Most people fantasize about winning the lottery, kissing their jobs goodbye, and flying off to an island to romp carefree under the sun.  Not me.  For the past four and a half years, my fantasy has been to sit somewhere quietly with Taylor Hicks, the monumentally talented singer, songwriter, musician, and arranger. Just as Taylor was becoming American Idol’s most distinctive winner, I found his original music (most of which now appears as the re-mastered compilation, “Early Works”).  For five hours, I sat and played that music over and over and over, crying quietly, for it moved me like no other music ever had.  The more information I gobbled up about Taylor Hicks, the more I understood that — after wallowing in a desert of soulless music for too long and retreating back into my old music — I had finally found a new artist of talent and integrity.

Moreover, I’d found a real music geek, just like myself.  I knew the joy and relief that Stanley must have felt upon locating Dr. Livingston — because in my entire life, this was the first time I’d found another person who seemed to live and breathe music.  Taylor’s obvious devotion to his music is pure, in the way that so few things are pure now.  Every time I saw him perform live, he drove this home to me. So, I harbored the fantasy of talking music with him one day, really digging deep.  I fantasized about a little table in a quiet corner of a small club, where we might talk. What I got instead, and what I’m supremely grateful for, was a phone conversation.

Yesterday, July 22, 2010, God and the wonderful Judy Katz Public Relations team were good to me.  I was fortunate enough to speak with Taylor just before he embarks upon his latest tour, burning up stages across the nation once more.  That tour kicks off this Sunday, July 25th, at the Highline Ballroom in New York City, with his incredible band of friends and gifted fellow musicians.

Sean Katz facilitated the conversation, which, long story short, prompted Taylor to call me back from a landline in the airport as he prepared to wing off to my city (New York).  I have to say to you that, in addition to being a damned fine music man, Taylor Hicks is the most patient, most gracious soul, a true Southern gentleman.

The italics below indicate my words; the bold facing indicates Taylor’s. As our conversation began, Sean patched us in, saying, “Taylor, you’ve got Kathleen from Write On New Jersey.”

Oh you lucky man! (Laughing) 

Hey, Kathleen.  How you doin’?

Hi, Taylor; how you doin’?  Welcome back to the Big Apple!  Thank you so much for doing this; I know you’re jammed, so I really want to thank you so much for doing this.

Oh, no problem; thanks for doing this.

Oh, please –  you’re a sweetheart.  So now … I hear you’re going to go The Beatles and U2 one step better by “Taking it to the Streets,” instead of taking it to a rooftop, on Sunday (July 25th) via Fox & Friends.  [Readers can tune in to the Fox & Friends TV show that morning, to enjoy a live mini-concert outside the studio.]

Oh yes, yes I am.  I’m pretty excited about that.  I’m really a big fan of the show, Fox & Friends.  I’m excited about kicking off the national tour, and getting out and playing some great live music. 

Definitely.  Definitely!  I’m looking forward to it.  I’ll see you Sunday!  Okay, so here’s something for you now.  The first piece of music I remember hearing — I was three years old — it was Mario Lanza — opera –  with all the pain and the passion and the love. It just set the standard for me for every other piece of music afterward. What do you consciously remember as the first piece of music you heard and how did it hit you; how did it affect you?

I would have to say, the first piece of music I recall hearing … y’know, it was probably a 70s, AM, golden [oldie].  Late ’70’s.  I was maybe 4 or 5 years old, hearing really great music on the radio.  I was in my learning process of music.  It was just a really great time for the radio, to have all of that stuff, to just be able to soak all of that in.  Y’know?

Yeah. Very cool music, then.  Okay. Neil Young’s “Heart of Gold”.  Now, Neil is saying that this heart of gold is somewhere in some unmapped mine, and [he's] digging for it.  When you wrote “Hell of a Day,” you actually penned the line — and it’s a brilliant line, Taylor — “I’ve been working with the heart’s metallurgy.”  That sort of intimates something else:  that you actually have to work at crafting a relationship. Did Neil Young’s song at all influence you in writing “Hell of a Day?”

You know, as much as I have to admit it, as much as I love that song, I really didn’t base it … I didn’t really pull from Neil Young’s material.  But I completely see how there could be comparisons between the two.  I’ve always enjoyed that word [metallurgy].  Obviously, you have to do some studying to get that word.

True.

But I’m very happy about that song.  I think it’s one of the better ones I’ve written.

Yeah, it’s a great song; you know, all your songs are, and some of them just hit you more than others.  Okay.  James Taylor’s “Fire and Rain” is a song about terrible loss and other things as well, that we don’t need to go into now.  When he tours, this is the song that most people want to hear.  And yet it’s that sad, sad song.  Do you think that if a song like that — or even that particular song — were released to radio today, do you think that audiences would embrace it? Or do you think that they’ve just become jaded to the shit — excuse me — that’s on the radio now?

Well, I think country music would embrace it.

You do?

Yeah.  But as far as popular radio, I don’t think they would have any idea about it.   Y’know, for me, I think that country music is where you can still find great songs.  And I think you can find great songs in popular music [commercial radio], but you gotta dig.  It’s about the package in pop music, and not really about the song itself.

Right.  Not so much about the artist.

Yeah.

So, you think country music because they still like to tell stories, because there’s still a lot of emotion there?

Yeah.  It’s very story-oriented and it’s just … it’s just that way.

Yeah. Cool.  Okay.  Well, you and I — and I don’t know if you remember this, but — in the wings of the Brooks Atkinson [the Brooks Atkinson Theatre on Broadway, where Taylor portrayed Teen Angel in Grease, summer of 2008], we started to have this conversation about Steve Winwood’s Arc of a Diver — the album, not the song [single].  You told me you thought it was his masterpiece and I didn’t really agree.  I think I know why you think that, but if you could just share with me, so I don’t make an assumption.

Well, you know, when you think of an artist’s masterpiece, you just think of everything that they do.  I think for the time, the 80s — the early ’80s — when you’re going from real, very organic instrumentation on recorded music to more synthesized music … I mean, this was the brink of the 80s music … and for him to be able to bridge the gap between the two, but do it in such a soulful way.  And not only that, but to have great songs!  I feel that was the height of his creativity.

And also, when you’re talking about creativity, you’re looking back on it.  Bridging a gap between synthesized music and traditional music, and I think that he did that with such grace.  And you know, I just think every song is great.  When I think of “City to City,” by Jerry Rafferty … to be able to pull that off on the brink of the 80s craze, the 80s music, which is more synthesized pop …

Techno-pop. 

Yeah, I think he did that well.

He did, he did.  And considering he also had that whole very traditional English music background, as well as all the island music, in him.  Okay, so … God forbid you find yourself ship wrecked on a desert island –

(Humorous snort.)

You’re all alone but you have your Ipod.  The moment that you realize there is no hope, ain’t nobody comin’ for ya, you’re all alone, what one song do you play to give you comfort and courage?

Ah … “Will the Circle Be Unbroken?”

Oh.  (I got a bit choked up.) That’s cool.  That’s cool.  Thank you.

I think you are a great songwriter, I really think you are.  Obviously, I am not alone!  You have the ability to capture very vivid imagery in just a handful of lyrics.  Like, “Who gets lost when the map is full?”  “Feel the heat in the cold; cut the air with a knife.”  When you write, do the lyrics come to you that way or do you have to kind of … because, I write for a living and I’m constantly manipulating and massaging and pounding.  Sometimes it just comes and it’s great, and I don’t touch it.  And other times I really need to do that.  How do the lyrics come to you?

Y’know, you have to really be practical about lyrics, in a way.  The more practical you can be about ‘em, the better off that you are.  You have to be able to make sense.  But to a certain degree, y’know, tongue in cheek is not a bad idea as well.  I mean, people love that.  It’s not tongue in cheek, it’s more like words that are every day.  Y’know?

Yeah.  “Keepin’ it Real”, right?

Yeah!

What was the last artist or band that you saw perform live?

Widespread Panic.

Oh my God (laughing).  That was just a few weeks ago, right?

Yeah.

I just gave a friend of mine their “Choice Cuts” and she’s lovin’ it.  I just played  “Fishwater,” by the way, just before you called — you know, when you sat in with them.  Listen, my friend.   You could have melted the metal on that harp!!!

I appreciate that.

Oh, God, that was like … run me over and then come back and resurrect me.  You were amazing.  That, in particular, was just an amazing harp solo.  And the one you did in Millersville, Pennsylvania in October 2007 … the song where you learned to play harp to, you know, when you were playing to air conditioners [to mimic the sounds] … y’know, I’m gettin’ old!

