Whatever became of classical music?

Today I went to a pianist's concert. He had the usual awards, and he had recorded for a small label that seemed sort of familiar, but not quite. According to his bio, he had started his own record label, apparently just to release his own recordings and sell them at his shows.

His concert was free. There are venues, especially colleges, that welcome this type of thing. They either pay the artist an "honorarium," or pay a compliment instead: "you get free airfare and hotel for the weekend, and we will invite you to a celebratory dinner with the Dean." The concert itself is free to students and faculty and, perhaps, the general public if the hall is big enough and the odds of filling it small.

Well, why not go to a free classical concert once in a while? The artist in question was getting good reviews as a Chopin interpreter, had recorded a cycle of Mozart concertos, and had a repertoire that included most of the standards, with only a few modern items that might try anyone's patience, like stepping on Glass.

I had a fleeting thought: why is this guy sticking with Chopin, and THOSE guys? Is it that the dwindling audience for classical expects this? Is it that the few people who actually want to see a live pianist would want to see a live rendition of works by famous composers that are less well known now than Taylor Swift and Kanye West?

I thought, maybe this guy could expand his bookings or get more attention if, instead of competing with the huge catalog of Chopin on CD, he featured lesser known but worthy composers, like, oh, Amy Beach or...Billy Joel. Has anyone added Billy Joel to the classical repertoire, or do they stop at Alkan and Satie? Was Billy's album, now sixteen years old, given any serious reviews in the first place?

I checked online and began to read some of the reviews on Billy, and most, reflecting on him being such a nice guy, were nice. Or tolerant. People Magazine, who probably didn't even have a regular columnist for classical, had somebody who probably spoke for the average Joel fan: "Joel’s Kubla-Khan-in-the-Hamptons lifestyle may be going to his head. Bottom Line: We liked you just the way you were." The more serious Gramophone, allowed, "For these 10 works‚ composed during the past eight years‚ are nothing less than a nostalgic look back at the piano pieces of Chopin‚ Liszt and other masters of the keyboard recreated in their image by someone who clearly has a soft spot for them...it would be a delusion itself to suggest there was more on offer here than a set of pastiche pieces. Joo plays all of them sympathetically and is recorded in sound that leaves nothing to be desired."

Most reviewers felt the material was imitative of the composers he grew up playing. Billy didn't play these pieces himself; he hired his friend Richard Joo, who obviously never became very well known as a concert artist. Who knows, he might be teaching somewhere, or playing free concerts at colleges. I interviewed Billy longer than 16 years ago, and he did mention being classically trained. Was he doing anything more than a tribute to Liszt or Chopin by writing in their styles? Not really. Was he expanding on the more modern romantic works of Ravel or Alkan? Not really.

Does anyone care about classical music these days? NOT REALLY. So the future for most classical pianists who put in an aching amount of hours perfecting their craft, is playing free concerts, relying on grants, selling CDs after the show, and probably teaching. It's been several generations since people went to concerts by the rivals Rubinstein and Horowitz and then walked into a record store asking for an album. It's been several generations since anyone could name a famous conductor (Bernstein!) Who was the last superstar pianist? Kissin? Brendel? How many people in a major city know the name of their orchestra's conductor. Tell me, anyone in San Francisco, Chicago, Boston, London, New York...

In many places, the ballet, the opera, the symphony hall...are in danger of closing.

In researching the apathy toward Billy Joel's album, I came across a grim piece back in 2001 which I thought I'd simply quote rather than link. It's wonderfully snarky about what passed for "classical" music then and is just as accurate now. In fact moreso, because there hasn't been anyone taking the place of pop singers like Bocelli, or pseudo-classical composers like Sir Paul.

This piece comes from the Telegraph (UK) and is by Norman Lebrecht. Bring on the snarky truth, Norm:

05 Dec 2001

FORTY years ago, just before the Beatles turned the world on its head, one in every five records bought and sold across the world was classical. About 20 years ago, in the rainbow dawn of compact disc, classics accounted for 10 per cent of global sales. This year, classical music is down to three per cent, and falling.

Gloomy as this might seem, we have not hit bottom yet. This week's top-selling "classical" album in the US is piano music composed by Billy Joel, a faded rock star. The top two albums in Britain are punched out by Russell Watson, an industrial-strength tenor who assaults football terraces with pop ballads and ice-cream arias in marshmallowy, Mantovani-like settings.

These are the core of contemporary classics. Were the charts to be purged of such mongrelisms, there is little doubt that classical sales would fall below one per cent and the business would be shut down.

The gentle subsidence of classical labels has been turned, over the past five years, into a full-scale wipeout as corporate executives have sought to justify their six-figure salaries with ever more frantic exhumations of exhausted commercial material. EMI trotted out Sir Paul McCartney with pseudo-classical piano tinklings. Decca dredged up Andrea Boccelli from the Italian pop racks and redesignated Nana Mouskouri in her Seventies spectacles as a classical diva.

Deutsche Grammophon, arbiter of high art, employs the operatic baritone, Bryn Terfel, to squeeze out songs from the movies and the Swedish soprano Anne-Sofie von Otter to duet with a toneless Elvis Costello. Had Sir Elton John not retired from making new records last weekend, his keyboard elegies would by now be the target of a classical bidding war.

The leader in the rush to generic contamination is the label known as Sony Classical, which has come to stand for anything but. Sony is headed by a former orchestral publicist, Peter Gelb, who set out "to redefine the classical label . . . to return to the idea of classical music as an emotional experience for the listener".

His greatest coup so far is the classical rebirth of Billy Joel, who has sold 100 million records in 25 years - which counts as an emotional experience for a corporate boss. Joel, whose gift was sparked at 14 on seeing the Beatles steal the Ed Sullivan Show, hit the big time in 1977 with The Stranger, the biggest-selling album of its day. He won a shelf-load of Grammys and a place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

But his last big hit was River of Dreams seven years ago. So Billy Joel has fallen back on a boyhood love of Chopin and Schumann, and started turning out little waltzes and reveries for solo piano.

His Fantasies and Delusions, performed by Richard Joo, a British-Korean pianist of previously clean record, was recorded at the Konzerthaus in Vienna by a rigorous classical producer, Steven Epstein. It pays over-fond homage to the great Viennese composers - though perhaps most of all to the wacky Frenchman Erik Satie, whose musique d'ameublement, aural wallpaper, it strongly recalls. This is not music that will stop anyone in his tracks, except perhaps a maitre d'hotel in a palm court lounge.

Sony Classical trots out a line about "growing the classical market" with celebrity glitz, but the excuses sound as hollow as the strategy itself. The rest of Sony's seasonal list is made up of Placido Domingo duetting in Vienna with Tony Bennett, Vanessa Williams and Charlotte Church; of Joshua Bell and John Williams accompanying a banjo man; and of Yo-Yo Ma, the most charismatic of cellists, playing movie themes, tangos and country and western. Only two releases are definably classical - a pair of concertos from the sophomore Hilary Hahn, and a set of orchestral pieces by the Finnish composer Esa-Pekka Salonen, the only conductor left on Sony's books.

Nothing criminal in that: it's a free market and a record label has a right to make an honest buck. Crossover does not cause cancer. Nor does it corrupt youth - if only because youth spends its pocket money on violent rap albums and would not be seen dead listening to something labelled "classical". So where's the harm?

Look at any record store, and you'll see just where. What the Billy Joels and Russell Watsons do is burn up the marketing budgets of the so-called classical labels on which they appear, starving serious music of the oxygen of publicity, space on the shelf and room in the charts. Crossover is not an aid to classical renewal, rather an act of classical euthanasia. Billy Joel, for all his love of good music, is driving a mighty nail into the coffin of classical recording.

* * * * Back to today. Was it a sign that there's still life in the world of classical music...or not?

