Glenn Kubish

On deadline, Jimmy Breslin put it like this: "That summer in Breezy Point, when he was 18, and out of Madison High in Brooklyn, there was the Beatles on the radio at the beach and on the jukebox in the Sugar Bowl and Kennedys." Breslin doesn't tell us yet who "he" is. It's more important to tell us the high school "he" went to, and the places "he" hung out at, the music "he" listened to and the technology that delivered the Beatles music to him and his friends. It's more important to tell us "he" was young, wore long hair and was in the important part of life. Because we've all been there. Because we all went to high school and hung out with friends. We all forged friendships over music and we all mark the passage of time by, among other things, the technology that delivered those songs. We all had important parts of life. On December 8, 1980, we found out on Monday Night Football that John Lennon...

Word that I had managed, through a friend, to purchase two Paul McCartney tickets (for the equivalent of a monthly mortgage payment) was received with a barely disguised yawn from Michael, our music-loving, 18-year-old son. His argument went like this:  McCartney tickets cost more than tickets for Japandroids,  so, immediately, what's up with that? Then, there is the fact that McCartney is well past his best-before date. "Dad, he's old," said Mikey. "Quite old." The argument continued like this: Yesterday, he was the real Paul McCartney. Today, he's part of an overpriced, overproduced appeal to nostalgia aimed at those who haven't listened to new music, don't support new music, are trapped in the past. And are willing to pay for that insulation. He's got a bit of a point. (And his mom has a point, too, when she said wistfully, "Who I'd really like to see is John Lennon. What would he sound like today?") But, here...