Steve Jobs Finally Dead

You’re familiar with that voice of doom from movie trailers? And then…everything changed!? Depending on what narrative you subscribe to, reality as we know it altered irrevocably either when Steve Jobs founded Apple or when he ceased to be its guiding force. Before and after Steve, so to speak. Before there was an Apple there could be no cult of Apple; after Jobs’ passing, no living guru to guide its adherents. And now with the semi-revelatory iPhone 4S (a disappointing substitute for the anticipated 5) we have the final emanation from the great man, his ultimate gift to mankind.  The gaunt, turtle-necked wizard is gone from the stage.

            Even the most starry-eyed devotee will have to admit that Apple produces consumer products - albeit glossy, seductive, addicting products. But ultimately, tools to be judged by their relative utility. Is this particular pad or pod or phone effective for my uses is the question to be asked. So what could be the basis for this sect’s emergence over the last few decades?

Macs have always been the province of design types, multi-media developers, desktop publishers. Better operating system, intuitive interface, specialized applications they’ll be happy to tell you. Evidently some professions require what the Mac delivers and those were the people who always gravitated toward Apple. But it wasn’t computers that turned Apple into an industrial juggernaut and the largest corporation by market cap in the world. No, what made the Mac nearly irrelevant to the success of Apple was the unending phenomena of the phones and the mp3 players and the tablet computers and all the successive upgrades. Toys made Apple great! Consumer envy made Apple great! Upgrade fever made Apple great! And it was Steve Jobs – chief marketeer - who personally explained the indispensability of every new product in his much anticipated ritual roll-outs. Each iteration offered just enough snap, crackle and pop to keep the slavering masses lining up at midnight to be the first to acquire the new bauble. It was pure marketing magic.

Yet nobody really needs an iPhone. Options in the very mature cell phone market are near limitless. And what makes an iPod superior to the dozens of other music players that abound, other than its parasitic tethering to the iTunes store? Jobs’ genius was to incite cravings; convincing the credulous consumer that she must have what he was selling. Does that make him a visionary? Good for shareholders undoubtedly, but I’ll  save my praise for the unsung toilers at Bell Labs and Xerox who invented the stuff that made Steve Jobs and Apple possible. I’m a PC user, never have purchased an iTune and rely on an old dumbphone by Sanyo that’s good for nothing but phone calls.  And my life remains mostly unaffected by Steve Jobs, may he rest in peace.

Premises

The Klatsch will operate as both a forum for discussion and a zone of contention in matters of Kultur. High/low, pop/serious, trash/legacy, it’s all grist. Music, film, food, television, books, people, events, and other sundry manifestations of humanity to be addressed. Observations will be made, bloggish spouting will issue forth, sensitivities will be bruised. Fer instance, I’ve got a notion that Dylan is the worst possible interpreter of his own music and without certain iconic covers he might not enjoy the reputation he has today (not to mention the publishing royalties). How about Miles? The great unwashed who know little about jazz other than to do a little name-dropping consider him the ne plus ultra of cool. I say the man surrounded himself with good people and they did most of the heavy lifting while he became very rich. You see a theme here? I’m a natural contrarian, always looking for the chink in the armor; the point of leverage to overturn accepted wisdom. Who’s the most dangerous man in film? Stephen Spielberg obviously, who’s done more to shlockify modern cinema than any ten low-budget hacks. Worse, he’s spawned a whole cadre of disciples. You know who I mean.

So what mightn’t qualify for inclusion? I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, pour yourself a couple fingers of Blanton’s, settle back, put your feet up. I’ll take care of the rest.