The noon performance was at a venue seating 500 people. It was almost full. But, it was full of older white people. It would've been a much smaller crowd if you only picked out the people with dark hair. Oh, and two Asians. I saw two Asians.

The program consisted of three sonatas; Schumann, Mozart and Chopin. Safe bets. The artist was excellent, and the crowd gave him a fairly good standing ovation. Remember, these are older white people. Maybe a third couldn't stand. Or not for long. Some, as usual, were tottering for the exit before the encore, which was the most bombastic of the Chopin etudes. I loved it.

The pianist made his way up the left aisle as fast as possible, because...most important...he was signing copies of his CDs. Do NOT have people walk by a table that has some lady selling CDs but no pianist autographing them!

Especially when the CDs are all from your own company. You keep all the profits.

Does this mean that it's still possible to make a living as a classical pianist? Let's not be too pessimistic. It's possible if someone is an excellent performer, is a bit theatrical (striped pants, a dark maroon jacket) and has good facial expressions (this fellow seemed to especially enjoy the more whimsical passages, which had his lips puckering). The back of the free program noted that one could donate and be a "patron" of the noon recitals. The form read: "I wish to make a gift at the following level..."

It started with $10,000. Then $5,000, $2,500, $1,000 and $500. The lowest amount listed was $120. Then there was "OTHER." Which might make you a patron, but a cheap one. You might not even be on the mailing list.

Before the concert began, a rep for the venue turned up onstage to announce next week's attraction, and to remind everyone to donate: "Our concerts are free, but they are not free to produce." They depend on grants, the good nature of the college or university or library putting on the show, and "especially, on generous individuals to provide support."

Support the artist? ME? I generously bought a double Chopin CD for $20, which the artist autographed. Which gave me the opportunity to ask a mild question -- did he listen to previous masters, like Novaes, Rubinstein and Brailowsky, or not want to be influenced? "Of course I listen to past masters," he said, yes, he was finding his own way and his own interpretations.

And is the world interested in what was, after all, excellent but not bizarrely unique versions of classical sonatas? The world's interest seems to shrink more and more. White audiences are shrinking more and more. Classical radio stations are shrinking more and more. People are less interested in going to live shows in general because of the expense, and even free shows require a certain amount of leisure time. And what if this man's show was on at the same time as an NFL game, where one can enjoy watching somebody take a knee because he doesn't like a piece of music he's hearing?

I can only add that as most people know, CD sales have tanked. People don't want them. They don't want DVDs. They don't even want books. What they want on their shelves, I have no idea, but they take no pride in any of THAT stuff. They used to want mp3 files but hell, that could take up an external hard drive the size of ONE BOOK. Now, the preferred method of listening to music is STREAMING, of which there are many free services that imitate the radio stations of old. You can listen to SPOTIFY with some commercials. You can go to YouTube and hear just about any music you want, and with an adblock filter, not even be bothered by a few random commercials.

It turns out the person selling the CDs at the concert was the co-owner of the pianist's record label. I asked her if she was planning on issuing very unusual, esoteric material. I said, "Some small labels seem to thrive by offering offbeat things that haven't been recorded too often. For example, there's hardly any recordings available of Kabalevsky's pieces for the piano, especially the witty and often quite charming pieces he wrote for young pianists just learning the instrument." She said that the label was finding its way. It would release what the artists felt moved to record. If the artist had a fondness for a particular Chopin sonata, Moussorgsky, Tchaikovsky, and wanted his version out there, it would arrive. To be commercial, and be the only label to have Kabalevsky, or a work of Amy Beach or Tausig? Perhaps not.

I volunteer at a charity shop that USED to sell CDs for $3 each. Now it's down to $1. Almost nothing is selling anymore. The last holdouts were the snotty fans of classical music, who would peer with curled lip and narrowed eyes at anything that wasn't SEALED, and hold the CD up to the light, and ask, "Can I return it if there's a problem?"

Most of the creatures who frowned and put back a Naxos CD are now gone. Gone where, I have no idea, since most of them insisted mp3 sound was beneath contempt. My guess is that since there are so few new pianists around, and fewer orchestras creating unique versions of a Beethoven symphony that would rival the dozens already out there, they are content to sit on what they have. They sure as hell aren't experimenting with modern classical composers. Challenging and obscure titles sit until they must be culled and tossed in the trash. Anything from Naxos goes into the trash eventually, as do items from budget labels. Opera tends to go directly to the trash. Even rare imported mono doesn't sell, as the people who rhapsodize over Callas or even Stratas are either dead or dying.

Millennials aren't too interested in classical music, any more than they are interested in black and white movies, or listening to old radio shows. Hell, they not only don't want to listen to "Lights Out," they don't care about "The Twilight Zone." And so the people who barely want an album of "soft" light classics (Pachelbel's Canon) don't even want a "Beethoven's Greatest Hits." The acidic remarks roiling up from the Telegraph reviewer's gizzard, probably couldn't even get printed today. Not for money. How many papers have a movie critic or a book critic, much less a classical music critic? Who reviews CDs anymore?

The good news is that none of this is bad news to Beyonce or Adele.

ANNE JEFFREYS

There were many reasons to love Anne Jeffreys.

For me, she was, as the announcer said, “the ghostess with the mostest,” teasing Cosmo Topper. To borrow Hawkeye Pierce’s remark on Gene Tierney, she had the world’s sexiest overbite. She was as unique for the role of Marion, as Barbara Eden was for the genie, Elizabeth Montgomery was for the witch, or Julie Newmar was fore the robot…all icons of TV’s golden era.

Jeffreys had the perfect combination of impishness and sexuality, especially for a TV sitcom. There weren’t all that many scenes were she literally let her hair down, and showed off just how sublime she was. Censorship and good taste kept Marion above double entendres and any jokes about just how much she could teach stuffy Cosmo Topper (and wife?) on how to “live.”

For many a baby boomer, Anne Jeffreys was the first awakening of lust. There was more to Marion than there was "Annie Oakley", or the TV housewives led by Donna Reed. Yes, we had "cute" (Shari Lewis) but Anne was fascinating!

Anne Jeffreys told me that “Topper” was not her favorite or most satisfying role. She preferred the stage. She adored musicals, and took over for Patricia Morison (perhaps best remembered now as a villainess in a Basil Rathbone “Sherlock Holmes” movie) in the Broadway hit “Kiss Me Kate.” It fulfilled the promise she showed when she won a scholarship to the New York Municipal Opera Company. Anne had made her Broadway debut years earlier, 1947, when she was able to leave Hollywood and her film roles to appear in “Street Scene” by Kurt Weill.

It was while doing “Kiss Me Kate” that Anne met up with handsome Robert Sterling, divorced from Ann Sothern and appearing in the theater next door in “Gramercy Ghost.” They got married in 1951 and in 1952 co-starred on Broadway in “Three Wishes for Jamie.” They also developed a nightclub act, and then became, forever, the immortal ghosts Marion and George Kirby on “Topper.”

The original ghosts were played by Constance Bennett and Cary Grant, and yet Anne and Robert were hardly compared to that formidable team. That’s how good they were. Ironically, Leo G. Carroll as Cosmo Topper had a few critics complaining that he was imitating the late Roland Young. But Leo had other problems. According to Anne, he was distracted on the set, mourning his late wife. The show’s ghostly theme may have added a bit to his sadness.

While “Topper” was a one-joke show, it was a good one. One of the early writers was Stephen Sondheim, getting his first taste of TV work.

As TV became more and more popular, and indie local stations popped up, the need for new material led to many films being licensed for the small screen. Fans of “Topper” soon discovered that Anne Jeffreys had been a movie star in the 40’s. She was “Tess Trueheart,” girlfriend to Dick Tracy (played by Morgan Conway) in both “Dick Tracy” (1945) and “Dick Tracy vs Cueball” (1946).

