House of Mirth

Yesterday the Los Angeles Times ran my op-ed about the recent rash of rock star autobiographies. I had been eager to read them--especially Eric Clapton's and Pattie Boyd's--and the four books did fill in some useful details in the great Sixties mosaic. But I was surprised by my curmudgeonly response to the frantic drugging, drinking, and nutty dissipation. No doubt the sexagenerians will heed my advice and clean up their lifestyles. Meanwhile, I began this way:

When did the '60s end? Joan Didion, one of the great anatomists of that Aquarian decade, felt it grind to a halt on Aug. 9, 1969--when the news of Sharon Tate's murder first spread through the lotus-eating entertainment community. Others point to the violent fiasco at the Altamont music festival later that year, when one audience member was stabbed to death during a Rolling Stones concert, or to the Kent State shootings just a few months later.

For a certain segment of the population, however, the '60s may never have ended at all. I'm talking about classic rock stars: those woolly mammoths who continue to roam the Earth, practically flaunting their pickled livers and capped teeth. For them, the gaudy decade has gone on and on, like a kind of prolonged childhood.

By now, of course, most of these golden codgers are rounding the bend into old age. If they have any intention of delivering a damage report, this is the time. Paul McCartney surpassed the proverbial age of 64 earlier this year. Pete Townshend is 62, while Grace Slick of the Jefferson Airplane is a village elder at 68. Now as it happens, four rock 'n' roll icons have recently obliged the public with the latest batch of autobiographical musings: Eric Clapton, Pattie Boyd, Ron Wood and Marianne Faithfull. And their books, admittedly the product of many a fried synapse, make for a sobering read.

You can read the rest here. So far I've gotten two email responses: one reader gently scolded me for using the word "peripatetic," while the other insisted that most rock music was crap to begin with. No angry telegram from NORML--not yet, anyway.