can! Suddenly I too was cool, perhaps even cooler and, according to my dear friend Randy, chicks dug it.

Poor Randy, he was the best and most dedicated friend a kid could have. He was truly fucked over in life (more than I was), but we went our separate ways as I became more addicted to music, and he discovered the joys of LSD. I still miss him, and he played a huge part in my life, cheering me on like I was Eric Clapton when I could barely play three chords. God Bless him.

Randy was the one who used to go steal the bagels for my family from the German deli across the street because we were so damn poor. We had no idea it was him. We’d open the front door and there were bags of fresh bagels, and we assumed God was either Kosher or Santa was deep into carbs. Either way, it was a God-send, and we only found out years later. Now I am not advocating stealing and I have never stolen, but no harm, no foul because the owner of that deli was a very creepy old stooge who got his very young counter girl pregnant at like the age of seventeen. Plus, he once ran us out of there accusing us of making “monkey eyes” at him. Whatever the fuck monkey eyes are. He deserved to have his bagels lifted. He deserved a punch in the face too, but we were young.

That’s how poor we were. A few bagels were like Christmas. Speaking of Christmas, I’d hate like fuck to go to my cousins to see all their wonderful gifts, and they would ask so cutely “What did you get cuz?” We’d say we didn’t open our presents yet, and we’d go home to the boxes my Mom wrapped to give the illusion to our friends we had gifts. The boxes were empty, but my most cherished gift I ever got was check for one million dollars made out in my name from a long dormant checking account that now contained cobwebs. My sister got one too! I still have that check and to me it was the gift of love, and the gift of love is the most pricey thing you will ever get (I learned that the hard way).

“I changed my name in search of fame to find the Midas touch,
I wish I never wanted then what I want now twice as much.”
Ian Hunter

Truer words have never been spoken. In my almost 30 years in this roller coaster called the music business, I have rarely, and I mean rarely, met anyone happy. You know, fucking deep to the core of your being happy. Happy like a homeless guy getting a bath for a night or a housewife coming out of the mall with her glamour shots for hubby’s birthday, a fast temporary fix of happy, but nothing deep, nothing lasting.

I’ve figured out the puzzle that the civilians always ask: “Why is he a junkie, oh my God, he has millions of dollars, women chasing him, everything.”

Well the problem is, dear civilian, when you are chasing an elusive dream like being a rockstar, it is so consuming, so enveloping that you can blame every ounce of sadness and depression on not being that star. However, (and please take note) when you reach those dreams and you still wake up miserable, well then that misery amplifies because you have nothing to blame except what’s staring you back in the mirror.

Yeah, I know some happy people, truly happy. However, I know a boatload of miserable, insufferable pricks that hide that better than the agenda of a teenage boy on a first date. Don’t get me wrong, the highs are the highest you can imagine, man it’s like Disneyland, the lottery, a wet dream and an all-you-can-eat buffet (paid for by your buddy) all rolled into one.

I too have wondered why some of these inhabitants of the world of lucky are dour and depressed. It all comes back to what is happiness and what manifests that; however, that has been written about far better than I could communicate, in a trillion books.

The problem here is the dream, its catch and then the sundry and ridiculous life changes that come along with success and especially stardom. Not to mention everyone around you who suddenly changes while they accuse you of that very crime.

Not much grounding left in this fantasy land, no sir. The other contributing factor to this human decline is the music business is in the Wizard of Oz, when Dorothy opens the door, and we go from black and white to color. Same thing here, bang! A new world and one that has very little to do with reality.

Oh how soon we forget. We go from stealing bagels at the corner deli (getting up early before the school bus comes and right after their delivery truck comes) to bitching about the private jet being late flying in your favorite pizza from across the country to satisfy your whim (and to look cool to whichever mindless plastic model you’re banging that week).