The lady born in North Carolina (January 26, 1923) also turned up in plenty of budget westerns at Republic Studios, co-starring with Wild Bill Elliott. She also starred in “Nevada” with Robert Mitchum (1944) and “Return of the Bad Men” with Randolph Scott (1948). She was in “Dillinger” with Lawrence Tierney (1945) and played a nightclub singer in “Riff Raff” (1947).

There was plenty of life after playing the ghost in “Topper.” She and Robert Sterling starred briefly in the sitcom “Love That Jill” in 1958, and she went on to win over a whole new set of fans as Amanda Barrington in the soap opera “General Hospital.” She later played David Hasselhoff’s mother on “Baywatch.” Robert Sterling died in 2006. Anne continued to be a vivacious presence at Hollywood parties and award shows, and remained a classy symbol of elegance and good humor.

She was on that very short list of women both beautiful, and gifted with the ability to make people laugh.

HUGH HEFNER

Hugh Hefner. Friend to boobs.

He was also the patron of those who thought that comedy could be smarter than the boobs who did so well making faces and telling wife jokes…the Jerry and Henny types. And that’s what is ALMOST as important as the legacy of centerfolds on which Hugh Hefner built the Playboy empire.

For me, and I told him this, a big part of Playboy’s legacy is that he gave cartoonists and comedians a place to work, and for good pay. Few seem to remember that Dick Gregory got his start at a Playboy club. Fewer would know that one of the regular Playboy cartoonists was black; Buck Brown. Hefner wrote the liner notes for Will Jordan’s “sick humor” album, and championed both Lenny Bruce and Mort Sahl.

The pages of Playboy featured many satirists, and many of them earned their first decent paycheck thanks to the magazine’s policy of paying far more than they had to. Yes, Playboy also pioneered the in-depth Q&A interview feature (Mort Sahl again was given a prominent shot). Playboy Press published Lenny Bruce’s book.

Playboy’s first issue featured a nude image of Marilyn Monroe. The mag would literally expand on this with a dazzling three-page fold-out, and it would not only create stars (such as Barbi Benton) but help keep stars famous (Farrah Fawcett) and bring back some older favorites (including Nancy Sinatra and Terry Moore). I got a chance to meet and talk with Nancy Sinatra...when she did a signing of the Playboy issue at Tower Records.

The legend of the Playboy Mansion grew. Just about everyone who could get there, wanted to go. From Julie Newmar to Judy Tenuta and back, the parties there were a lot of fun. My friend Julie dashed off a quick recollection on her website, JULIENEWMARWRITES.com. If you can't blow up the article here, go over there and search for it. Hefner of course was a pretty good writer himself, creating the “Playboy Philosophy” that did so much for the sexual revolution.

Sprinkled within the pages of Playboy were great cartoons. Aside from The New Yorker, Playboy was the best place for somebody with talent to gain fame. Playboy’s version of Charles Addams was Gahan Wilson. At the corner of eye-popping drawings of busty women were the familiar signatures of Dedini, Interlandi, Dempsey, B. Kliban and many more.

All this is coming from memory at the moment, the vivid memories of just how important Playboy was for humorists, whether those who wrote (including Jean Shepherd) to the stand-up stars and the cartoonists, and the ones, like Shel Silverstein, who did a bit of everything.

Classy and stoic, Hefner watched the competition turn up and prosper. Guccione showed pubic hair. Larry Flynt brought sex back into the bathroom. If you wanted more pictures and less text, the newsstand was festooned with rival magazines, what Lenny Bruce happily called “stroke books,” including Rogue, Dude and Gent. And Cavalier, Escapade, Bachelor, and on and on and on.

My stuff appeared in dozens and dozens of those mags, both comedy, fiction and photographs. No, I never got into Playboy. I did publish erotic (really, not dirty) science-fiction in Hustler and photos (really, not dirty...a full page portrait of Richard Jeni after all) in Penthouse.

Hef sometimes turned up in a funny role (as himself in “The Odd Couple” for example) and was pretty genial when the feminists came after him in the 70’s.

He also withstood the blows to the empire when he found himself aging, erotica on newsstands replaced with free porn on the Internet, and women outright using him by becoming close and then writing a tell-all book. His daughter couldn’t quite keep the empire going. Mel Brooks’ son was an editor who came and went. And for a bleak period of time, Playboy went the way of the “lad mags” and declared there would be no nudity. Hefner lived long enough to see the reality of his mansion going up for sale, and his fragile attempts to hold onto his swinging image satirized and scorned.

So many of Hefner's comic icons passed before he did. That includes Irwin Corey who recorded an album at the Playboy Club, Dick Gregory who replaced Corey one night and went on to stardom, my friend George Carlin, and cartoonist legends such as Shel Silverstein and B. Kliban. Here's a photo of Hugh at a fundraiser for our mutual pal Mort Sahl, who wasn't quite as astute with his finances as Hefner was in running the Playboy empire.

Hefner is gone; the legacy of Playboy is forever. The writers who published short stories in his magazine and went on to novels and greatness never forgot. While rock and rap long ago eclipsed Hefner’s own favorite music, there were golden years for Playboy with their jazz poll and concerts. There are the memorable centerfolds, which included the ones for a lady named Dolly and a lady named China. One of them married comedian Dick Martin and the other married Mort.

And so we come back to Mort, and to the other comedians, and the cartoonists, who created that link between sex and joyous laughter. What was a better time than bringing a date to a comedy club, watching a Playboy-approved guy like Dick Gregory, Mort Sahl, Irwin Corey or Lenny Bruce…and then having an exciting evening of erotica afterward? I have no idea! But many guys Hefner’s age, who were swinging in the 50’s and 60’s know exactly what I mean. Those sly dogs.

TAKE A KNEE..TAKE A KNEE...

Oh, I know.

In the OLD days, people MARCHED. Man, that's OLD school.

Now? Take a Knee.

Let's say you're a rich football player. Your white adoptive parents gave you everything America has to offer. That doesn't mean America is a good place to live. Show the world that America is a disgraceful place to live. Take a knee.

America is disgraceful not because it ignores climate change. Not because it has a terrible health care system. Not for any reason except one. The National Anthem was written by a guy who, on revisionist websites, never went to court and helped slaves to be free (which he did), but actually wrote a song that MIGHT include a line about not being too happy with some slaves that joined the British in trying to kill Americans.

A cover story in TIME, a very HEROIC cover story, pointed out why our pal Colin took a knee. The magazine referenced the National Anthem above everything else. Why play that awful song at the start of something as important as a football game? Priorities, people!

If you don't remember TIME had a photo of the courageous Colin Kaepernick (his very name has that sound of Black pride, just like Malcolm X). Next to it, these words: "THE PERILOUS FIGHT. National anthem protests led by Colin Kaperneck are fueling a debate about privilege, pride and patriotism."

Read that over again. Nothing about too many white cops being nasty to blacks. It was about the national anthem. The man was taking a knee the moment he heard the national anthem. A song. That he was told was racist.

Happily, the protest blossomed into a tremendous fiasco of anger, resentment, accusations, and the rest of what is almost as entertaining as watching a bunch of millionaires in long Spanx give each other brain damage.

The ultimate lesson in all of this: you can get a lot accomplished just by taking a knee like a feeble old lady in a nursing home with bladder issues.

At the moment, earthquakes are ravaging Mexico. Some say we should care about that. At the moment, North Korea is threatening to destroy America. This might include the NFL. We should look into that. And since America is supposed to do what the United Nations, Red China and Russia never do...it's a shame they are behind on rebuilding Puerto Rico. It was America's fault that a hurricane hit it.

Of course it was. America IS a disgraceful place. Just ask Colin.

Hopefully, by the next stadium tour, Paul McCartney will have finished up his Ode to Colin:

"WHEN I FIND MYSELF IN TIMES OF TROUBLE,

FATHER COLIN COMES TO ME.

WHISPERING WORDS OF WISDOM:

TAKE A KNEE. TAKE A KNEE.

