If I never glimpse another Rock ’n’ Roll Bad Boy sneering at me on my television screen, trying to impress me with how unashamedly wicked and depraved he or she is, it’ll be too soon.

Once upon a time, musicians behaved onstage as though they yearned for nothing more than their audience’s pleasure. They wore shoes in which they could see their own reflections. There are those who’ll tell you that Soul Brother No. One in those days either fined or fired members of his band who failed to keep their slippers polished to a sufficiently dazzling gloss. But there are others who will tell you that he had them murdered in their sleep.