“Take the Long Way Home.”  (by Supertramp)

Yeah, that was it! (Relieved). Thank you; thank you.  That was just exquisite. It just went right to the heart; it was exquisite, I have to tell you.  All right … well, I don’t know if you know this, but when you played Teen Angel on Broadway, you sold SROs [Standing Room Only tickets, in addition to the regular seats].  I’m a New Yorker from way back when and I’ve been the to the theater probably from the time that I was 17.  I’ve seen major actors — I mean major, major talent — and I have never seen anyone pay to stand in the aisles to see a play before!  So you broke new ground there.  Obviously, we love you. New York loves you.  When Grease went on the road for 18 months — I really feel because of you, I really feel that — what did you — here’s a trick question for ya (laughing) — what did you miss most about the city?

Um … [Long pause.]

Pushy New Yorkers like me??? (Laughing)

It’s so funny, y’know.  I could tell ya something … okay, the food, the atmosphere.  But here’s the thing, y’know?  I think the one thing that I see eye-to-eye with New Yorkers with is, we have the same pride in our State as New Yorkers do in their city.

Yes!

Y’know?

Yes, yes!

It’s like this unbridled pride that you have for your city.  And I think that’s why I connected, because I feel that, I can tell that.  I think really being able to hang out in the city and be a part of it, you know, you feel that.  And also, being from Alabama, it’s a very prideful place, a prideful State, and I think that’s something that I can connect with.

At this point, Sean called on my cell phone to alert me that we had to wrap it up, so that Taylor could conduct his next interview.  I apologized to Taylor, asking him to hang on while I answered Sean’s call.  But in doing so, I couldn’t pick Sean up in time.

I just missed Sean. I think he wants me off the phone. Unless, y’know, ya wanna talk.

I wish I could.  It’s … I’m in the middle of the airport –

You poor guy!

But we can do one more question.  Ya got one?

Yeah!!!!  I was wanting to know about “Indiscriminate Act of Kindness.”  The first five times I heard that, I sobbed, I mean, I sobbed.  It was your delivery.  I never heard Foy Vance’s version.  I didn’t want to, after I heard yours.  It is exquisite.  How did you come to find this song?

(A little knowing laugh.) Well, y’know, my friend, good friend [noted songwriter] Gary Nicholson …

Oh yeah!

He helped me, helped me in the process of writing.  And honestly, we found some great music, and he turned me on to it.  And then Simon Climie had recorded “Hallelujah” with Jeff Buckley and Michael McDonald.   I said, “Let’s try to record this in the same time signature as “Hallelujah,” as done by Jeff Buckley and Michael McDonald: 3-4 time.”  And so, that’s what we did “Indiscriminate Act of Kindness” in, 3-4 time.  It really works well.  [Mr. Climie was Taylor's celebrated producer on his most current DC, "The Distance," and has produced work for Eric Clapton, BB King, Santana, Faith Hill, and other renowned artists.]

It’s just beautiful.  It’s astoundingly beautiful. 

Oh, that’s what I wanna hear.  Well, I think we’re movin’ on.  Hey, I hope ta see ya at the Highline!

I’m goin’, I’m goin’!!! 

Oh, good.  Hey, thank you so much for your time.

Oh, you too, you too!  Thank you so much; you’re an angel.  Fly safe!! Bye-bye.

That old game we all played as teens, “Seven Minutes in Heaven,” was nothin’ compared to my 22 minutes in heaven yesterday when Taylor Hicks was good enough to speak with me.  Many thanks go to Judy Katz and Sean Katz for this wonderful opportunity, and to “anothertayfan” for the use of her great shot accompanying this article from a Syracuse, New York concert.

One last and vital note, please.  Our readers can find Taylor’s music online, at iTunes and Amazon.com, as well as major retailers such as Target and WalMart.  Please note that “Indiscriminate Act of Kindness,” on “The Distance,” is a bonus track that appears solely for the version created for Target.

Also, our intention is to post the complete audio of this interview on the Website at a future date.  It will be a separate posting and likely the “Featured Story” of that day.  So, check Write On New Jersey daily for that update.

Don’t Turn Your Ticket In, Don’t Get Your Money Back at the Door:

Counting Crows, Augustana, and NOTAR at the Starland Ballroom

When an act as stellar as Counting Crows launches its set with a cover of Van Morrison’s Caravan, it speaks volumes about the soul of that band: where it’s been, where it’s headed, and where it aims to take you.  With Augustana joining the Crows for this joyful opener, the musicians cramming the stage line danced under the spots in an alternate universe deja vu that recalled “The Last Waltz.”  At that storied gig, Van the Man quit the stage with a rare smile on his face.  He would have been smiling last night had he been in the Starland Ballroom in Sayreville, New Jersey, for one of the oddest and yet most workable musical line-ups I have ever witnessed.

This three-hour set kicked off at 8:45, to a packed-to-the-rafters house.  Instead of an opening act, all three artists — Counting Crows, Augustana, and NOTAR — alternately shared the stage, swapped musicians, covered and tagged each other’s songs, and yet still retained their separate artistic entities.  It was weird and inspired.  In fact, it was frickin’ genius.

Adam Duritz, king of the Crows, is still Everyman in his stocky body and dark dreadlocks springing and swinging like an unkempt ‘fro.  The bare feet and prayer rug are gone, but his Everyman voice retains its signature high, yearning register.  Like a latter-day Jesus, Duritz flung out his arms throughout the set as if offering himself to the crowd, for indeed, he was.  Many moons ago, I’d read an extremely candid and courageous interview with Duritz, the Crows‘ singer-songwriter; the honesty in that interview was the same honesty he brings to his music.  Without digging into his ghosts here, Duritz strips his soul bare while making poetry and, backed by his kick-ass band, also crafts some damned fine music.  In perhaps his most famous song (Mr. Jones), he references Picasso, but in my eyes, if Duritz were a painter, he’d be Van Gogh.

Counting Crows emerged as a force to be reckoned with just as commercial radio was going to hell in a hand basket and I was beginning to retreat into my old music.  I wore holes in their breakout album, August and Everything After, but truth to tell, those are the songs with which I’m most familiar.  I’d wanted to investigate their newer material prior to this concert, but I deep six’d that notion so as to go into it with a fresh perspective.

Live, Omaha killed me, as it always does.  Plaintive Irish opening strains and bittersweet melody are melded to the vivid images of that old man threading his feet through a bucket of rain “somewhere in the middle of America.”  And this golden lyric nails it: “It’s the heart that matters more.”  Indeed it does.  Like much of Duritz’ work, Omaha echoes and portends loss even as it clings to hope and salivation.

After the exquisite Omaha, NOTAR, the white boy rapper, made his first appearance.  I don’t get rap. I don’t like it; I never will.  The first thought that zinged through my brain was, “Wanna be a homey?  Allow me to drive you through a few choice neighborhoods in Brooklyn where I once had friends and hung; you’ll mess yourself without ever leaving the car.”  Sorry, but I don’t tolerate posers, particularly in music.  The musicians backing NOTAR, however — his and “theirs” — made him somewhat palatable and at times, even bordering on enjoyable.

It still floors me to see how many bands have lifted Edge’s style, even though the mimicry has become so prevalent in music, it is almost subliminal.  Edge’s ringing, ethereal guitar was there in the rapper’s opening number.  But when Duritz paired up with him to bring the song home, their tommy-gun delivery would have raised the dead.  Later on in the set, I had to give NOTAR a hand when he invited BP (British Petroleum) to perform an anatomical impossibility upon itself.

Augustana, with whom Counting Crows seemed to have the most fun, was a nice little surprise.  I was wanting to call them Gloriana, but this is only because of my second-hand exposure, which will no doubt prove toxic, to alleged “country music.”  This is no country band.  Up close and personal, neither is it the middle-of-the-road rock schlock that I also sometimes catch by osmosis.  The only song of Augustana’s I knew was, Boston.  The band’s label apparently de-fanged it for radio audiences, and that was a crime.  Live, it was a rip-roarin’ rocker and trust me, the audience roared — with pleasure.  Fire shot out of the band’s  canon a rockabilly tune, crescendo’d like an aria, and fuzzed into sweet, bluesy guitars.  The song that told us, “You don’t know me; you don’t wear my chains” was a bit too Fray-like for me.  But hey, Augustana are contemporaries with The Fray, whom I do like for certain songs, so I’ll make like Jesus and forgive them for that.

Jesus can now return the favor by forgiving me, for the Crows and Augustana collaborated on a beaut of song whose title I know not.  Into My Hands?  Into My Head?  The two guitarists warbled their instruments and then morphed into true axe men as the tune went bluesy, backed by some hot staccato drumming.  The Crows‘ A Murder of One was brilliant and beautiful. This snippet of lyrics is but a hint of this haunting love song:

There’s a bird that nests inside you,

Sleeping underneath your skin.

When you open your wings to speak,

I wish you’d let me in.