Yup, all semblance of reality is now a mere memory, and no one around (because they are making money off of you) has the balls to tell you that you have now gone over the edge, Ah, indeed the mighty power of the word “paycheck”. Now of course that is an extreme example of the dichotomy, but that little reverse of both fortune and reality happens on every level in our wonderland.

We in this business live in a world so unlike reality that it’s difficult to get a handle on what’s color and what’s black and white anymore. I clearly remember an artist during an argument blurt out, “You guys make me laugh, you think I have all this money. If I have 50 million liquid, it’s a lot.” OK! Just think of that quote for a minute and you need not think any further on how distorted we all get in this line of work.

Shit, bro, I bet there are a ton of people who pray every night to whichever God, that they are 50 dollars liquid. Forget the million, which can never happen, so why bother praying for it. I, myself, remember praying for a bath tub so my infant daughter could stop taking baths in the kitchen sink.

Now of course I too went off the rails and forgot about that makeshift tubby she took every day to praying that my new Lotus would arrive on the transport truck before the weekend, because it was nice driving weather coming up. Of course that is how I justified it then. Nice driving weather my ass. How about I bought yet another toy in the line of quick fix of my issues to drive around so people I hated in my town could envy me and regret making my childhood terrible.

I told you I would be honest but I first had to be honest to myself and that took many years. Self realization is fabulous, but many days I wish I were still wrapped up in the fog and chasing the dream.

It would be much easier blaming my mood on not selling another million records than having to realize that mood is because I can’t have lunch with my Mom because she is dead. A double-edged sword sharper than a used car salesmen’s tongue ye olde reality is. To take that inner journey is a bitch. To take it living in an altered sense of reality is damn near impossible.

My journey was filled with detours and bad roads; I’m still on that journey, but I can sometimes see the light at the end of the tunnel. Some folks make the journey safely; some fly off the road and get a flat tire. Not to sound all AA on you, but shit happens (No, I’m not in AA, just for the record).

See, I’m going to peel back the onion a little bit, open up that curtain and show you the Wizard. If that doesn’t tickle your fancy, then leave now and keep your illusions and concepts intact. I’ll tell you about my crazy journey and all the ups and downs of that adventure, and I’ll be honest. You’ll recognize some of the characters here and assume you know who the others may be; I was debating on using the real names of my merry madmen and madwomen who were and are part of my world. No harm there as I will present you with only facts.

I thought it might be interesting for you and a bit less crucifying for them to make some great names up. Fear not, plenty of real names listed!

That’s a little ritual that’s always played out on major tours. Who can come up with the coolest hotel name. You know, so the fan (or the girl/guy you danced the tango with last time in town) can’t just phone you at 3 AM. Security reasons are what it is, yes sir. I always found it amusing how most change their names to get into the biz and then change that name for a hotel alias.

In fact, I find most of this amusing, amusing and incredibly sad. A real nice yin and yang indeed. Like I said, it’s a roller coaster of epic proportions where the carnival never ends. Oh sure, the party ends, but the carnival never ends. It was always so sad to me to see boxers fight a little long in the tooth and just get pummeled in the ring.

The real interesting part of the music business is one day you are king/queen of the world, and sometimes without any warning at all, the next day you are janitor of the port-a-potty that sits right outside of the worlds orbit. You know the one that has no toilet paper.

That’s always an interesting little soap opera to watch. “Hello, your career is over, and by the way, lose my phone number.” It happens to all of us, like it or not. That’s more than likely the end to the fairy tale unfortunately. Very few, and I mean very few, fly in that rare air where it goes on until they decide they are done. In the real world, you get a gold watch; in our business, you get a “fuck off”.

I’ve met some of the greatest human beings on this Earth, people who I will adore and cherish for a million years, and I could have only met them in this business. People who set the standard for morals, values, integrity, heart, soul, compassion and even art. People who I strive to be but will never be.

I am blessed with knowing them, and they have brought me so much and continue to do so that remuneration is next to impossible. I have had extraordinary mentors, demi gods in my eyes, great and glorious friends that will last a lifetime.