AND IN MY HOUR OF DARKNESS

HE IS SQUATTING THERE IN FRONT OF ME

WHISPERING WORDS OF WISDOM:

TAKE A KNEE. TAKE A KNEE.

(Note, the line "hour of darkness" refers to a lack of light.)

Now, about that hurricane in PUERTO RICO. TIME is about to release a new issue with Colin on the cover. So, Puerto Rico, this should make you all breathe a sigh of relief.

"National Pancake Day"

Yes, it actually IS "National Pancake Day" today. So all over Twitter, people are posting luscious pictures of stacks of flapjacks covered in syrup and butter. But all over the Internet, "National Pancake Day" means that Americans are searching Google for nude pix of Miley Cyrus instead of Kim Kardashian.

THE LAST DAY OF DAVID BEY

Don't quit your Day Job...until it kills you.

David Bey was a journeyman fighter. That meant that he trained when he could, and didn't quit his day job. As they all do, Bey hoped for the championship, which would lead to fame AND fortune.

And being able to quit the day job.

How did Bey spend each day? He worked as a pile driver for 37 of his 60 years.

A construction worker by day, Bey was a destruction worker by night, but he didn't exactly have pile driver fists. His first dozen fights, yes, were KO or TKO victories, but then he began facing opponents with good records. Bey had knocked out the 3-10-2 Larry Simms, and Larry Bellfus with a 13-14 record. But when he was up against someone who could take a punch, like Greg Page, Bey managed to get a decision. That set up his title shot against Larry Holmes.

At the time, Holmes was boring people with his long jab, dull lisp and bland personality.

The Holmes fight, like so many a Holmes fight, was, to use a Cosell word, "doleful." It ended in a TKO loss. It wasn't a big money fight. It probably was just filler for ABC on a Saturday afternoon. Few of Bey's fights were major attractions that TV audiences cared about. His next fight was another TKO loss, this time to Trevor Berbick. With his ordinary skills, lack of a KO punch, worried face and balding dome, he didn't excite crowds. If he broke even on the training, the manager's cut, the cut man's cut, and the promoter's cut, he was lucky.

To give him credit, the journeyman, despite having to hold down a job, gamely fought against top veterans and up and coming stars. His biggest win was very early in his career against James "Buster" Douglas. Douglas was young too, and would eventually pick up enough skills to out-box Mike Tyson. Otherwise, Bey had no notable wins. But he was a pretty good opponent. He didn't get flattened too often. He went the distance, or near the distance, with solid punchers such as Joe Hipp, Tyrell Biggs, Bruce Selden and Bonecrusher Smith. He also lost to the uninteresting but ageless Joe Bugner. He scored a draw against lanky and lackluster (23-18) David Jaco, which would've told anyone "It's time to quit," but with dogged determination, Bey fought another year or two, got a rematch with Jaco, who was now 24-24. Bey won. It was his last fight, September 17, 1994.

Flash forward to September 13 2017.

Bey, age 60, was still working his construction job in New Jersey when a hunk of sheet metal knocked him out — permanently. Bey, sad to say, was not so well-remembered that his passing was instant news. Even the fight websites didn't really get around to mentioning it till a few days ago. That he wasn't the "raging bull" that Jake LaMotta was (Jake died a few days ago and got mammoth obits) doesn't mean much outside the ring. Outside the ring, he was a good family man. He was remembered by his union pals as a mild-mannered religious guy who did his job as best he could. Which he did, both in the ring, and on the job that was supposedly less dangerous than boxing.

Gee, NYPL, do you get Free Porn with the Internet Access? And only $15 worth of late fees!

We all LOVE the NYPL.

No, seriously, I do volunteer work for the NYPL, and since I'm modest about such things, I'll just add that the group I'm with raises about $100,000 annually, donated to the NYPL.

It's nice to see that they're doing good things, like giving free wi-fi to people. I mean, we all know BOOKS are on their way out. Who the hell buys books? Few even want to take them out of the library free. Used books have germs and stains on them.

Eventually, the NYPL will be nothing more than a set of Internet terminals, most of them seating smelly guys surfing Internet porn. You know, thanks to the ACLU (the Aroma Civil Liberties Union) people who stink are ENTITLED to sit anywhere they like. YOU can move if you don't like it.

Here's the fabulous deal. And yes, I'm glad they are spending the money on something OTHER than buying BOOKS to put on shelves. Boo, to books!

Truly, one must pity people who have access to a two thousand dollar CELLPHONE but somehow, can't afford Internet. One must also pity people who can accord a computer, and other luxuries (including spawning children), but, what, don't have the "triple play" feature of cable for their TV, service for their phone, and INTERNET access???

The NYPL used to have several bookstores in their branches. People donated books, and the money went to the library. The library had books they didn't want, and these were sold. Now? Now, I think there are only TWO used bookstores left. The Mid-Manhattan...is NOT one of them. They are Webster and St. Agnes. Call it forward thinking. Boo to BOOKS!

The rules for free wi-fi are damn generous. I like the one about "you must have less than $15 in outstanding fines." In four decades, I've never even paid a fine. I've returned the stuff on time. But some people, well, you have to commiserate. They get a bunch of books to use as a door stop, and they forget to return them.

The important thing for kids is to "raise their digital exposure," which would mean, as early as possible, seeing Kim Kardashian's ass and Caitlyn Jenner's freakish face. What else does the Internet have. PORN. Lots of it. What else raises the digital exposure for each and every snookums? They should learn, as early as possible, how hilarious it is to see people with acid burns or broken limbs. One must become much less sensitive to suffering, you know. Go to ROTTEN dot com, or just check out the NY Post or the London Daily Mail or all the other websites that instantly show you atrocity photos for entertainment.

Happily, news of this latest give-away will spread and every scammer will show proof of being 18 and having at least one kid in the school system, and they'll ALL follow the rule that "devices are due back to the library by July 5, 2018." After all, you're limiting all this free good stuff to people who only have $15 in outstanding fees.

Obscure Joke of the Month

"Thank you for individual perception..."

Pray for an end to "PRAY FOR..." TWEETS and FACEBOOK MEMES

Yes, I have enough pet peeves to fill a Petco department store.

It's always nice when OTHERS share SOME of them. The BBC recently cautioned against jittery twits who tweet "PRAY FOR..." any time something happens.

First off, WHO the HELL are you praying to? You're praying to the GOD who caused the disaster? GOD has created a hurricane or an earthquake or a famine, and YOU are telling people to do what? Second-guess God's decision? The Lord moves in mysterious ways so SHUT THE FUCK UP.

This wasn't exactly how a BBC writer put it, but I appreciate that he tried to alert people as to how hazardous it is to make a mush out of a #hashtag emergency:

While not as life-threatening when it's on FACEBOOK, it's just as annoying that knee-jerks can't do anything better than panic and demand everybody PRAY.

Not even donate. Not go out and help. Just PRAY.

It reminds me of the old joke that all the hack comics used to tell circa 1960. It goes like this:

"We were aboard the airplane when we ran into turbulence. An engine blew out. A woman stood up and said, "EVERYBODY PRAY!" And I said, "I don't know how to pray." And she said, "DO SOMETHING RELIGIOUS!" So I took up a collection."

A variation on it ends with, "...so I started a bingo game."

Fortunately cooler heads prevail. Most people don't behave like ostriches and instead, they take action in an emergency. If they are old, incapacitated, or nowhere near the disaster, they feel better and assuage their guilt by sending a donation to the Red Cross. They can send money to Planned Parenthood so there would be less idiots in the world who live in ridiculous locations that are always having hurricanes and earthquakes. Or they can send a few bucks to Amazon and buy a copy of Dale Carnegie's "How to Stop Worrying."

In Putting Out Music...I JOIN THE OBSCURE

"It's the new paradigm," they say. "You GO DIGITAL. You put your songs on Spotify and YOUTUBE. They STREAM!"