After the short break, the gloves came off.  Counting Crows, which I’d always suspected could have been a fusion jam band, proved my suspicions correct.  Whatever songs opened the second act, they were downright Charles Ives-ian.  If you’re looking for a more contemporary reference, try Dave Matthews.  Alternately, the progressive rock-jazz was psychedelic and discordant, with Duritz’s ever-rising vocals erupting out of his arched throat in a pained, primordial howl.  Both the Crows and Augustana, easing me into blues heaven, drove dueling, screaming guitars.  The rapper emerged and somehow enhanced the guitarists’ musical chops with his barking and wild, aggressive gesticulations reminiscent of a person I know who uses such signals to indicate that his wine glass is empty.  By contrast, Duritz wove his arms gently through the air, a latter day Flower Child.  Orchestrating like Leonard Bernstein and visibly moved by the music, he was a counterpoint for the rapper’s chop-chops, yet the visuals and the music blended and worked.

Mr. Jones began as a poem in the mouth of Augustana’s lead singer, but then went elsewhere, into a song I did not know.  Before it was nearly over, Duritz hopped on stage again to take up the thread and do it justice.  He must have sung this song a million times since it first put his band on the map, so the band took broad liberties with it.  At one point, Adam picked up the mic stand, aimed it at the audience, and invited us to sing along.  It was a decent rendering, but the lyrics are still the standout in this bouncy, deceptively happy tune, particularly:

I want to be a lion.

Everybody wants to pass as cats.

We all want to be big, big stars,

But we got different reasons for that.

This may have been Duritz’ plea to the universe to nail a record contract prior to his actual signing.  But it goes a lot deeper than that, speaking to the fears that fester in the human soul.  We most of us fear that we will pass without anyone ever noticing us, without anyone ever thinking we are beautiful, without ever truly touching another soul.   Mr. Jones gives those night-sweats a voice.

At well past eleven, I’d assumed the Crows would not perform my very favorite song, Rain King.  A few weeks ago, I’d stumbled upon my old copy of August and Everything After, opened all the windows in my house, and revved up Rain King, so that my neighbors would not accuse me of never giving them anything.  I played that song about thirty times in succession, called a friend who has been exploring great music over the past few years, and introduced her to the band and this song.  But I didn’t want to talk.  I only wanted to immerse myself in this exquisite song, which I deem quintessential Counting Crows.  Screw the rapper “poets,” for this is universal poetry: a song of pain and fear, loving, dying, thinking you’re dying, faith in a God one cannot see, and the hope of ultimate release … but not today.  Today is for the living, despite all the obstacles.  In Duritz’s vocals and the gorgeous melody lay the joy of simply breathing and hoping, of making it through one more day. 

They “tagged” this song with A Little Help from My Friends, and I wish they hadn’t.  For one thing, nobody’s gonna nail this song like Joe Cocker, standing solo in the spotlight and jerking like he’d downed a bottle of bleach, once did for me in Madison Square Garden.  And for another thing, it’s a sacrilege to futz with a song like Rain King.  Rain King is a liberation, period.

Oddly enough, or perhaps not so oddly, the band didn’t end with Rain King, which was preceded by Duritz’s turn at the keys for the spare and lovely Raining in Baltimore.  They closed their set with Woody Guthrie’s This Land is Mine Land, This Land is Your Land.  This was preceded by a heartfelt soliloquy from Duritz, to register to vote and to cast our votes, regardless of our political affiliations, so that the yobos in charge won’t turn “the Garden State entirely into a parking lot.”  This, of course, was a reference to an iconoclastic Joni Mitchell song, Big Yellow Taxi, and covered by the Crows as a release to radio.  The song was somewhat scary when Joni first released it; it was scarier when the Crows covered it.  And in light of BP’s rape of our Gulf waters and surrounding environs, it’s downright terrifying.  I fervently hope that those who have yet to vote, or who have given up voting, take Adam Duritz’ advice.

Whoever put this triple-threat lineup of artists together, calling themselves “The Traveling Circus & Medicine Show,” I’d like to shake their hand and clap them on the back.  Music on commercial radio has been dead, largely, for the past eighteen or so years.  We can argue why, ad nauseum.  We can burn the guilty parties at the stake (please, God!). Or we can create tours such as this.  By adding Augustana and NOTAR to the Counting Crows bill, and by juxtaposing musicians and songs as was done last night in the Starland Ballroom, positive change can occur.  The youngsters who come for the two newer acts are exposed to the eternal beauty of the music of Adam Duritz and his friends — and may thus be inspired to seek out other artists of integrity not heard on the radio.   Judging by the reaction of the audience last night (college kids to seniors), I’d say they liked it.  If this keeps up, who knows?  Real music, enduring music may just make a comeback.  Like the Rain King’s perspective, hope springs eternal.

For those of us not in the public eye, our brushes with celebrity can provide an escape from the humdrum nature of daily life, as well as a subject of conversation when someone asks us “what’s new?”  During my own life in the greater New Jersey area, I have personally encountered many personalities from the sports world, including the Philadelphia Phillies’ Greg Luzinski, Philadelphia Eagle Keith Krepfle, Philadelphia Flyers Bobby Clarke, Reggie Leach, and others, and Don Zimmer, former major league baseball player, manager, and coach, most recently with the New York Yankees.  I very nearly literally bumped into actor Ted Knight (who played Ted Baxter on The Mary Tyler Moore Show) a number of years ago on a street in Philadelphia and former Senator, Rhodes Scholar, and guard for Princeton University and the New York Knicks, Bill Bradley, while checking out at a well-known Cherry Hill sandwich shop “Big John’s.”

In many cases, I was struck by how unpretentious these notables appeared, at least on the surface.  Never, however, have I met a celebrity as down to earth and genuinely nice as Olivia Bloise Sharpe.  Who, you ask, is Olivia Bloise Sharpe?  None other than one of the new batch of reality television stars with a Jersey flavor.

For the uninitiated, Olivia is among the cast of characters on one of the Style Network’s entries into reality programming, Jerseylicious.  And, for my money, she is the star of the show.  The program’s setting is The Gatsby Salon in Green Brook where Olivia is hired as a makeup artist.  There, she works under the direction of Alexa Prisco (aka, The Glam Fairy) and the salon’s mother and daughter ownership team, Gayle Giacomo and Christy Pereira.  Much of the program’s drama is created by the tension between Olivia and hairstylist Tracy DiMarco, who is dating Olivia’s former boyfriend and who, according to information gleaned from one of the early programs in the series, has travelled in similar circles for a number of years and had a longstanding animosity with Olivia.

Make no mistake, however, Olivia and Tracy are both Jersey girls.  The big hair, the animal prints, the heavy makeup, and the liberal use of bronzer are all indicative of their Jersey roots, as is the fact that neither would in any way, shape, or form be considered a shrinking violet.  They are just two of a growing number of reality TV personalities hailing from the Garden State.  Like Jersey Shore and The Desperate Housewives of New Jersey, the success of Jerseylicious seems to hearken a national trend toward interest in all things New Jersey.

To viewers in the Midwest, Olivia, Tracy, and the goings-on at Gatsby Salon must seem as commonplace as extraterrestrial visitation.  Yet, like alien encounters, one must question how “real” is the reality being viewed?  In answer to this, I can only reference personal experience.  You see, I met Olivia at an Exxon service station in Green Brook.  The station and appended “On the Run” convenience store is operated by brothers George and Samir Yazgi and is the place of employment of Write On New Jersey’s own contributing writer, Small Town Girl.

I must confess that I had been alerted to the fact that a scene from an upcoming Jerseylicious program was to be shot at the station.  And so, anxious to see “reality” in action, I arrived to find the production staff readying the scene.  Speaking with several production crew members as we awaited Olivia’s arrival, I posed a number of questions about the show and its cast.  Although reticent to provide details, comments from the crew enabled me to draw a couple of conclusions.  First, while the cast members are indeed real hairstylists and makeup artists, they do not work at Gatsby on a regular basis (i.e., if you book an appointment, you are not likely to see Olivia, Tracy, Gigi, Alexa, Anthony, or any of the other cast members present).  Second, while the show does not have a formal script, it does have a theme or context.  The show’s characters simply react to the situation presented.

In the case of the scene shot at the Exxon station, I promised the field production manager that I would not divulge the plotline, but rather leave you to draw your own conclusions.  I will disclose, however, that both Samir and George play significant roles in this scene and that neither was prompted regarding what to say or how to react.  Having witnessed it firsthand, I think that there may be Emmy Awards in the offing for both George and Samir, as well as perhaps a reality program of their own.

Questions of the nature of reality and the impact of the camera on human behavior aside, I would conclude that reality programming is more “reel life” than “real life.”  Yet, in the 21^st Century, we seem to be evolving into a culture of voyeurs, and reality television is feeding this voyeuristic compulsion.  And so, if you like your reality staged, tune into Jerseylicious where you can witness the dramatic interplay between the lovely Olivia and the bitchy Tracy.

