My old pal Sal Nunziato, formerly of NYCD (the world's greatest indie record store) and now of the Huffington Post, was at a certain Big Concert Event last night and can't quite let the music do the talking.
I wanted to write about how seeing Eric Clapton & Steve Winwood perform one of my favorite songs of all time, "Can't Find My Way Home," last night at Madison Square Garden has made it into my top ten live performances.
But I can't. I can't write about any of that. I am too distracted. Not by the fact that at last night's concert at MSG, a cup of room temperature Stella Artois beer cost $8.25, the same as a cold six pack. (No one was under any obligation to purchase any.) Or that a foot long, undercooked phallus of encased baloney in a damp roll that MSG loosely referred to as a hot dog was $6.75. (I didn't want one, but someone did.)
I was distracted by James Dolan, that lovable philanthropist and CEO of Madison Square Garden, Radio City Music Hall and the once beloved Beacon Theatre, and how he has not only turned the New York Knicks into the laughing stock of the NBA, but has also turned some of New York City's best concert venues into the worst. (especially on those nights when his band, J.D. & The Straight Shot, a third rate bar band of wealthy businessmen who sinfully play "A Change Is Gonna Come" in their set, opens the show. There is NOTHING more offensive)...
As Bob Dylan famously observed, money doesn't talk -- it swears. Read the rest here.