Well, piss streams, too. And it peters out. And it's flushed down the drain.

The reality is that there's SO MUCH OUT THERE, the average singer/songwriter is lucky to be noticed at all. This includes the artist who re-issues out of print material, and once-known artists with new material to offer.

All things must pass, eh? "Everything Passes" is a song on the comeback album from Gunhill Road. In two years, only 50 people have bothered to stream it free:

One thing most people know about me, is that I always championed unique artists. When I was the editor at ROCKET, I had 100 pages to play with, so aside from talking to Billy Joel or Gene Simmons, I put in a page or two for Katy Moffatt, Andy Pratt or Andy Bown. The first time the rock group City Boy saw their name on a cover of a magazine...it was ROCKET.

When I was music editor at OUI, and wherever else I freelanced, I liked to give space to deserving talent. When I had my own radio show, I played tracks by Ron Nagle and Sarah Kernochan alongside somewhat better known performers such as Curved Air and Fanny. (I said SOMEWHAT better known). If I played a rocking Rolling Stones track, I might follow it with "Snowblind" from Judy Henske. If I played James Taylor, maybe the next segue would be an even more sensitive number from Phil Ochs.

I played Randy Newman when he wasn't wasn't known. After two albums tanked, Reprise sent DJ's a live album to promote him. It ended up being released. One track "Lonely at the Top," was so ironic, Randy chuckled as he sang, "all the money that I have made." And now? No publicity machines anymore. No record stores. And a lot of artists don't quit their day jobs. Maybe Kanye will tell you it's lonely at the top. I can tell you it's NOT lonely at the bottom; there's LOTS of people down her with me! GUNHILL ROAD, who once had a Top 20 hit, is on MY label, CD Baby. In two years, songs on their new album have barely averaged 50 hits? Then I don't feel so bad that in a year, songs on MY album have averaged maybe 25.

Nothing will change Gunhill Road's numbers or mine. Being a networking pest? No, that does not work. I'm not even on FACEBOOK pestering people with links to my YouTube songs. Gunhill Road is on FACEBOOK and they don't "network" that way. They know the futility of it, and the embarrassment. Martin Briley is on FACEBOOK and he'd rather post some Anti-Trump meme than a plug for the last album of originals he did. 135 views in TWO YEARS? On a Martin Briley song??

Briley, or Gunhill Road, could sell out The Bitter End if they bothered. They might break even doing it. That's about it. Most artists of the same age, even higher up on the chain, don't do much better. Donovan was at The Cutting Room. Dave Davies and Nick Lowe were at City Winery. These are not large venues. Many reputable performers such as Lowe, Andy Bown or Genya Ravan are on an indie label if they're releasing new material at all.

I've had well known artists grumble that they wish they weren't on SPOTIFY at all; they get THOUSANDS of hits, but a royalty check that barely gives them dinner for two. YOUTUBE is even more humiliating, because everyone can see the small number of hits. I didn't put out major label vinyl. Andy Pratt, Raun MacKinnon, Nannette Natal and Sarah Kernochan did. Anyone curious about their work, or want to hear rare demos? Apparently not.

Pratt...208, Raun...18. Sarah...8. Nanette...1. These are on YOU TUBE videos that have been up longer than mine. In one case, 3 years. Do I feel better about myself? I suppose. Misery loves company.

One might argue that a major interest at YOUTUBE would be bootlegs. Well, how many blurry Bob Dylan or Neil Young videos do you want to see? They don't even get a penny from them. As for the uploaders, they don't do that well either. If a video gets 1,000 hits, that might equal lunch...at Burger King. Somebody doesn't really enjoy the show because he's peering through a camcorder and periodically checking to see if anyone's coming after him, and shielding the viewing screen from people around him who don't like the distraction...and he gets a few nickels and dimes and a few LIKES on YOUTUBE.

When my label put my album on YOUTUBE, I wondered what the point was. To get publicity? To snag some streaming income? It seems to me that if your album is easily available on YouTube (or Spotify) there's less reason to buy it. The numbers for streams, at my level, or the level of Van Dyke Parks, is just not worth the effort. I had no idea Parks put out an indie record three years ago. Apparently, few others knew it either. His label has it on YOU TUBE and in three years...about 300 hits per song. Lovely.

For those under 25, who do "cover versions" of hugely popular artists, the reward is maybe ten times the number of views that a geezer gets. That's still a piss-poor number. How long before these dewy-eyed dopes give up? (I borrowed "dewy eyed dopes" from a song with lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II. I doubt many could identify which song I'm quoting.) Here's a dewy-eyed dope:

Bad news? Oh, it's NICE to tell people, "Yes, I have an album out...you can hear it on Spotify. Just type my name at YouTube." It's NICE but few bother to do it, just as few bother to "network" on Twitter or Facebook to try and get the numbers up.

As is the case in the book world, where the INITIAL BRIGADE (J.K. Rowling, George R.R. Martin, E.L. James) still make money, the big shots do very well on YOU TUBE. An article in TIME magazine listed all the fabulous songs of the summer. No, I never heard of any of 'em, and I wouldn't want to listen to any of 'em. But people did, in droves. Rather than buy singles, or listen to the radio (which is what kids like ME did), Millennials simply stream the songs any time they wanna hear 'em. Maybe they use a gizmo like KeepVid if they get bored with streaming, and download the mp3 portion "illegally."

Wowie. In case you can't read the fine, fine print, in listing the top hits of the summer, TIME did not quote SALES, but instead, YOUTUBE VIDEO VIEWS. Even with the skimpy royalties YOUTUBE pays, if you get millions of views, you DO make good money. Mmm, look at all the shitty, sound-alike, vocoder, crappy "BEATS" and mindless lyric drivel that did so well:

Kendrick Lamar, 284 million hits, Bruno Mars 855 million, French Montana 277 million. Ed Sheeran, 2.1 billion. Luis Fonsi featuring Justin Bieber 3.3 billion.

"It's the new paradigm." And for us older folks, a pair of dimes is about all we get.

Exo-Click and the Naked Porn Exo-Skeleton In its Closet

Yes, if you're going to be lurid, dirty and disgusting, DO NOT COMPETE WITH THE NEW YORK POST.

You know the Post. It's the fabulous tabloid that loves to show Blac Chyna "rocking" a thong or a Kardashian having an intentional wardrobe malfunction during an unintentional brain fart. Whether you want to see it or not, the Post will show it to you.

But, for a change, if you want to see nasty "revenge" porn, you'll have to go back to the usual suspects, like CelebJihad (which has that hilarious fake Taylor Swift video porn) or eBay.

Yeah, eBay, where, despite many complaints and VeRO stoppages, sellers offer nasty fake porn on underage Emma Watson right out in the open. Right? Right:

Try calling up eBay's phone support and asking why THAT picture is on their site where teenagers can see it and buy it. The reply would be, "Not to worry. This is a violation of our policies. I will forward this to our trust and safety division." Who will do nothing. Oh, and PAYPAL will give you the same scripted stutter. "Saliva dripping from their smiles."

But gosh, ONE revenge porn site down:

It should be easy to shut down rogue websites that operate in "international waters." It should also be easy to block copyright infringing blogs in Croatia (where we have do-nothing fat-cat overpaid "diplomats"). No country that doesn't believe in U.S. law should have blatantly criminal websites visible in America. BUT...most efforts to allow ISP's to block websites have failed. "Freedom of Speech" you know. Posting revenge porn or every Beach Boys album is, uh, "Freedom of Speech."

All over the Internet, sleazy creeps like Exo-Click are giving an income to music bootleggers, book thieves and anyone else who can download an avi, ePub or mp3 file. There doesn't seem to be any shortage of immortal swine who place banner ads on all the pirate sites that offer free downloads of copyrighted material. Many of these sites do NOT recognize DMCA takedown requests, and some (Pirate Bay) even post the requests with snickers and jeers.