Write on New Jersey would like to thank Field Production Manager Lisa Colangelo for the professional photo at the top of this article and George Yazgi for the other photos taken with his cellphone.  To catch Olivia in action, you may watch the video below.

Lady GaGa is at it again!  The celeb who seems to cause controversy wherever she goes is embroiled in yet another hullabaloo:  this time with Beatles’ fans.

The picture above shows the entertainer whom some have labeled as “Hot Tits” for her use of an exploding brassiere during a recent performance (see image at right) seated at the piano of former Beatle and music legend John Lennon.

The photo, posted by John’s son Sean on Twitter, became an immediate cause célèbre among die-hard lovers of the Fab Four – inciting streams of negative and highly critical comments.  In the photo, Lady GaGa, wearing fishnet stockings and a skin-tight body suit, is playing the piano that John Lennon gave as a gift to his wife Yoko Ono.

Why the simple act of playing the icon’s piano should inspire such outrage among Lennon fans is a mystery to this writer.  Perhaps, they believe Lady GaGa unworthy of comparison to the late founder of what is arguably the most influential musical group in the history of the world.

Yet, Lennon like the Lady was hardly renowned for his musical or vocal brilliance.  Lennon was an incomparable song writer whose songs laid bare his soul, and Lady GaGa has achieved fame for, well, baring her body.  Other than that, they both are musical celebrities.

I will, however, let you be the judge.

Given the doom and gloom press with which we are constantly bombarded, we often struggle to grasp positive news.  For the next few minutes, you can forget what’s burning on your browser’s home page and the screaming headlines in the newspapers.   Instead, settle in to read something uplifting: the story of a beloved Big Easy musician who, like many of us, tussled with life’s adversities before he triumphed above them.  That musician was Louis (pronounced “Louie”) Daniel Armstrong, whom the world knew by his nickname, “Satchmo.”

On August 4, 1901 in New Orleans’ red light district known as Storyville, Louis was born to William Armstrong and Mary Albert, better known as Maryanne.  As the grandson of slaves and the child of an impoverished couple, the boy’s life seemed destined to play out in want and obscurity.  His father abandoned the family while Louis was an infant.  Trying to make ends meet, Maryanne juggled cleaning houses, which didn’t pay very well, with walking the streets at night, which paid a bit better but left her children alone at night.

Unable to care for little Louis and his sister, Beatrice Armstrong Collins, Maryanne sent the little ones to live with Louis’ paternal grandmother, Josephine Armstrong.  Without a father figure, the boy spent his youth in a rough, New Orleans neighborhood known as the “Back of Town.”  At the age of five, Louis moved back with his mother and her relatives.   For years, the only time he saw his father was when the man marched in local parades.

Louis’ first introduction to Creole music came by way of the Fisk School for Boys, where he was a student — but only briefly.   Constrained to help support his family, the boy delivered newspapers and did whatever else he could.  Well intended as these efforts were, they were not enough to keep his mother from a life of prostitution.  With no parental supervision, Louis hung out in neighborhood dance halls, listening to bands at Pete LaLa’s club.  The performers included Joe “King” Oliver, who would come to figure prominently in his life, as well as other famous Big Easy musicians.

Whether by fate or providence, at the age of seven, young Louis landed a job with a Lithuanian Jewish immigrant family, the Karnofskys, who owned a junk hauling business.  Moved by the plight of the fatherless boy, the Karnofskys took him in and nurtured him as if he were their blood.  This generosity would become the turning point in Louis’ life.

Living with his new family, he witnessed the anti-Semitism that they suffered at the hands of their neighbors.  Later, this experience would inspire Louis to author, Louis Armstrong + the Jewish Family in New Orleans: The Year 1907.  That book told of his learning “how to live — real life and determination.”  Because of his loving relationship with the Karnofskys, the future Satchmo wore the Star of David for the rest of his life.  He also learned to speak fluent Yiddish, a skill that would serve him well when he made his way, in later years, to Hollywood.

It was the Karnofskys who gave a real kick-start Louis’ career.  While making deliveries one day, Louis remarked to Mr. Karnofsky’s son that he longed to have a cornet he saw in a store window, an instrument that he could not possibly afford.   Mr. Karnofsky overheard this, and overheard it every time he and the boys passed that store.  One day, the man purchased the cornet for young Louis, who was thrilled and who promised to pay the man back with hard work.  Today, The Karnofsky Project, a non-profit organization (http://www.karnofsky.org/), donates used musical instruments to children who cannot otherwise afford a musical education.

Before the Karnofskys’ intervention, Louis was still hanging out on the streets with the wrong crowd.   Inevitably, he quit school.  Eager for pocket money, he joined a quartet of boys that busked for coins of New Orleans.  A cornet player named Bunk Johnson saw something in the kid, and taught him to play the instrument by ear.  Johnson then got him his first gig, playing at Dago Tony’s Tonk in New Orleans.  Looking back upon his youth, Louis said of his worst times, “Every time I closed my eyes, blowing that instrument, it has given me something to live for.”

Living on the streets, he had a few run-ins with the law.  The worst and the best of them came when he was 11.  On New Year’s Eve, Louis, who had never used a gun before, borrowed one from a friend.  At midnight, he shot it into the air, as was customary in the Big Easy to usher in a new year.  Despite custom, the boy had ticked off the authorities one time too many.  He was arrested and placed in the New Orleans Home for Colored Waifs.

There, under the under the direction of the home’s administrator, Captain Joseph Jones, Louis gained self-discipline as well as some musical training.  Under the tutelage of Professor Peter Davis, he became the leader of the Home Band that played around New Orleans.  By the time he’d turned thirteen, he had begun to attract attention as a cornet player. A year later, he was released from the home to live with his father and new stepmother, but that did not last long; he was then bounced back to his mother.  Finally, he returned to the streets.

Eventually, Louis landed a steady gig.  In the evenings, he played coronet at Henry Ponce’s dancehall; by day, he hauled coal.  But his heart was always in the music.  He continued to march and play in the parades that have marked New Orleans’ rich history.  Whenever he found a spare moment, Louis enjoyed the live music of Bunk Johnson, Buddy Petit, Kid Ory, and Joe King Oliver, all of whom had a hand in helping him become a polished musician.

The skills he learned would later earn him entrance into the Fate Marable band, a group that toured on steamboats up and down the Mississippi River.  Of this experience, Louis had said, he said, “It’s like going to the university,” because for the first time, he learned to work with written arrangements.

While not quite seventeen, in the year 1918, Louis married Daisy Parker.  The couple adopted a mentally disabled boy, Clarence, who was actually Louis’ second cousin; the boy’s mother had died in childbirth.  Although the marriage was short lived, Louis would spend the rest of his life caring for Clarence.

In 1919, Louis joined Kid Ory’s band, the hottest jazz ensemble in New Orleans.  Louis replaced horn player Joe Oliver, who’d decided to move to Chicago.

When Louis was twenty, his musical prowess was becoming evident. In addition to reading music, he was good enough to solo on the trumpet.  He was the first jazzman to inject his own personality into the instrument, creating and interspersing skatzing with his playing and singing.  Skatzing or scat singing is a style in which Louis spliced non-sequitor into the lyrics and used his voice to imitate instruments.  His later recording of Heebie Jeebies, featuring scatzing, revolutionized jazz and brought this hot-cool new sound to the world.  It influenced musicians, songwriters, and singers for decades to follow.  A handful of these were Cab Calloway, Ella Fitzgerald, Van Morrison, Bono, and Taylor Hicks.

In 1922, Louis’ old mentor, Joe Oliver, extended his hand, asking Satchmo to come to Chicago to play with his Creole Jazz Band.  The Windy City had become the jazz capital of the world, a particularly auspicious occurrence as the booming economy enabled people to spend money freely on entertainment.  With the Creole Jazz Band the most popular in Chicago, Louis Armstrong’s pay was good.  For the first time in his life, he had his own apartment with a private bath and did not have to supplement his income with another job.

The following year, as the second cornet player in Oliver’s band, he was recognized as a phenomenon in his field.  He won challengers that included blowing two hundred High C’s in a row!  A good friend, Bix Beiderbecke, whose musical career mirrored that of Armstrong, introduced him to Hoagy Carmichael.  In the years to follow, this introduction would lead to collaborations with Carmichael.  If you are interested in learning more about Bix, the film, Young Man with a Horn, starring Kirk Douglas, will enlighten you.

About the time that Louis met Carmichael, he “jumped the broom” again and married pianist Lil Hardin, who played in the Creole Jazz Band.  Hardin would become a driving force in his life.  Although he was content to remain in Oliver’s band, Lil urged him to seek better billings and higher pay for his talent.  Louis obliged his wife.  In 1924, accepting an invitation to play with the top African American orchestra in New York City, he parted company with Oliver.

