I needed something to read on the kindle while doing cardio. Y'know, something to distract me, at least until the endorphins kick in. And so, having enjoyed Keith Richard's autobiography immensely last year, I thought I would take a chance on the reminiscences of another drugged-out rock star, and I downloaded Steven Tyler's book.
Well. All I can say is, where was the editor? Was there an editor? Did the editor make the editorial decision that Mr Tyler's charm would be, like on American Idol, in his nonsensical and out-of-context babbling? Because, if so, wrong decision. What works as comic relief on a TV talent show doesn't hold up as, y'know, literature. I am only 7% through and we are still in Steven's childhood. Except not really in chronological order. Now Steven's 14! Now he's nine again! It's as if every time a train of thought led him to another memory, he just threw it in there. I am not sure I am going to be able to finish this. I may just have to skip ahead to the drugs, groupies, and dramatic fights with Joe Perry. (Speaking of which, Steven's already mentioned that later he would meet Joe as the best fry cook in NH and Joe would be at his fryolater with his glasses mended with tape. Much like Keith with Mick, I suppose there's no sense in writing a rock n' roll autobiography without taking the opportunity to make subtle, or not so subtle, digs at your bandmates.)
The only other thing I have unread on my kindle at the moment is an anthology of Lovecraft-inspired short stories, and I've already read the one by Neil Gaiman. So I am sure it's all downhill from there. Anyone read anything good lately? Gimme a rec, please.
xoxo
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