It seems that just about the only thing that bothers anyone, for the moment, is pedophile porn. That's about the only thing guaranteed to bring the wrong kind of "heat." Revenge porn? Go ask CelebJihad what they're up to, if not revenge and misogyny against any successful and attractive woman. Go ask EBAY why they don't automatically shut down sellers who graft a picture of underage Amy Watson from her "Harry Potter" days onto a stolen porn image.

X-rated Exo-Skeletons are rattling all over the Internet. Just Google a few dirty words and you'll find them. Google, of course, is the prime way that people find any pirate who, sponsored by creeps like Exo-Click, makes a fortune off other peoples' copyrights and intellectual property.

Is there a copy editor at the DAILY NEWS? The Jake LaMotta obit says...

Here's a paragraph from the NY DAILY NEWS online obit for fighter Jake LaMotta.

LaMotta's match "had to be called off." Just because Cerdan died in a plane crash? Sort of a feeble excuse, ya think? "Jake, we were thinking of letting the fight go on, because some of us believe in zombies. But...well, he PROBABLY had every bone in his body broken. It might be tough to transport him. I guess we'll just HAVE to call this one off...I know it's kind of a feeble excuse..."

Ladies Who Lunch and Authors Who Tweet - A HEADS UP

Here's RUTH WARE on TWITTER:

MMMMM. LUNCH.

Here's RUTH WARE on EBAY.

MMMMM. PIRACY.

Crapathy, anyone? OK, in this case, let's say that Ruth isn't in the habit of checking eBay to see how her books are selling, what a signed copy goes for, etc. She might not be aware that eBay, the "respected" website, allows thieves for whom English isn't even a second language, to steal and steal and steal.

But too often, seasoned authors who DO know, like Stephen King, J.K. Rowling, E.L. James and George R.R. Martin spend way too much time TWEETING, and could either be spending TWO MINUTES a week checking eBay, or having a fan or friend do it.

One of my books was serialized in the New York Daily News over five days, and it was the COVER story on the Sunday edition. Pretty nice.

I can guarantee you, that if some asshole was bootlegging me on eBAY, I would've taken time from my mmmmmmmm LUNCH to send in a DMMMMMMMMMCA takedown.

It seems too many authors not only write badly, and are total hacks, but they don't know simple kindergarten sentences like: PIRACY IS BAD.

Isn't that true, George R.R.? It's not just about YOU, and whether you'd rather live in your fantasy world and cash your checks, it's about your responsibility to keep bookstores and libraries alive.

George R.R. Martin opens a Restaurant

GOGOS GOES at 78 - The Famous Monster of Art Land

Basil Gogos (last name Greek) was one of the first artists most Baby Boomers appreciated. His work was featured on the cover of FAMOUS MONSTERS OF FILMLAND. He was a master of squeamy color and palpable texture. His portraits brought out every gruesome lump and bump, and his imaginative use of color turned most any face into a gruesome landscape.

This is a typical bit of Master Gogos' genius. I wonder what Master Gogos could've done with Lady Gaga. Basil actually did some album covers, but mostly for guys like Rob Zombie, who grew up admiring the man's work.

Famous Monsters of Filmland was popular in the late 50's and through the 60's (thanks to the "monster craze" that spawned "Monster Mash," "They're Coming to Take Me Away," TV shows such as "Twilight Zone" and "Outer Limits," and the Roger Corman Poe films starring Vincent Price). When I was editing ROCKET in the late 70's, I still hoped to add a credit in "Famous Monsters" to my resume, but the mag was struggling.

There were also few horror actors who were either alive, or, such as Vincent Price and Christopher Lee, hadn't been done to death in the pages of the mag. Figuring horror and rock might work, I called up and offered interviews with the ghoulishly-made up rock group KISS. I got through to James Warren, who I knew to be a generous fellow. He had offered a year's scholarship money to my college roomie.

I'll digress for that story. My friend worked summers as a lifeguard, and saved some kid from drowning. It got in the papers, and Jim Warren read about it. He'd always wanted to do something special for a lifeguard, so he called up my friend. The "deal" ended up that Warren would pay for a year's tuition. My roomie told me about this windfall, and said his benefactor was "a rich publisher." He'd never heard of him. He spoke the magic words.

"James Warren???" I said. "That's JAMES WARREN! He's the publisher of FAMOUS MONSTERS OF FILMLAND! And VAMPIRELLA!" Ah, my friend thought, then this is just the guy to help out with a great costume for Halloween. He called up Warren and asked for one extra favor. And Warren delivered: a perfect, precise, expensive full CREATURE FROM THE BLACK LAGOON head.

I got to wear it too. My friend was an amateur skin diver, so I wore his skin diver gear and the CREATURE head, to wander around the campus one day. It was the closest I'd ever come to BEING a "Famous Monster of Filmland."

Well, I called up Jim Warren and pitched my interview idea. I mentioned that I'd once had a fun converation with Gene Simmons all about horror movies. Gene, a rather self-confident person, said, "I know it ALL. Ask me ANY question about horror movies." And I said, "OK, what were the years of the 3 Karloff Frankenstein films?" He said, "1931, 1933 1935." And I said, "Pretty good. Not quite." "No," said Gene, "I got it right." I said, "Well, Frankenstein was 1931, but the gap was longer. Bride of Frankenstein was 1935 and Son of Frankenstein 1939." Gene allowed, "You may be right. Anyway, I know everything about horror films!"

"Gene's a big fan of horror movies and Famous Monsters of Filmland," I told Mr. Warren. And he replied, "KISS uses the SS in their logo. They're a bunch of Nazis."

I said, "The logo was lightning. Whoever designed it, thought that lightning bolts would be cool. That's all that is." "It looks like the SS," Warren said. "Gene Simmons is Jewish," I said. "So is Paul Stanley. Half the band is Jewish." "Then they don't know their heritage. You tell them, I'll fly them to Dachau. I'll show them Dachau."

Things deteriorated from there. My one and only conversation with James Warren had made him simmer with anger, his voice quiet but intense and menacing. "Well...it was nice having a chance to speak with you," I said at the end of all this. "I'm one of your big fans. You've heard it so often, but it's true, I grew up reading F.M. So it was an honor to talk with you." "You're welcome," Mr. Warren replied, with a slight bit of conciliation in his voice.

A little while after that, "Famous Monster of Filmland" held a bankruptcy sale. It was a strange moment, going over to the office on auction day, and seeing the holdings of "Captain Company." The very astute Mr. Warren ran a lot of ads in the back of his magazines, all to sell mail order merchandise via his own company. He bought records, books, 8mm films and toys wholesale, and I think he also commissioned a variety of masks and posters and other items that were exclusives to the magazine. And there they were, being sold off in huge lots...hundreds of sealed 8mm Castle Films of "Dracula" and "Frankenstein" and the rest, and shelves marked off into lots, full of fake skulls and other goodies.

And yes, there was plenty of reproductions of Basil Gogos art, and lots of copies of the magazines. Not all the magazines. "Famous Monsters of Filmland" was one of the first, at least that I ever saw, to market their out of print issues as collectors items. Every new issue seemed to raise the price on remaining back issues, with a few more "SOLD OUT." I learned something else. Never send money through the mail. I didn't have a check book in those days. I waited for my rare copies of "Famous Monsters" and they never came.

Over the years, Basil Gogos did very well thanks to nostalgic F.M. fans. Monster fans such as Rob Zombie commissioned Basil for cover art. A website offered lithograph copies of Basil's work, and he turned up at the usual memorabilia shows. He was one of a select group of magazine artists who were revered by a generation. He WAS the master at "Famous Monsters." The other artists in his class were from "Mad Magazine," with Jack Davis leading the way. Davis not only did a lot of "Mad" covers, he successfully widened his market to include "TV Guide," and record albums (Bob and Ray, Homer & Jethro, etc. etc.) and movie posters.