Under the direction of Fletcher Henderson, Louis switched his cornet for a trumpet in order to blend in with tenor sax soloist, Coleman Hawkins. The Henderson Orchestra played in the best venues, such as the Roseland Ballroom.  On occasion, Duke Ellington and his band would come to see Louis perform.  During this time, Armstrong cut many records with Clarence Williams, a pianist and an old friend from New Orleans.  The Williams Blues Five band included singers Bessie Smith, Ma Rainey, and Alberta Hunter.

At his Lil’s urgings, Louis once more pulled up roots.  He left Fletcher Henderson and moved back to Chicago to play in his wife’s group, the Lil Hardin Armstrong Band. Billed as “The World’s Greatest Trumpet Player,” Louis began cutting platters under his own name for Okeh Records with his famous Hot Five and then, Hot Seven groups.  They produced hits such as Potato Head Blues, Muggles, and West End Blues: tunes that set jazz standards for many years.

Hot Five and Hot Seven included his old friend from The Big Easy, Kid Ory, on trombone, Johnny Dodds on clarinet, Johnny St. Cyr, who strummed the banjo, and Lil, who tickled the ivories.  Later, Earl “Fatha” Hines replaced Lil.  Of Louis’ band-leading skills, St. Cyr said, “One felt so relaxed working with him.  He made it a point to feature each individual musician in his arrangements.”  What St. Cyr meant was that Louis encouraged every musician to solo within a song, something that had not been done before in ensemble playing, and something that has since been copied by many a jazz man and woman.

Throughout the 1920’s, the records that Louis and his combos cut provided him with a broader audience for his evolving craft.  Heebie Jeebies was a smash, as was Weatherbird Duet with Earl “Fatha” Hines.  During the recording of Heebie Jeebies, the sheet music flew off its stand.  Instead of stopping the recording (renting a studio was costly), Louis improvised and thus gave birth to scatzing!

After separating from his wife Lil, Louis played with the Carroll Dickerson Orchestra at the Sunset Café.  Joe Glaser, an associate of the infamous Al Capone, managed this club. Eventually, the band, which featured Earl Hines, was renamed Louis Armstrong and His Stompers.  Hines and Armstrong would become fast friends.

After divorcing Lil, Louis took a third wife, Alpha Smith, who was rumored to have married him for his fame and all that went with it.  After a few years, that marriage also ended.

Louis returned to New York, where he played in a pit orchestra for the all-black revue, Hot Chocolate, written by Andy Razaf and Fats Waller.  He also made a cameo appearance in which he sang Ain’t Misbehaving’.  Louis stole the show, and the song became a hit.

The following year was climatic and devastating. 1930 marked the end of the Roaring Twenties and the collapse of Wall Street. In an economy gasping for breath, the entertainment industry floundered and many bands dissolved.  In spite of it all, Louis continued his vocal career with his interpretation of Hoagy Carmichael’s Stardust and Sydney Arozin and Carmichael’s Lazy River.  These two recordings, which feature skatzing, are collector’s items.

With the music industry shrinking, Louis moved to Los Angeles, where he was employed at the New Cotton Club.  The music attracted Bing Crosby and other Hollywood celebrities.  These connections led to Louis’ appearance, in 1931, in the film Ex-Flame.  A short while later, he returned to Chicago, only to be told by the mob to leave town.  He didn’t have to be told twice!  Louis returned to New Orleans to be welcomed by old friends.  He sponsored a local baseball team known as Armstrong’s Secret Nine, and had a cigar named after him.  Soon afterward, he began to tour the country, but was shadowed by the Mob.  He fled to Europe, where he toured to great success, and when things cooled down somewhat, he came back to the States.

Joe Glaser, Louis’ ex-manager, formed the Armstrong Big Band.  Upon Louis’ return to the U.S. however, Joe’s first task was to help the musician-singer straighten out his legal issues, Mob mess, and debts.  Louis had other troubles, however, with his fingers and lips — troubles brought on by his radical style of blowing the horns.  Forced to put down his instrument, he concentrated on his vocal prowess. Hollywood came knocking again in 1936, when he appeared in Pennies from Heaven, which starred Bing Crosby. In 1937, he replaced vaudeville crooner Rudy Vallee to become the first black person to host a national broadcast for CBS.

In 1942, after what seemed a lifetime on the road, he settled down in Queens, New York, where took a new bride, Lucille. It was during this period that he recorded Hoagy Carmichael’s Rockin’ Chair for Okeh Records.

In the years to follow, after playing more than three hundred gigs a year, changes in the industry made it difficult to maintain a sixteen-piece touring band.  Joe Glaser dissolved the Armstrong Big Band on August 13, 1947 and returned to the smaller format with the establishment of a six-piece group.  Called Louis Armstrong and his All Stars, the band headlined at Billy Berg’s Supper Club and featured Earl Hines, Jack Teagarden, and other top Swing and Dixieland musicians.  With the formation of this band, Louis made many records and appeared in more than thirty films.  On February 21, 1949, he became the first jazz musician to appear on the cover of Time magazine.

At the age of 63, in 1964, Louis recorded Hello Dolly, a chart-buster that dislodged the Beatles from their #1 Billboard spot.  Sponsored by the U.S. State Department, he also successfully toured Africa, Europe, and Asia, thus earning the nickname “Ambassador Satch”.

He came by his nicknames of Satchel Mouth and Satch because of his large jaw and mouth, which resembled, you guessed it, a satchel.  In 1932, in London, Percy Brooks, editor of Melody magazine, greeted him with, “Hello Satchmo”, and the new nickname stuck.  Louis was also known as “Dipper Mouth” and in later years, was called “Pops” by close friends and fellow musicians.

During the Civil Rights movement, Louis was unjustly labeled an Uncle Tom by segregationists as well as some younger musicians, including Miles Davis, because he sometimes played for segregated audiences.  The fact was, Louis was the first black jazz musician to play for white audiences, and the first to be embraced by international fans.  When the incident in Little Rock, Arkansas occurred in 1957, in which a black child was denied admission to a white school, Louis spoke up publicly against it, calling for the abolition of such practices.

He hated prejudice, but he loved food. While trying to maintain his weight, Louis produced songs such as Cheesecake, Cornet Chop Suey, and Struttin’ with Some Barbecue.  Of all the cuisines, he preferred that of New Orleans.  Regularly, he signed his letters, “Red beans and ricely yours.”

Amongst many of his best-loved hits were Stardust, Ain’t Misbehaving’, Dream a Little Dream of Me, You Rascal You, Stompin at the Savoy, When The Saints Go Marching In, and What a Wonderful World.  That last song was featured in the 1982 film, Good Morning Vietnam.  It starred Robin Williams as real-life DJ and U.S. Army Sergeant Adrian Cronauer, who injected some joy into servicemen’s lives with good music.  Widely diverse artists, including country music legend Roy Clark, iconic Hawaiian singer “Iz”, and punk-rock god Joey Ramone have covered What a Wonderful World.

When asked about his religion, Satchmo would say, “I was raised a Baptist, always wore the Star of David, and was friends with the Pope.”  Records indicate that he was baptized Catholic at the Sacred Heart of Jesus Church in New Orleans and wore the Star of David to honor the Karnofsky family.  Although he did not consider himself Catholic, he managed a coup that many Catholics ever have: he gained audiences with two Popes, Pius XII and Paul VI.

In addition to being an innovative musician, Louis was an extremely generous man who put everyone in his presence at ease with his infectious smile.

On July 6, 1971, God called Louis “Satchmo” Armstrong home.  His passing left a void in the world of music.  Amongst the celebrities who attended his funeral were Governor Rockefeller and Mayor Lindsay of New York, Bing Crosby, Ella Fitzgerald, Guy Lombardo, Duke Ellington, Dizzy Gillespie, Pearl Bailey, Count Basie, Harry James, Frank Sinatra, Ed Sullivan, Earl Wilson, Alan King, Johnny Carson, David Frost, Merv Griffin, Dick Cavett, and Buddy Hackett — all of whom served as honorary pallbearers.

At the service, Peggy Lee sang The Lord’s Prayer, Al Hibbler sang Nobody Knows the Troubles I’ve Seen, and long time friend Fred Robbins gave the eulogy.  Satchmo was interred in Flushing Cemetery in Queens, New York.

The Biblical quote, “Spread your bread upon the waters and it will return one thousand fold,” tells the story of the life of this amazing man.  Satchmo touched millions of fans worldwide and influenced generations of musicians.  Although he was childless, his legacy lives on through his gifts that keep on giving.  I hope that when Satchmo arrived at the Pearly Gates, St. Peter and a band of angels greeted him with a rousing rendition of When The Saints Go Marching In. 

