You Still Need Humans to Make Nice Things

More proof.

Jul 24, 2026

Good morning, sun worshipers. It’s 8 a.m. in New York. The skies are blue. I just saw a lucky rabbit. We are grateful for this.

I know this email has been a bit all over the place of late, and I will briefly explain why, though commentary about process is not interesting to you. Frankly, I don’t really know what I want it to be, so it has become a Friday morning meditation. My intention was to make it a companion to the PvA podcast, but that is kinda boring. Then I tried to make it an automated extension of the PvA Field Notes. I have never liked what has come out of the robots, so no. And, now Substack is gonna tell on you if you lean too hard on the AI, so I better not do that. I wish the AI could write this.

The thread here… I am always trying to get out of doing the work. Writing a great email takes research and reporting and/or deep human thought. Those are all hard. The good news to report is that you still need humans to make nice things. This is the theme today. That and classic rock.

Speaking of nice things, I have two culture items to report on. One is that my cosmic family went to see Bob Dylan at Forest Hills. Bizarrely, I ran into Emily FeedMe Sundberg there, which was unexpected. Dylan has played Forest Hills five times, all told. His first time was in August 1963 with Joan Baez. That’s 63 years ago. His most famous appearance was in 1965, after he went electric at Newport. The first half of the set was acoustic, and the second half was electric. Controversy!

This time, Bob stood behind a keyboard with his hoodie up and didn’t say a single word to the audience during the entire show. Not even, “Hey, New York. It’s great to be back at Forest Hills. I first played here 63 years ago. People thought it was weird when I busted out my electric guitar. Weird. Times are changing! I am fucking old.” Nothing. Not a peep. He did his 15 songs and walked off the stage. Bob sounded great for an 85-year-old, even if occasionally his distinctive croon took on the character of an alien in distress.

Do the math. Sixty-three years. Estimates peg his career performances at 4,000. Everybody calls you the GOAT, and you’ve received a Nobel Prize in Literature. You are rich and have a nice pad in Malibu. Consequently, you don’t spend much time ruminating on the artist/audience dialectic. Your back hurts. But you like playing because it gives you purpose, and that’s what you’ve always done. So you play. But you do not really give a fuck about what I think. Ain’t nobody gonna think any less of you. It’s fine.

Also, security at Forest Hills will chase your ass down if you hold your stupid phone up to record the show. Just stop doing this. A) You will never look at that video. B) If you really wanted to see it, it’s on YouTube. C) Enjoy the show with a loved one and record it in your meat memory bank. You are gonna die soon.

Speaking of old acts touring, this seems to be the summer of that for me. I just saw Paul Simon, as you know, and he is old too. My friend Steve just invited my son and me to see all-time Canadian rock gods Rush at MSG. Three things about this. First, we don’t really love Rush but we admire them and we are Canadian. Second, Steve has a box for the show, and they will probably roll out sushi, so that is a huge quality-of-experience bonus. Third, Rush, as I am sure you know, is the world’s greatest three-piece band, largely on account of their gnarly drummer Neil Peart. Sadly, Neil passed away in 2020, and while Neil is irreplaceable, female German progressive drummer Anika Nilles has joined the band for the tour, and that seems cool.

The second culture item: I saw Olivia Wilde’s The Invite last night at the wonderful little Sag Harbor Cinema. The movie is hilarious and pointed, especially if you have lived with your partner for many years. I’ve been with my superstar for more than three decades. The Spanish filmmaker Cesc Gay wrote and directed the original play in 2015. Its Catalan title means “The Upstairs Neighbors.”

Here’s the gist. A long-married couple are stuck in a resentful rut. They invite their sexually adventurous upstairs neighbors to dinner. Polite conversation turns into flirtation, confrontation and accidental couples therapy. It’s awesome. The writing and performances are terrific. How does A24 make such good shit all the time? Something to learn here.

All of this, of course, is very anti-AI. Humans making nice things. Unmediated stories and songs. Don’t be fooled. This ain’t gonna end. In fact, we will want it more as the robots impinge.

BTW, did you know that the British call homelessness “rough sleeping”? I didn’t know this. I did know that they like descriptive terms such as “washing-up liquid” and “cling film.” They also say “can’t be arsed” and “faffing about,” so sometimes the rule is broken. Or not.

Meanwhile, back at PvA Field Notes, an expanding group has been busy picking through the detritus of media, tech, AI and cultural stuff. It’s a nice little place. Come on by.

First your parents abandoned you, then this.

A conversation about late life employment trouble came out of the discussion on Field Notes. I see it as the great late career Gen X shaft. We discuss on the podcast.

More Field Notes chatter:

POD: The New Moat

Out FRIDAY 6 AM EST Apple | Spotify | Substack

Media now is often as much a who you know business as a what you know. Publishers see the writing on the wall for traffic-based models and are instead looking to experiential gatherings that bring together communities. We discuss why events are becoming media’s new moat, the tensions that come with building them, and what happens when AI agents begin acting on their own. Plus: the hypocrisy of closed AI models, Coca-Cola’s Marlboro moment, and why the collapse of the media career ladder is forcing a generation of experienced executives to become free agents.

The conversation happens all week on Field Notes →

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