When I edited RAVE, one fulfilled ambition was to hire Jack Davis. (Basil Gogos would've been, uh, too morbid!) RAVE was affiliated with ABC-TV, and helped on George Schlatter's annual Comedy Awards show. One year, to promote the ABC show, I hired Jack Davis to draw various comedians, including Roseanne Barr, Gary Shandling and Robin Williams, all grabbing for the Award, ala "Mad Mad Mad Mad World." My art director had good news and bad news. Yes, he was able to get Jack Davis to do our cover. That was the good news. The bad news? His price tag was my entire budget for the issue.

OK, I wrote the magazine myself that month. It was worth it. I said, "I'm just so glad to get Jack Davis. It'll be so great to have an actual piece of Jack Davis art, too." My art director said, "No, no, I'M taking that Jack Davis art. I'M the ART director." This could've led to a fist fight, but as it turned out, Jack's contract stipulated that HE owned his art work, and it had to be returned to him.

Jack Davis and Basil Gogos were probably the two most successful magazine cover illustrators of their era. Oh, there were others who were Artistic with a capital A, like Tomi Ungerer, and fetishists collect the paperback book cover art done by Stanton or Ward. A few older guys like Mort Kunstler (whose son was a college pal) have art gallery showings and even get commissions to create U.S. postage stamps, But if you had original art on Basil or Jack, you had an investment! And you'd never sell.

"Lying Hillary" is late, too, and SO MEAN TO BOOK FANS - spins the Post

We all know the NY Post is right wing. In some ways it's good (they LOVE to dis Mayor DeLousio for such things as allowing nude idiots in Times Square and panhandling morons in trademarked cartoon and superhero outfits). On other ways, not so much.

Like Huffity-Puffity and so many "fake news" websites, the Post promotes its columnists (people who simply have an asshole and an opinion) as being reporters. That's not the same thing. When you REPORT, you are supposed to be factual. When you're a columnist, you can slant your ass off (while remaining an asshole).

Maureen somebody or other delightedly went down to Barnes & Noble to slant a piece on Lying Hillary, and how egotistical and awful-awful-awful she is. Why, she MADE people stand in line in the heat (it was balmy). She had special rules (no different than any other celebrity doing Barnes & Noble signings) and she didn't personalize the books or pose for selfies (and most celebrities at these signings DON'T).

What an ego. She holds up a copy of her book. Authors shouldn't be proud of publishing a book, or showing people what the cover looks like so they can find it in a store. Has Maureen written a book? Done a signing? Had people waiting on line all morning? I guess not.

This is what the media does. It spins. If it does it AGAINST Trump, it's "fake news." If it does it against a Democrat such as Hillary Clinton, why, it's all right.

For the record, and I've been to dozens of Barnes & Noble signings (from Mike Tyson and George Foreman to Rudy Giuliani and Bill Clinton), wristbands are always handed out, and fans are warned only a limited number of books are available and that the author won't be around all day. To guard against eBay gouging, the number of books anyone can get is always limited when it's a big name. Also, to avoid gouging and time-wasting, most stars do NOT pose with idiots for selfies, and do NOT sign photos, toys, DVD covers, older books etc., just so parasites can make money on eBay.

Maureen here grouses that the point of Hillary's evil book signing was to push her book to #1. That's the point of Caitlyn Jenner's book signing, and William Shatner's book signing and EVERY book signing involving a major celebrity who was paid huge money to have a book out. Maureen also whines that Hillary is involved in "surcharging" at events. You mean, like William Shatner demanding $150 to sign something at Comic Con, and looking pretty sulky about signing his own book for list price?

Again, most celebrities "generically" sign books. It saves time. I was at a Bill Cosby signing. Some guy begged, "Could you write To Susan, I want to give it to her as a birthday gift!" A Barnes & Noble employee next to Bill instantly interrupted, "No personalizing." To which Bill called out, "Nice try!" Which got a laugh.

Sometimes, even with "generic" signers, you get a bonus. Rudy Giuliani and I had a nice minute or two talk about old New York Yankees players, and no Barnes & Noble employee dared to say, "Let's keep the line moving" to the mayor. Bill Clinton? He also took time to be a bit chatty, and he shook hands with everyone. I mentioned to him the irony that his competition was Darrell Hammond, signing books at another Barnes & Noble at the same time. Bill said, "Sometimes he does me better than me!"

And so the spin goes. Clinton "sauntered in." I think, if I was catty, I could've said that when Chita Rivera arrived for her signing, or Jane Fonda, or my own sister. One might argue that all women "saunter" into their book signings.

She "sat down and started signing." WHAT A TERRIBLE THING TO DO IN BARNES & NOBLE WHEN PEOPLE ARE WAITING TO GET THEIR AUTOGRAPHS AND GO HOME!

"She's not going to speak?" "This is all you're getting." The bigger the celebrity and the longer the line, the less likely the speech. And haven't we all heard enough Hillary Clinton speeches? Mike Tyson didn't speak. George Foreman didn't speak. William Shatner didn't speak. Michael Caine didn't speak. Bill Cosby didn't speak. And no, Bill Clinton didn't speak either.

If it's anti-Donald it can't be real news.

And remember, COPYRIGHT MEANS...Shit.

As Facebook and YouTube teach everyone, on the Internet, it's not called stealing.

A big thing on Facebook is closed stealing dens called "groups," where people can hide and exchange links to music files and movies. Here's one on everything 60's, with a disclaimer along the top.

See, it's OK to use copyrighted material as long as you tell people it's copyrighted.

At least, that works on the Internet. Not in the real world.

In the real world you can't walk out of the restaurant without paying the check, saying "I only pay if I really like something. That meal was for evaluation purposes only."

If you walk out of the bookstore with a shelf of non-fiction books, you can't tell the security guard, "Information should be free!"

And if you grab a dozen Snickers bars off the counter at 7-11, and toss them to a bunch of children and start eating one yourself, you can't tell Habib, "I'm sharing! You should thank me for being so generous. Maybe next week some of these kids will come in and buy something from you."

Of course, in the REAL WORLD, people make money only if they SELL things.

On the INTERNET, big companies like Facebook and Google (owners of YouTube and Blogger and a search engine that leads people to torrents) make money by letting people steal copyrighted material.

Ebay, the biggest fence on the Internet, certainly doesn't want to stop petty larcenous stooges from selling the entire Stephen King collection on PDF, ePub and Mobi for three bucks. "It's up to Stephen King to get his ass off Twitter and send in a DMCA," is their attitude. Every Internet company makes sure their takedown process is complicated and loaded with hoops. Or as Paypal says, "You must download our PDF form, fill it in, and upload it even though all of the PDF writing disappears when you try and send it! HA!"

Over at YouTube, owned by Google, they don't mind if people admit that they're stealing. They won't knock off a post just because somebody admits "hey, I have no right to post this, and no copyright, but I'm doing it anyway." PS, Google is proud of their CLOUD service, which is how all the eBay bootleggers sell their PDF, ePUB and MOBI dupes: "I will send you a link to the Google Cloud so you can download your purchase. PS, any other books you want, let me know and we'll do a private deal!"

Did you read the excuses? "I don't own copyright to the games its for ur enjoyment." And "No copyright infringement intended...copyrights are the property of the respective owners."

When you don't automatically shut down items that have ridiculous caveats, you are telling people that copyright is SHIT.

The purpose of copyright is for the creator to control its use. "I own this movie. I license it and get paid. Or, I should." "I wrote this song. I'd like some royalties." "I took this photo. It does me NO good to see it used all over the Net. If I want to sell it to a newspaper or have it appear in a book, the reply is 'why pay for what everybody's seen?' And they buy a photo that hasn't been ABUSED."

Try explaining copyright to cheap bastard, malicious twits who are jealous of creativity, or ignorant fools who grumble, "Dont ruin our fun!"