Some monarchs wear jewel-encrusted crowns; others are more like earth angels.  Those souls in the latter category seem to have been born with special gifts that allow them to uplift thousands and thousands of their fellow human beings, even after they have departed this earth to claim their heavenly wings.  Known for innovation and integrity in their art, certain musicians and songwriters feature heavily in this category, and the King of Swing is one of them.

His name on this earth was Glenn Miller, and if you are among the few souls here who have never heard of him or his music, sit tight, for you are about to get an education and hopefully, a sense of delight through his the new music form that brought to the world.

Born Alton Glenn Miller on March 1, 1904 to farmers Lewis Elmer Miller and Mattie Lou (nee Cavender), the boy’s early years in Clarinda, Iowa were unsettled.   The family quickly moved to North Platte, Nebraska, where Glenn attended grade school, and in 1915, they transitioned once more, this time, to Grant City, Missouri.   By the age of 11, the future King of Swing had learned to play the trombone and demonstrated his musical ability by playing in the town band.  Once again, the Miller family pulled up stakes and moved to Fort Morgan, Colorado, where the young trombonist would attend high school.

A new style of music called “dance band music” was surfacing and this caught Glenn’s interest.  With the idea in mind to form a band able to play this upbeat new music, he drafted some classmates with musical talent.  By the time Glenn had donned his graduation cap, he knew in his gut that music was destined to be the center of his life.

In 1923, he was accepted at the University of Colorado.  But like many musicians who have gone before him and like many who have followed him, book learning had lost its appeal.  Bent on carving a career in music, Glenn dropped out of college to study with Joseph Schillinger.  Schillinger taught music composition and is largely credited with helping Glenn develop his signature sound.  While still studying under him, Glenn Miller composed a melody in the key of C for his first piece, entitled Moonlight Serenade.  When lyricist Mitchell Parish added his words to the song and Miller released it, this tune, which was originally slated as the “B” side of a record, exploded all over the music charts.  For fifteen weeks, it rode Billboard’s Top Ten, and would become Miller’s signature theme song.

After touring with several bands, Miller landed a job in 1926 with the Ben Pollack group in Los Angeles.  Capitalizing upon his composing skills, he then penned several arrangements of his own.  Two years later, feeling more confident about his career when the band moved to New York, he sent for and married his college sweetheart, Helen Burger.

By 1930, Miller had become a member of The Red Nichols band, also based in New York City.  With Red’s help, Glenn was chosen to play in pit orchestras for Broadway musicals such as Strike Up The Band and Girl Crazy.   Some of the other musicians in the pit included Benny Goodman and Gene Krupa.  And if you don’t know whose these esteemed musicians are, well, you’ll have to wait for future features from me!

In the years to follow his stint on Broadway, Glenn was introduced to the Dorsey Brothers and also assembled a band for Ray Noble.  As a member of Ray Nobles Band, Glenn branched out into Hollywood.  His first movie appearance was in The Big Broadcast of 1963, which starred Bing Crosby, George Burns, Gracie Allen, Ethel Merman, Jack Oakie, and Bill Robinson.

When Glenn organized his own band in 1937, the group failed to distinguish itself and finally broke up.  Discouraged, Glenn Miller understood that in order to achieve success, he had to create a sound so unique that all who heard it would associate it immediately with him and his band.  Layering instruments over each other, Glenn decided to have the clarinet play a melodic line while a tenor saxophone held the same note.  Simultaneously, he had three other saxophones harmonizing within a single octave.  This signature sound finally put Glenn Miller on the map.  Into the bargain, it got a heck of a lot of people off their feet and boogying to this new, brassy, hot-cool music.

In the spring of 1939, Lady Luck smiled upon Miller and his band at the Glen Island Casino in New Rochelle, New York.  People so went wild for this swinging, danceable sound that Miller broke all records by attracting a crowd of 1,800 people to the casino.  Forever afterward, Glenn Miller would be known as the King of Swing.

Scoring a formal recording contract, The Glenn Miller Band began cutting platters for RCA Victor and Bluebird Records.  Their first Gold record was the lively Chattanooga Choo Choo.  As their popularity grew, Hollywood once again came knocking.  In 1941 and 1942, respectively, Glenn and his boys appeared in Twentieth Century Fox’s Sun Valley Serenade and Orchestra Wives.  These appearances helped make the films into box office hits and put Miller into the headlines.

As America was jitterbugging to Glenn Miller’s music, it was also plunging headfirst into the Second World War on December 7^th, 1941.  Too old for the draft, Glenn offered his services to the U. S. Navy but was rejected.  He then wrote a letter to Brigadier General Charles Young, offering to lead a modernized Army band. He was accepted as an Assistant Special Officer, attached to the Army Air Force at Maxwell Field in Montgomery, Alabama.  There, he played trombone with the Rhythm Aires, a 15-piece band that performed at service clubs and recreational halls on the base.  Miller also made radio appearances on local stations.  He also made he made pro-Allies broadcasts for the Office of War.

Initially, the King of Swing formed a marching band in an attempt to modernize marching music within the military.  But this met with resistance from traditional career officers.  As Glenn’s weekly radio broadcast, I Sustain the Wings grew in popularity, he received permission to form a 50-piece Army band.   More like an orchestra, Glenn took his 50 musicians to England in the summer of 1944 to entertain the troops as well as some unlikely listeners.  Many of their songs were sung by Johnny Desmond and narrated by Glenn Miller in German, so that prisoners of war would also enjoy his music to the fullest.  One notable song was called Long Ago and Far Away, which in German translates, for any of our German readers out there, to “Vor langer zeit und weit weg.”

On December 15, 1944, Miller was to fly from the United Kingdom to Paris, France for the purpose of organizing entertainment for the troops that had just liberated that city from the Axis forces.  Aboard a USAAF UC-64 Norseman, Miller departed from the RAF (Royal Air Force) Twinwood Farm in Bedfordshire, English.  His plane went missing over the English Channel; the King of Swing had disappeared without a trace.  To this day, his military status remains “Missing”.  His surviving family, his wife and two children, accepted the posthumous Bronze Medal in his honor.

Those who grew up during the Big Band Era will never forget Glenn Miller. And those who did not would do themselves a favor to check out his music.  Miller’s signature recordings include Moonlight Serenade, In the Mood, American Patrol, Chattanooga Choo Choo, Tuxedo Junction, Little Brown Jug, and Pennsylvania 6-5000.

In summarizing Glenn Miller’s life, General Jimmy Doolittle stated that, “next to a letter from home, that organization [The Glenn Miller Band] was the greatest morale builder in the European Theater of Operations.”   And to steal a line from the late, great Jimmy Durante, I’ll just close with, “Good night, Glenn Miller, wherever you are.” 

I cry at commercials.  Not all commercials, only those that are shot in and include familiar touchstones of my beloved New York City.  Thus, did this geek whose TV viewing once relegated primarily to documentaries and concerts get suckered into watching The Apprentice.  Understand that for most of my life, midtown Manhattan was my old stomping ground, career-wise, while the rest of the city was my playground.  The closest that I ever got to The Donald was to ride his escalators in the Trump Tower like a human yoyo, just to see how often I could get away it with it.  I suffer from altophobia, you see, and the side panels on those escalators are clear.  The higher I climbed and the more I gazed downward, the longer the drop to those gorgeous, sun-splashed peach tiles (splat!).  A stone’s throw from the Trump Tower sprawls the emerald jewel of Manhattan — Central Park — where I’d romped often as a kid, a teen, and an adult who’s refused to grow up.  You get the gist.  I began to watch The Apprentice for those quick, bittersweet scenes of my beloved city spliced into each week’s competition.

However, the show quickly became a guilty pleasure, a modern-day Coliseum set in boardrooms and other corporate venues in and around the city of my birth.  Having not watched the show religiously for every single season, I nearly bailed when The Donald instituted celebrity contestants instead of the normal cutthroat crew of gladiators, such as Omarosa, the “love to hate her” 14-karat you-know-what.  This season, however, I’m more or less glued to my set because this final round of celebs includes three rockers, and I do love my rock n’ roll.

Frankly, I’d wanted to see Bret Michaels, Poison’s glam-rock front man, Sharon Osbourne, music producer and Mrs. to Ozzy, and most of all, Cyndi Lauper, iconoclastic punk rock goddess, kick the other contestants’ butts.  The battles unfold in the Big Bad Apple, so I reasoned that it was time to pull off the gloves via the rockers.

I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting much of Bret, as glam-rock ceased being my bag the minute that The Man Who Fell to Earth (Bowie) actually came down to Earth to show the world his musical chops.  But Bret quickly grew on me.  He seemed a pretty logical guy and a very loving father yearning to contribute his knowledge, skills, and creativity to his team’s efforts.  Having eschewed other flashy rocker-icons as well as so-called reality shows, including the one that stuck its cameras under the Osbournes’ noses, I didn’t know much about Sharon.   But she had an edge to her that, despite her proper British upbringing, I appreciated.

