Best I can tell, because he sometimes reads The New Yorker and Slate, and the former recently published a much-discussed rumination by Sasha Frere-Jones about race and indie rock, a Carl Wilson rejoinder to which was published in the latter. Obviously, David Brooks doesn't know anything about indie rock—or hip-hop or punk—but that's okay, because David Brooks knows how to turn anything into a David Brooks column.

David Brooks also appears to know Steven Van Zandt, of the E Street Band, who he tells us "fell for the Beatles and discovered the blues and early rock music that inspired them." Of course, because cliches and commonplaces aren't ever deducted from the word count or pay check, David Brooks's account of rock music begins with the Beatles's 1964 appearance on Ed Sullivan. To be exact, it begins like this: "On Feb. 9, 1964, the Beatles played on 'The Ed Sullivan Show.'" Then there were the '70s, "a great moment for musical integration." But, then, at "some point toward the end of the 1970s or the early 1980s, the era of integration gave way to the era of fragmentation. There are now dozens of niche musical genres where there used to be this thing called rock."

It turns out that "people have been writing about the fragmentation of American music for decades." Here's where Brooks makes mention of the Frere-Jones/Wilson debate. But really, you see, people like Sasha Frere-Jones and Carl Wilson, who can name music acts besides the Beatles, Springsteen, the Rolling Stones, and U2 (who grew famous long after "the era of integration" ended, but who's counting?), miss the forest for the trees! No, Brooks, explains, what's going on now/happened twenty years ago (whatever!) to music is happening because:"Technology drives some of the fragmentation. Computers allow musicians to produce a broader range of sounds. Top 40 radio no longer serves as the gateway for the listening public. Music industry executives can use market research to divide consumers into narrower and narrower slices."

"But other causes flow from the temper of the times. It's considered inappropriate or even immoral for white musicians to appropriate African-American styles. And there's the rise of the mass educated class." And wait, back to little Stevie: he's starting a high-school curriculum about the history of American popular music. Why? "He argues that if the Rolling Stones came along now, they wouldn't be able to get mass airtime because there is no broadcast vehicle for all-purpose rock. And he says that most young musicians don't know the roots and traditions of their music. They don't have broad musical vocabularies to draw on when they are writing songs."

Alright, so popular music has splintered, and some people believe there are ways to unsplinter it. But, come on, why does David Brooks really care about Van Zandt's music-class plan? Could it be that a deadline is looming?

"It seems that whatever story I cover, people are anxious about fragmentation and longing for cohesion," he concludes. "This is the driving fear behind the inequality and immigration debates, behind worries of polarization and behind the entire Obama candidacy."

There you have it: the David Brooks pivot in all its glory. Basically: 'there are a lot of details and specificities and technicalities to all the things I hear about, but really there's one theme that runs through it all: I heard it.'

The Segmented Society [NYT]

That's All Folks [New Yorker]

Vinny's was serving free pizza to the line at the velvet rope outside. An Acura SUV had been parked on the street—they were a Festival "partner." Pedicabs with the New Yorker logo emblazoned on their behinds dropped off women in earth-tone shawls and men in blazers. Acura, Citi, Grey Goose, Chevron, Banana Republic, and Samsung were partners as well; The official wine was Yellowtail.

Speaking of whores, a group of women smoking cigarettes and clutching their bright yellow tickets waited outside. One said, "MySpace feels dirty." Another said, "Yeah, the New Yorker festival is the new network." A middle-aged man used his dog Kira to attract a cluster of women.

Inside Hiro, I spotted these things:

• A middle-aged lady with a fancy fannypack dancing to the Zombies' "Time of the Season."
• A posing girl named Britney who had just broken up with Fancy from the band Fannypack.
• A cluster of gay Asian men in deep v-necks dancing dirtily with women with jewelry.
• A cadre of middle-aged women whooping it up like it was their kids' bas mitzvahs, arms waving in abandon, joy written into the creases and furrows of their smiling mystical faces as Britney Spears' "Gimme More" played.
• A pride of elderly who had read about the festival and were curious enough to check it out. Silver haired foxes, women with well-done dyejobs, holding hands, dancing old tymee.
• Brian Thomas Gallagher, formerly of Topic and now fact-checker for Vanity Fair. What was he high on? "Heaven," he said, which sounds like a designer drug from the 80s, but I think meant the music.
• Julie Bloom—formerly of Radar and the deceased Jane and now of the Times with co-worker Amy O'Leary. Bloom is a dance writer but refused to cast judgment on the dancing at the party.
• A guy who looked like a dickwad, whose shirt had the word Angel appliqued to the back, but who turned out just to be foreign. His name was Tice.
• Three couples seriously making out.

  By 1:30 a.m., the room was happily pulsating. Diplo interrupted the music only to say, "New Yorker, y'all." The woman in the fannypack bounced like she was on a pogo stick. A discoball was the blinding Copernican sun around which a thousand points of light danced. The three couples we saw earlier engaged in kissing, grew to four, to five and eventually were too many to count. The dance floor had become a fertile breeding ground.

See, Sasha doesn't have $5,000:

I know—fancypants New Yorker writer, what the fuck, etc. There's a donation button below, and clicking on it will send me ten bucks. If five hundred people do this, I'll be able to pay for the retrieval. I will love you all the same if you don't click on it.

I will not send individual thank you notes but will post an honor roll when we've reached the finish line. Thank you, though, to those who have already pitched in."

Collection Plate [S/FJ]

The New Yorker Festival [Ticketmaster]

It turns out that the [NYT's] idea is not to find rockist crackers or closet bigots or plain old crabcakes who just wanna rail against music as it exists and operates now — the idea is to find people who are unable to hear music as it exists and operates now, and then ask them to write about it. And if you're looking for someone who can't confront or discern the present moment, there is no greater spokesbaldy than Nick "Mojo Magazine Invented Me In a Diabolical Laboratory And Now They Can't Kill Me" Hornby.

Hyphy! [S/FJ]