It’s not all miserable dicks, on the contrary. Had it not been for this business I would not have had the pleasure of knowing some incredible people who indeed are truly HAPPY.

I have also met the most ridiculous examples of flesh and blood you could ever imagine. People that are so fucked up you don’t know if you should laugh or cry after meeting them. But I know, I know, you want the dirty little stories, the sordid details, sure you do! How interesting would a tome on people I admire be? That would be about as exciting as shoe polish (though we do have an executive in this business that uses it to cover the “spot”).

I’ll give a glimpse into my view on rockstars. Let me clarify what I mean by rockstar. Rockstars are usually, well you know, rockstars, but they can also be record company executives, managers, producers, lawyers, mixers, songwriters, road managers, radio programmers, even groupies in my little piece of the world.

We’ll explore all of them. You see once you’re in (and what I mean by in is “IN”) you get access to all of these characters. You’ve got your “rockstar” and you’ve got your rockstar, got it? I used to be a rockstar by that definition, Hell I even dressed like one, had good hair too. Did I take myself serious? That answer screams back yes, until my world of real value started to fall apart, and then I began this inner journey I speak so fondly of (snicker).

I would make Damon Runyon proud with the social collection I have surrounded myself with. Characters of the highest level with a capital C. We have the main event and we have the sideshow after sideshow filled with the most interesting people I have ever met. So let me give you my beginning, and you can see how I got caught up in this mess, lived every dream I ever had and every nightmare as well. If you’re not one for the truth, stop reading. If you want the inside skinny, buckle up, or as we say here in New Jersey, buckle the fuck up.

Maybe I’ve been asked due to Threadzilla, that monster of a thread that took on a life of its own. Maybe I’ve been asked because I have a very big mouth and opinion after opinion without regard for insult or injury. Maybe I’ve been asked because I have spent 35 years in the belly of the beast, the inner workings of the music business.
Maybe I was asked just because I’m a fool who likes to talk.

Regardless, I’m happy to share some thoughts, garner a few laughs, share some hard learned lessons and just ramble away until I wreak havoc on eyesight and mass produce boredom.
It’s been one Hell of a journey over the decades and I count my blessings every day. I was thinking what would be a proper blog.
I have heard so many times: “You should write a book”.

Well, I have started to and I am wondering if that would be interesting to start to post here.

In my journey I’ve played in bands, wrote songs, produced records, managed some amazing artists and now jumped deep into the waters of trying to help create a new model in this shifting and constricting environment.

I’ve been extremely lucky, blessed and fortunate to have worked beside and been mentored by some of the greatest talents this business has ever known, on both sides of the desk.
I’ve seen the highest highs and lowest lows. Millions of records sold and millions of tears cried.
I’ve lived rejection and embrace and somehow got through both.

I know both ends of the sword and have been sliced by them.
At the end of the day, I am one lucky guy.
I have had all of my dreams come true, but they forgot to tell me those dreams are interwoven with nightmares.
I can’t complain because that is the key to life, opposite sides of the same stick.
You can’t have one without the other.

People ask me how certain moments of success happened in my career.
I have one theory on that: Luck, timing and the stars coming together.
Was I talented? Maybe so. Maybe not.
I was the same songwriter post Bon Jovi than I was pre Bon Jovi, I was the same manager post India.Arie than I was pre India.Arie.

Nothing changed except perception and better offers.

So I go from the fat, poor, pathetic kid who dreamed of having enough money to buy a Les Paul to dreams alive I could have never imagined.
Yeah, big time lucky and anyone who pretends that genius got them there is surely lying to themselves as well as you.

I hope you enjoy the meanderings and nonsense I write here. If you don’t, well what can I say?
Maybe I’ll start at the start so you can see the elements that lead to the journey and in that process see the humor of it all and the real possibilities that the brass ring can be grabbed but that motherfucker will in fact tarnish your very hands,