As a fellow New Yorker, Cyndi Lauper was another story.  In fact, she is a beautiful success story highlighting how it was once possible for an artist who did not march to anyone else’s drummer to get airplay on commercial radio and carve a career in music.  Born in Queens, Cyndi struggled early on in her career, wondering if she’d actually be able to sell a record.  Captain Lou Albano of the WWF, and Cyndi’s then-father figure, advised the girl who just wanted to have fun that maybe people didn’t want to hear the same type of voice on the radio over and over, and since she was unique, she should go for it.  She did, and the rest is history.  While Cyndi’s accent and seemingly scatterbrained perspective has put a few noses out of joint on this season’s Celebrity Apprentice, I find her a breath of fresh air.  She could have sold her soul to the devil, as so many radio-friendly voices have done.  But she remained true to her craft, speaking her mind at every turn and promoting other artists along the way.

This past week, The Donald mixed up the remaining members of Tenacity (the women’s team) and Rock Solid (the men’s team) so that Bret and Sharon were partnered with Maria Kanellis, a young, very pretty WWF diva and model.  She’s also a hard body (they don’t get much harder than hers).  Blend these ingredients into the natural fire in her belly, and Maria made a great addition to the rock contingent, particularly for this week’s dual-focus task.

The teams were directed to create as well as deliver an exercise routine for a New York fitness club, and to garner donations for each project manager’s charity of choice.  The monkey wrench was that for each donation, there had to be a live human being participating in the workout.   Although Sharon took the helm on this project, Bret pulled out all the stops, trading on his bad-boy rocker persona to brainstorm and design “backstage passes” for the workout participants, a hot-cool promo piece that contained a few typos no one cared about, and the foundation of a hilarious and effective regimen that included such moves as the “tour bus trust,” “air guitar,” and “praying to the porcelain god.”  Sharon assumed the job of hitting up business associates for donations.  Maria took the routine and ran ably with it, to the point where the execs at 24-Hour Fitness, the task’s sponsors, are seriously considering implementing it into their own program.

By contrast, project manager Holly Robinson-Peete led a team sorely lacking in creativity, both in the conception of its proper but blasé workout routine and its promotion.  Tenacity also suffered from the absence of Cyndi, who’d had a prior commitment to Lady Gaga (from whom Cyndi extracted a donation of $25K and thus contributed greatly to this task; so much for her scatterbrain, huh?).  From Day One, Holly has been nasty and insensitive to Cyndi, so I’ve decided I don’t like her one whit and will pop a champagne cork when the actress-Autism crusader is sent packing.  I also didn’t enjoy watching Holly wheedle money out of her contacts for her charity while her two team members, trendy Australian chef Curtis Stone and 1992 U.S. Gold Medal Olympian Summer Sanders, ran their rumps off across town doing everything else.  I really didn’t get it when Holly — who has been so critical of many other contestants, and who claims to have quite of bit experience fundraising — appeared to be making a botch job of what is known in the philanthropic world as “the ask.”

I warmed up slightly to Holly as, once in the boardroom, she tearfully and genuinely praised every one of her team members, including Cyndi.  But I still wanted to see her eat crow and jump into that big yellow taxi heading toward where she’d be leavin’ on a big ol’ jet airliner.  Much to my amazement as well as Holly’s, her crew won the task by reaping nearly $80K more in donations than Sharon’s team (24-Hour Fitness gave each team $24K for their charity, which figured into the final coffers).  No one saw this upset coming!

Set upon by Trump and his progeny like the velociraptors of Jurassic Park, it looked as if someone’s head on the rocker’s team would wind up on the chopping block.  Sharon, who had been ill previously and who had taken on the role of project manager for the first time, was loath to let Bret or Maria go.   As Sharon very decently and righteously offered herself as the sacrificial lamb, The Donald went gunning for Maria.  Just when I sure he was going to fire Maria’s oh-so-toned butt, New York’s richest man announced that, since everyone on both teams had done such a fine job, he wasn’t canning anyone that night!  All parties survived to duke it out for another round, next week.

So, Celebrity Apprentice is a guilty pleasure.  The show exists to make money for its network and advertisers, probably gives The Donald a good chuckle, and stimulates awareness of various worthy charities as well as much-needed donations to those organizations.   Rarely has this reality show focused so much, as it did this past week, on that latter goal.  For one bright, shining moment, all the gladiators threw down their swords and bonded over their success in pumping funds into their charities.  Although Sharon Osbourne’s team was only supposed to walk away with the sponsor’s $24K, Holly Robinson-Peete graciously promised Mrs. Ozzy another donation, apparently from the pile her own team had raised.  These charities are the HollyRod Foundation for autistic children and their families, whose website is http://www.hollyrod.org/ and Sharon’s foundation of choice for the prevention and treatment of colon cancer, which can be accessed via http://www.cedars-sinai.com/Patients/Programs-and-Services/Colon-Cancer-Program/.

As that rarified, warm and fuzzy moment is over, lovers of blood sport and lovers of the Big Apple need not fear.  We can all tune in to the next installment to see who goes for whose throat in the race to win Celebrity Apprentice.  Before you tune in, say a prayer please, for Bret Michaels.  Although the competition is taped, we are down one kick-ass rocker.  As of this writing, the intrepid Bret Michaels remains on the critical list of an unnamed hospital, attempting a valiant recovery from a brain hemorrhage. 

A prolific and diverse talent whose contributions span comic, actor, author, screenwriter, director, and producer, Don Novello is probably best known for his alter ego, Father Guido Sarducci.

He was born on New Year’s Day 1943, in Lorain, Ohio, to Eileen (nee Finnerty) and Dr. Augustine J. Novello.  As a hybrid of two races renowned for their love of merry-making, Don seemed predisposed to a life as an entertainer.

Upon graduating the University of Dayton, he invented the character that catapulted him to fame.  At a St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Shop, Don purchased a monsignor’s outfit for $7.50: the wisest investment that the Ohio native ever made.  With the addition of a pair of sunglasses, a mustache, a cigarette, and a thick Italian accent, Father Guido Sarducci, the satirical Catholic priest, was born.  The “good father” first took the stage as a stand up comic in a popular San Francisco nightclub.  Later, he appeared on San Francisco’s TV Channel 20’s Chicken Little Comedy Show, where he caught the attention of successful comic David Steinberg.

After signing Don as a writer, Steinberg introduced him to Tommy and Dick Smothers.  The Smothers Brothers were the well-loved “oil and water” comedy duo of the 1970’s; to appear on their program was quite a coupe.  In 1975, Don realized that accomplishment in the persona of Father Sarducci.  From 1977 to 1980, he was a semi-regular on the irreverent cultural phenomenon known as Saturday Night Live.  Don also made a number of guest appearances on other television shows.

Concurrent with his fame in the ’70’s, Don adopted a nom de plume, under which he’d penned correspondence to celebrities and politicians.  As Lazlo Toth (the name of the real-life psycho who’d vandalized the Pieta in Rome), Don needled his recipients by misstating facts and dropping inside jokes.  Some of the jokes were taken seriously, engendering responses with humorous results.  Don Novello later compiled these letters in three books that achieved publication: The Lazlo Letters, Citizen Lazlo, and From Bush to Bush: The Lazlo Toth Letters.

Don went on to produce SCTV.  Patterned upon Saturday Night Live, this ’80’s show showcased the talents of comic actors Martin Short, the late, great John Candy, Joe Flaherty, Eugene Levy, Andrea Martin, and Catherine O’Hara.  During the same decade, Don parodied the Richard Harris hit single, “MacArthur Park” with “I Won’t Be Twisting This Christmas”/”Parco MacArthur.” Don is credited with the lead vocals on this Warner Brothers release.

In 1981, he discovered that the Vatican did not appreciate his humor.  Disguised as Father Sarducci, Don and his accomplice, a magazine photographer, gained access to prohibited areas of The Holy City.  They compounded this transgression by shooting photos of sights verboten to outsiders.  Although the Swiss Guard arrested the mischief-makers, they dropped the charges.  They never, however, confiscated the film!

In 1984, Don scripted The Blade, a send-up of high school yearbooks in which he portrayed students as sheep.  Although Noble Rot never made it to the silver screen, Novello had collaborated with fellow Saturday Night Live alum John Belushi in creating that script.  Don also narrated Fairy Tale Theater’s third season, Pinocchio.

Don’s career took a more serious turn in 2001, when he was chosen to play Dominic Abbandando in The Godfather, Part III.  A speaking role, this opportunity gave the comic/writer/producer some face time in the film, including an appearance in the final scene on the steps of the Rome Opera House.  This solemn bent, however, did not last long.  The same year, Don lent his voice to Disney’s animated film Atlantis: The Lost Empire, as the character of Vincenzo “Vinny” Santorini.  In the film’s sequel, Atlantis: Milo’s Return, he reprised the character.