Copyright, like the Emancipation Proclamation, is a fairly new legal concept designed to prevent slavery and victimization. But, Copyright Owner is a slave to the owner of an illegal torrent, forum or blog.

There are entire nations that don't believe in copyright, and they have created safe-havens for people to do everything from knock off movies and Gucci handbags, to set up websites for demeaning pornography aimed at every female celebrity on the planet and blogs that post new music every day. Russian websites even allow people to sell cheap downloads of books, music and movies using credit cards or bitcoin, and Capitalist countries don't even try to block this, because of powerful lobbying from the Internet giants that now dwarf all publishers, TV networks and movie companies in terms of power.

If you use a certain word to describe a person of a particular race or creed, you could lose your job. People get upset. But if you say "I don't own copyright, I just decided I can give this away," nobody is offended. Certainly not YouTube, which doesn't state, "Do not post copyrighted material without permission. We will ask you to provide proof of licensing and if you can't, you will be suspended."

Zuckerberg's Facebook and Google's Blogger (aka Blogspot) allow people to create a thieve's den and then "close" it to the eyes of copyright owners. Tell Google, "This blog, with closed membership, is allowing people to download hundreds of copyrighted music albums," and the form letter response is, "Give us specific URLs or go fuck yourself." How do you give specific URLs when the blog is closed and only "trusted" members are allowed in? Copyright owners are restricted...like Jews trying to get into certain clubs.

Jews are no longer restricted. Quotas on them (only a CERTAIN number being allowed in a particular college or university at one time) are gone. Use the "N" word and you're toast. Women have gotten most newspapers to ban the B word and put in "B...h" instead, and the "C" word has NEVER been allowed. But there's another C word. It's C with a circle around it. It stands for COPYRIGHT. It might as well stand for CLOWN, because it's being laughed at.

MADE YA LOOK! NY POST's Freak Pandering Gets da Clicks

CLICK WHORES.

That's what you've got at the NY POST. As well as the Huffity Puffity Post. Breitbart. Decider, Plagiarizer, Re-writer, Newser, and the rest.

It's all about getting traffic and getting those almighty CLICKS. "See how many people looked at our idiotic article on McGregor's bulge? On Kardashian's ass? On any wardrobe malfuntion we coyly censor? Doomsday headlines that just speculate on something bad happening? Horror stories that actually aren't?

"Advertise with us! We need more idiot Banner Ads flashing. More TV screen pop-ups. Don't worry, we'll find ways of making people endure all this crap and see your worthless ad!"

Today's scare was...ooooh, look at those hands! This guy is a rowing star. He'll never row again.

At least, that's what the HEADLINE suggested.

The article went into dire detail about how a bunch of rowing nitwits were out to break world records (for navigating a boat in icy waters, or something) and their equipment gave out. They were stranded for days with no relief from the cold. Eventually they made for land.

And the happy ending? Our rower with the horrific injuries...healed.

That's a creative way of making something out of nothing. You can imagine the smirking at the New York Post: "This should grab attention!" "It'll make people look, ha ha!"

"World Famous Poet" Dies - Anyone name one of his Poems?

Do you suppose one in ten people know who John Ashberry was?

Do you think the ONE person in ten could quote a poem Ashberry wrote? I think that ONE person in ten would probably just say, "Oh, John Ashberry. He was a poet." Ask him to say something else about the guy, and what would you get? "I think he was married to Sylvia Plath. Maybe I'm wrong."

Quite wrong. Ashberry was gay (not that there's anything wrong with that).

Something IS wrong with nobody really knowing or caring that a "world famous poet" died. There was a time when this mattered. It was big news when Carl Sandburg died. And Robert Frost. Then again, they actually wrote poems, not crossword puzzles. Anybody with some intelligence could enjoy their poetry.

Poetry has degenerated into word games. Archaic, pseudo-intellectual, "try and figure this out" word games. Have you read any of Ashberry's works? No, you probably haven't. Now you can be enlightened. Here are three examples. Let's see how much you enjoy them or even understand them.............

Entertained? Enlightened? Do you now have a better understanding of the human condition?

I realize that this may seem like bad Shakespeare ("I come to bury him, not to praise him") but I think Johnny's obit would've been more wider read and LONGER if he wasn't so obscure. Here's the entire AP obit:

Very nice. He won the book world's "unofficial triple crown." Does that mean that you wouldn't have a long, long day if you knocked on doors and asked "Anybody got a copy of "Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror?"

Can anyone name a living poet? No, no, my Hallmark card-loving friend, Maya Angelou died in 2014.

A Pulitzer Prize recently went to Bob Dylan, much to the chagrin of obscure poets who've written obscure books that got praise in obscure review columns.

We could consider Bob Dylan a living poet. Some of his stuff is a bit obscure now and then, but at least you can get SOMETHING out of it. Even if it's an uneasy chuckle: "The sun's not yellow, it's chicken!"

Look, if you couldn't figure out every line of Bob's lyrics at least you could enjoy the music. You could say the same thing of Keith Reid's "A Whiter Shade of Pale" or Bernie Taupin's "Take Me to the Pilot." I interviewed Billy Joel once, and he pointedly said, "I won't call myself a poet." Maybe he didn't want to be associated with a profession in disgrace, one rotting in the dusty embrace of professors who have atrophied a lot worse than J. Alfred Prufrock.

The sad thing about modern poetry is that it's more Jackson Pollock than Dali or Picasso. With Dali or Picasso, you may not fully understand what it all means, but it gives you a gut feeling. You have an emotional reaction. If you don't walk away with a profound interpretation of every symbol, the excuse is "well, it's expressionism. It's surreal. It's dada." It's SOMETHING.

Jackson Pollock spilled paint. That's all he did. Too often, all modern poets do is spill words. THEY may pretend they didn't do it at random, but they sure as hell did it in some state of altered consciousness, and without taking drugs as an excuse. It's just pretentious pseudo-intellectual riddling.

You probably haven't heard of Spike Hawkins. He was a contemporary of Anselm Hollo and Pete Brown (yes, the poet Pete Brown IS the same guy who wrote lyrics for Cream and for Jack Bruce). His stuff didn't exactly make sense, but at least it was short. It also gave you some kind of reaction:

LIGHTS SEEN

the rainbow hid in the car
until the car stopped
and the man got out and threw
away his entire family

And you know something's happening, but you don't know what it is. Do you, Mr. Jones?

OK, I prefer Spike Milligan, but I could enjoy a little of Spike Hawkins once in a while. It's easier to take an oddball poem by Hawkins because nobody gave him a Pulitzer Prize or praised his word games as the pinnacle of modern poetic achievement.

Ashberry was lucky. He may be the last poet (not lyricist) to be acclaimed in his lifetime for his obscure work that nobody could understand. It's not likely to happen for the creatures whose poetry appears in The New Yorker.

The Pulitzer Prize-winning Bob Dylan has been an icon for over 40 years. People have published books with nothing but photos of the man. Posters of Bob Dylan are on many a wall. Sometimes he's been called "Jokerman," but that's cool. Ashberry? Call him "The Riddler," because he looks like one.

Maybe, like royalties, the literary world simply has to understand that SOME things aren't going to be part of our world any longer.

This includes poets who can reach the average person the way Poe, Dickinson, Whitman, Kipling, Service, Sandburg, Ginsberg and Frost did. Yes, I'm giving you a good cross-section there. There's art even in something that rhymes, and his romantic, like "The Highwayman" by Alfred Noyes, and you can enjoy it as well as you can enjoy e.e. cummings.

Poetry has descended into drivel (the kind of things you hear when a "poet" is asked to recite at a Presidential inaugural) and into stuff that only appeals to a small circle of condescending prigs.

Guys like Ashberry are neither sentimental nor pornographic nor emotional. They are cold, which is not a trait one associates with a poet.

Poetry is no longer what it used to be: poetic.