Through so much of this book, I was enthralled and impressed - it reads at times as a pure biography, as an essay on jazz, as an instructional manual on the record business, as an analysis of the relationship between performers and critics ... but in the last few chapters it really fell apart, and I had to drop my rating accordingly. He repeats information (in detail) that he'd given earlier, he excoriates Peterson for a tour he cancelled while never really giving the details of his explanation, and he focuses on inconsistencies in statements Peterson made about his childhood - nearly fifty years after the fact. Certainly, it's a biographer's responsibility to show their subject as s/he lived, flaws and all, but it was a strange and unwelcome shift in tone for me.