OR YEARS, whenever I have riffed about some band or how the music industry screws everybody or why I still play "James Gang Live" a lot, whoever happened to be the target of my verbosity would have one of two things to say: "Is music all you can talk about?" or "You should write about this stuff!" Well, here goes! I'm putting my keyboard where my mouth is and exposing myself to all the ridicule, derision and hate mail that come with the territory...

Let's start with some basics. Why should anybody read what the hell I have to say anyway? For one thing, I am not in the pocket of any publicist or record label; I won't jeopardize my supply of free CD's or backstage passes by actually having the huevos to pan or slam somebody who deserves it! So let's fire a quick blast right here and now... Radiohead???? What is this crap??? These guys are stinking up the airwaves like a musical George W. Bush. Apparently, a lot of former Smiths fans and tone-deaf people trotted down to their local "hip" music bodega and traded in some Cure and their roommates' Slayer collection for Radiohead stuff. But do you actually know anybody who cracks a beer at the end of the day, slams on "Hail to the Thief" and does the dirty boogie in his living room? This is music-to-namedrop; never opened, never played, by eggheads standing at the bar, wishing that the hot waitress serving them would be drunk enough at the end of the night to suck a little face with them, 'cause they can get 'er in free to the Dave Matthews show next week, talking about how "Thom Yorke speaks the truth, man"... And who are these Limey "" ragging on our prez, anyway? That's my job and another entire column, where I will tell all about W's hanging out with Ozzy at the Alamo and helping him "decorate" the premises...

Another reason to bookmark this column? I am usually at least one step ahead of which way the wind is blowing. I knew garage-rock was ready to invade months before every guitar player/drummer duo who couldn't find a bass player (bass playing is the great lost art of the last 25 years; yup, that's another column) started falling out of the trees. I find out about great bands long before they start showing up on ET after their Viper Room show, hanging out with Ashton Kutcher-type actors and "models" (read: third-string porno stars). What's the Next Big Thing? Well, nothing smells like a winner out there now, but it's safe to say that the industry will spend the rest of the year trying to sell us stuff we've already bought once. Nothing is more cost-efficient than scraping together ten songs from anybody (read: Molly Hatchet: 20th Century Masters? Ha ha ha...) and throwing it out there in every Target from here to Hamtramck...

Plus, I will spill ink on the great artists that are worthy of re-examination and ten dollars of your money: Trapeze, Ashley Cleveland and Paul Weller, to name a few.

We don't need 25 bands trying to sound like the White Stripes; provide all the songs the Stripes were listening to in their garage at a reasonable cost so those folks get their due (and maybe a little rent and new string money in their pocket). There's plenty of juice to go around if the Big Six (or is it Four -- it changes with the tide) will stop acting so Republican and share. Sharing doesn't mean giving it all away; it means letting the have-nots into the party and giving them a sandwich and a beer so they can enjoy the view for a few moments and keep the haves from strangling on their own greed...

Well, I've sprayed off enough shot for this round. I'll be around next time with a specific ax to grind, or maybe a pile of words about the greatest guitar player of all time. Yes, of course I'm speaking about Jeff Beck, whose new disc, JEFF, is testament to that claim. Until then, dig out your cousin's old copy of the Allman Brothers' WIN, LOSE OR DRAW LP and TURN IT UP...

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