Many of us who were raised in the Catholic faith revere and fear men of the cloth.  After all, we enter darkened confessionals to spill our sins to them and receive penance!  Don Novello did the opposite.  By gently satirizing the people we had put on pedestals, he gave the world the gift of laughter, including a new generation of funny men and funny women. 

America’s plate is heaped high with terrifying unemployment rates, the issue of national healthcare, and the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.  If this not enough to give us indigestion and worse, we were informed this past week that a portion of the nation would not be able to view The Oscars.   The tug-of-war between ABC (Channel 7) and Cablevision has left us this latest bitter pill to swallow.

At the eleventh hour — as the Oscars ran live, in fact — the nation was told that the warring factions had come to a temporary truce.   This was delivered as a text feed at the bottom of our TV screens, just as Steven Martin and Alec Baldwin were cutting up on stage and preparing to announce the winner of a major category.  The timing of this ceasefire reminds me of the timing of Alex Rodriguez’ allegedly earth-shattering announcement.  Just as the Boston Red Sox were pulling out all the stops in the World Series that year, A-Rod’s agent pontificated over the airwaves that his client had made the decision to remain with the New York Yankees.  The timing of and intent behind both announcements, A-Rod’s and the media giants, was pompous, self-aggrandizing, and designed to make all us think, “Gee, aren’t we the lucky ones!”  Thankfully, not all of us are fooled.

The ploy perpetrated upon viewers during the Oscars was a rehash of a dog and pony show has happened before: denying people the right to watch Hollywood celebrate its best with those little golden statues.  The reason this event was scheduled to be blacked out on certain cable networks is greed, pure and simple.  Cablevision paid Disney, ABC’s parent company, what they claim was a wad of dough for the right to carry the Oscars ceremonies.  Knowing how altruistic the Disney machine is, I don’t doubt it.  The cable company assumed that Disney would pay ABC it’s due and thereby, ensure that its subscriber base could tune in to see Sandra Bullock’s odd kabuki make-up, George Clooney staring daggers at the hosts, and Ben Stiller send his career as a funny man plummeting several notches.

Who’s in the right here?  Clearly, it’s not the American people; we’re the ones getting shafted, again and again.

I can’t see ABC crying poverty.  And God knows, there are enough Disney characters populating the big screen and all manner of merchandise, from lunch pails to kiddy slippers, from plastic dolls that come in boxes to that manufactured live doll known as Hannah Montana.  So, I am not shedding crocodile tears over any, cough, cough, monetary issues that Mickey & Company may claim to have concerning this dispute.

This type of blackmail has been going on for years, with the American public on the losing end.   Do you remember when Major League Baseball went on strike, leaving the post-season games, including the 1994-1995 World Series, not played?  Many disgruntled fans protested by not returning even after the labor dispute was settled.  I am sure that both the players and the owners realized without the fans, the game would not generate a single red cent.

The same is true of the Oscars.  Without viewers tuning in to this increasingly overblown and drawn out affair, there would be no sponsors.  No sponsors would equal a lack of advertising dollars, and as Joel Grey sang in his supporting Oscar role in Cabaret, “Money makes the world go around!”

The Oscars are part of the mystique of Hollywood: a day when producers, screenwriters, musicians, special effects people, costume designers, and actors compete for the coveted honors.  Without the viewing public, the Academy could conduct a private ceremony, or even mail the awards to the recipients and in the process, save a bundle of money on sets, dancers, hosts, ad nauseum.  Such tactics would reduce this gala occasion to a pat on the back for the recipients.

Americans supported Hollywood financially by paying to see the films nominated for awards.  They will pay again, and again, when the movies are distributed in DVD form and Pay-per-View formats.  We don’t deserve to be the victims of a price war between media giants.   My suggestion is that we retaliate for this ill treatment by refusing to watch sporting events, The Oscars, and any other extravaganza where we are held hostage to industry’s greed.  Without the viewers’ buy in, manifested by their time and hard-earned money, none of these events would be successful.

The robber barons of industry would do well to remember the old riddle, “If a tree falls in the forest, does it make a noise?”  To which the answer is, “Only if there is someone there to hear it.”

The economy troubles me; no doubt about that.  So does this second Vietnam (the war in Iraq and Afghanistan), and the bailout of industries whose heads I’d prefer to see on stakes.  I have a full metal jacket of other issues ripe for baring in a blog whose writers are adults and desirous of exercising their right to free speech in a manner that may enlighten and empower others.  But the one issue that has been tearing at my heart since the mid-1990s is the absence of real music in our lives and at our very fingertips.

I define “real music” as that which moves us to tears, makes us think, makes us feel, and in the end, helps make us better people.  That last phrase of mine is heartfelt; it is not an exaggeration.  I may, in forthcoming articles, expound upon the specific influences that brought our country to the point where it’s impossible to turn on a commercial radio station without hearing the same soulless, boring, and whoring fifteen to twenty songs, churned out by the same soulless, boring, and whoring fifteen to twenty performers day after day, week after week, month after month, ad infinitum.

Like the law of physics that states that matter can never be destroyed, only altered, good music has changed drastically in the way that we are forced to hunt it down and access it.  It is still out there, but much of it is no longer free.  Music is indeed the universal language; like no other art form and no other form of indulgence, its healing properties are instantaneous and far reaching.  It should be freely available at the turn of a radio dial, as it once was, and is no longer.

The American public has been robbed blind of what once uplifted our souls, made us stand up for our fellow man and woman, and got us through a Depression, numerous recessions, and far too many wars.  Indeed, music helped shaped our socio-political mores; it drove the way we approached these issues, voted, and even lived our lives!  To eliminate good music from a non-paid form of access (commercial radio) is, to my mind, akin to denying us the freedom of speech.

Oh.  And if you think the Internet is the great Second Coming poised to deliver you from this nightmare, think again.  The suits are on to us, big time.  Lovers of real music, and the artists who make it, are being hunted like foxes running one step ahead of the hounds.  The suits are waking up to the fact that many music lovers access tunes online.  As a result of that escalating trend, their primary business — the sale of hard CD’s — has dwindled.   Therefore, the suits are working to stamp out as many forms of non-paid music access as they can bag.

Behold their handiwork.  IEEM (formerly on the Web at ieem.com) is dead and buried.  Its funeral has forced the independent artists for whom the site was created to move their music to their individual pages on MySpace.  This move has deprived us all of a central repository for indy work, leaving us scrambling to locate new artists on a burgeoning social networking site that some of us avoid like the plague.  Rhapsody.com?  You have to pay for it if you want to hear more than the five or six songs the site allows you on a trial basis.  And the fee is annual, amortized over your credit card bill month after month.  Just what you always wanted: another credit card bill at exorbitant interest rates, for the privilege of hearing the music of your choice.

Worse, it was announced recently that record industry robber barons, including Clive Davis, have partnered with YouTube to effectively erase the work of all independent artists from this vehicle if said work is not deemed “of the highest quality.”  The standards defining that quality were glaringly absent from a public statement scripted for and presented a month or so ago by, of all people U2’s Bono, in honor of the launch of YouTube’s new initiative. I say “of all people” because U2 in its infancy was the first band in history to copyright their music.  They were savvy enough to know about the wolves howling at the door, and to protect themselves from the beasts, even when commercial radio was still streaming music crafted in the human heart and soul.

To add insult to injury, any indy artist wishing to submit his or her work to YouTube will be “screened” by a back-end process … a process to which no one but the techies on the payroll, and ah yes, the suits, will be privy.

Clive & Co. attempted to peddle this unprecedented theft as a desire to bring YouTube’s audience only the “highest quality music videos.”  Well, those of us with functional brains know that only those artists in Clive & Co.’s stable, and the stables of moguls like them, can afford to produce what the general populace would deem “the highest quality music videos.”  Those of us who love music could give a rat’s hind end about grainy or jumpy videos; it’s all about the music for us!  

Thus, we have the artists (true artists, not no-talent media whores), whose voices — instrumentally, vocally, and songwriting-wise — have been silenced.  The suits at the major labels and their lackeys, including their legal counsel and bean counters, are more concerned with pushing mass-produced product to exceed sales expectations than they are in the quality and integrity of the music they promote to achieve airplay, the music that has made commercial radio a vast wasteland.

In his autobiography published approximately two years ago, Eric Clapton postulated that none of the big labels would be around in ten years.  If Old Slow Hand is correct, the sand in Clive’s hourglass has another eight years to go.  In that time, I shudder to think what further havoc he and his ilk will perpetrate upon the American music-loving audience.

Like the early Christians who went underground to avoid persecution and spread The Word, we music lovers will continue to ferret out the artists who speak most profoundly to us.  We will not stop seeking the channels through which we may enjoy the music, and we will not stop passing the information on to others just as hungry and relentless as we are.