It was upon entering the seventh grade, and thus starting a new school, that I noticed my classmates’ fashion and music sense change. Some of it may have been attributed to naturally evolving tastes, some of it to that age-old desire to fit in and conform to the herd. There were seniors to impress, so all those New Kids on the Block tees were replaced by Metallica, Nirvana and the eight-pronged asterisk logo of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers.
I wasn’t always aware of what was trending or cool as I didn’t have MTV or the MuchMusic tv channel growing up, instead relying solely upon pop-oriented radio and network shows like American Bandstand and Solid Gold to form opinions on what I liked (and yes, I was a New Kids fan). One thing I did know though was that whenever my mom heard a Red Hot Chilli Peppers song come on, she would immediately change the channel. She hated them. Absolutely loathed them. I wasn’t a fan myself but I often wondered what this band—led by a perpetually shirtless, tribal tattooed lead singer who seems contractually obligated to sing about California—could have done to offend my mother?
Scandalous rock-and-roll memoirs were once my favourite literary genre. I attribute this to the fact that I’m an introvert who gets to live vicariously through the tales of wanton lust and debauchery normally lining their pages. So when I saw ‘Scar Tissue’ written by Anthony Kiedis, lead singer of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers, on the bargain shelves of my local McNally Robinson, I decided that $7.99 was a steal of a price to pay for 465 pages of trashy escapism.
I didn’t foresee the added expense of requiring gallons of bleach to bathe in while reading it though.
Maybe it’s because I’m older, wiser and have less tolerance for people like this but Anthony Kiedis’ recollection of life is less that of a rock star and more of a self-indulgent, misogynistic narcissist who got lucky. His story is that of a high school truant who failed to mature because he’s always been rewarded for his deplorable behaviour. There was no insight into his band, his craft or the era of which they dominated, every chapter instead consisted of sharing, in detail, all the women he had sex with along with rating their performance. He even threw in a few pictures of his exes posing topless (for what purpose, I will never know). Really creepy though considering he was 43-years-old when the book was published is how many of his boasts were about his girlfriends and other conquests being underage, praising one sixteen-year-old paramour for looking after him while they “played house” and:
While bullshit likes this takes up a bulk of the book, the other half—the only part I am mildly sympathetic to—describes the rinse-and-repeat cycle of drug addiction. Anthony goes into great detail in regards to his pursuit of this demon, not just the feeling of taking the substance itself but also admitting how other elements made the experience so thrilling such as how a florescent purple light illuminating the exterior of a seedy L.A. hotel beckoned him in as the perfect place to hole up for a few days to shoot heroin. His many (many) trips to rehab are also documented.
But while that may explain behaviour, it doesn't excuse it. Ultimately, this is long-winded braggadocio.
What I learned from this book is that sometimes mother knows best.
I will concede on this though. Despite my repulsion, he did write one of the definitive songs of the 90s. Shame I can no longer enjoy it.
Favourite line: “[Girlfriend] Jennifer had slept with Chris Fish, the keyboard player for Fishbone, one of our brother L.A. groups, while I was out on tour. But it still didn’t compute with me. I could have seen if she’d slept with Angelo Moore, who was the good-lucking lead singer. But Chris Fish—a guy with bad dreadlocks and worse fashion sense?”
Prince: The Beautiful Ones
Written by Prince and edited posthumously by Dan Piepenbring
Another music memoir that is a little less linear as it was only partially written and still in the production phase before Prince’s untimely death in 2016. The book offers a brief glimpse into the life and mind of a legendary performer who carried his air of mystery into legend. The book is interesting but at times hard to read, as one of Prince’s requests was that visual icons - similar to when he changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol - be used in place of actual words.
Favourite line: “I like dreaming now more than I used to. Some of my friends have passed away, and I see them in my dreams. It’s like they are here, and the dreams are just like waking sometimes.”