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New Jersey in the 1980s had everything Jancee Dunn wanted: trips down the shore, Bruce Springsteen, a tantalizing array of malls. To music lover Jancee, New York City was a foreign country. So it was with bleak expectations that she submitted her résumé to Rolling Stone magazine. And before she knew it, she was backstage and behind the scenes with the most famous people in the world—hiking in Canada with Brad Pitt, snacking on Velveeta with Dolly Parton, dancing drunkenly onstage with the Beastie Boys—trading her good-girl suburban past for late nights, hipster guys, and the booze-soaked rock 'n' roll life.
Riotously funny and tremendously touching, But Enough About Me is the amazing true story of an outsider who couldn't quite bring herself to become an insider.
288 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2006
But Enough About Me interweaves accounts of Jancee Dunn’s New Jersey adolescence with her brushes with fame as a Rolling Stone reporter. I first read this part-memoir, part-gossip magazine when it was published in 2006, and was curious to see if it held up to a second reading.
This time round, I initially found the contrast between the author’s suburban family and her famous subjects to be overdone. Was she suggesting that her family — whose idea of a fun outing is photographing each other lying down with their arms folded, Nosferatu-style, on their cemetery plot — were more eccentric than Brad Pitt, Rolling Stones guitarist Ron Wood, Madonna, Ben Affleck, Béyoncé and Mel Gibson?
Things picked up with the chapter entitled, “None for Me, Thanks: Gracefully Refusing Your Host’s Kind Offer of Heroin”, in which a semi-tempted Jancee hides in the bathroom of Stone Temple Pilots’ Scott Weiland, to frantically phone her sister for advice. After that encounter, I settled in for a light, enjoyable read.
"Interviewing people who came of age in the sixties or seventies is so much more rewarding than talking to today's bland, P.R.-schooled youngsters. During one week, I chatted with Justin Timberlake and Grace Slick. Timberlake, so cautious, so eager not to offend, weighed and measured everything he said. As a former Mouseketeer, he was trained from a young age in how to handle the media. As a result, he was pleasant, but mostly stuck to safe fare such as how it's not about the fame, it's about the work, and his appreciation of his fans, and that being on the cover of Rolling Stone was really cool. Slick, meanwhile, cheerfully talked about how she couldn't fully participate in an orgy that sprang up in Jefferson Airplane's San Francisco office because she wasn't good at multitasking, added unapologetically that her lungs were 'two black bags' from smoking, and mused that her only regret in life was that she never nailed Jimi Hendrix or Peter O'Toole."
"I never understood why there was so much animosity towards [Christina Aguilera]. Writers should have been worshipping her. Were we not drowning in a sea of boring, prefab celebrities? Give me a gal who boldly speaks her mind, who isn't afraid of a fight, who wears a giant Afro wig one day and assless chaps the next. Christina Aguilera is the new Cher, if you think about it. Let us be glad."