How Bluegrass Music Destroyed My Life

by John Fahey

A collection of fictional but semi-autobiographical stories, this work comes from one of the most influential guitarists in music history. The tales are recalled in a conversational, feverish tone, following the musician in his childhood and young adulthood in post-World War II suburbia, pausing along the way for moments of clarity and introspection. The stories resist categorization—part memoir, part personal essay, part fiction, and part manifesto they simply stand alone, having their own logic, religious dogma, and mythological history.

Genres: Music, Memoir, Short Stories, Nonfiction, Biography, Autobiography, Biography Memoir

291 pages, Paperback

First published April 15, 2000

Reviews

[Paul Bryant · Rating 3 out of 5]

John Fahey was a cumbersome, difficult, curmudgeonly, arrogant, original, enterprising, witty, intellectual, self-lascerating, impossible, monomaniacal, gracious, kindly, genial, spiteful, burly, unkempt big lumbering grouchy old bear of a man, I met him in 1999, about 18 months before he died, and it's always a nervous thing, meeting your heroes. But it was great. Although his mental health perhaps wasn't all it could be; he was wandering round the world crashing heavily into things, into people's lives, and not much noticing the damage, either to him or them.

I should mention that Fahey was America's greatest steel string acoustic guitar player.

Fahey could write very well, very lyrically - see his lovely liner notes for the album "The Yellow Princess" for instance. But his writing about his own life was anything but lyrical, it was angry, it was hateful, bursting with venom directed towards his parents and the various dreadful (allegedly) bullying friends he had; which is sort of standard misunderstood-genius shtick, but Fahey laid it on with a trowel.
He wrote a long autobiographical thing called "Admiral Kelvinator's Clockwork Factory" (terrible title). He couldn't get it published (he sent me a copy of it years ago). Finally parts of it turned up in this collection of rants. These are pieces about either Fahey's early life or about interesting people he knew, like Bukka White or Skip James. It's an odd book from a very odd man. Essential if you're a fan - otherwise, for lovers of American eccentricity.

Note : there's a posthumous follow-up called Vampire Vultures, which I do not recommend (shudder).

[Jacob · Rating 5 out of 5]

the paradox of this beauty is that it is actually a mystical journey akin to laying in the grass and staring into the sun. yea, i could riff on the dry humor that resonates off the hollowbody rebuffs by skip james and michaelangelo antonioni that are worth the price of admission by themselves, but that doesn't begin to pluck the bareness of fahey's magic. an hallucinogenic fishing trip with bukka white and a spiritual covenant made with the ghost of hank williams are depictions of a soul that truly uses art as a medium of emotion. without so much as a slight of hand or a whammy bar, fahey shows us how the relationships we have with music can transform our lives. i just got done sharing this book with my father and he loved it, too. i look forward to andrew's review...go ahead, destroy your life, join the club.

[Tuck · Rating 4 out of 5]

quite lovely short stories based on THE TRUTH, in the beat style, like sitting on the porch of that weird guy down the road and him regaling you with the most mind blowing tales of growing up a punk, getting into music, playing the guitar, making of your life that of an artist. and you think...man this guys is NUTS, this CAN'T be true, he couldn't have done and seen all this and ingested all that and been with all these people and had all these adventures. But then you realize it IS true.


here's an excerpt
from story “The Center of Interest Will Not Hold”

“Bluegrass music and blues are full of anger and fear and anxiety and trembling and hostility and propaganda and…..well, mostly aggressively angry sentiments and stuff. I mean I was too young to understand that. What the hell could I do? Of course, now we all know better but back then….He taught me that bluegrass is just sad music. It isn’t. It is: unhappy music. Discontented music. Nihilist music. Atheistic music. Terrorist music. Godless music. Irresponsible music. Uncanny music. Sensual music. Unbridled music. Troubled music. Distressful music. Harassing music. Agitating music. Panic music. Demoralizing music. Tormenting music. Instrumental music. Shocking music. Browbeating music.. Unfriendly music. Outlaw music. Gloomy music. Heartaching music. Lamentable music. Desolation music. Pagan music. Death music. Electric Chair music. Castrating music. Sadistic music. Nazi music.
And bluegrass music gives you liberal ideas, perverse cravings, makes you horny, angry, antisocial, neurotic, criminal, reptilian, sociopathic, lonely, unhappy, un-PC,
EVIL.
Know what I mean?
So because of Dick Spottswood and Don Owens and Bill Monroe, I became a professional guitar player and composer.
What the hell kind of gig is that?
I could’ve been a contender.
So let me tell you something. It could be of use to your.
If you’re ever somewhere and you hear some maniac playing minor thirds on a mandolin against an E-major chord on guitar---run. It’s bad ecology man, man.
Go find somebody who has records of people playing major thirds on a piano or something.
That’s not a dangerous instrument.
Not like the mandolin.
No.
Never.
Mandolins and banjos are evil. I was right all the time.
Bluegrass music is the music of
PAN.”

[Johan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Who would have guessed that John Fahey could write prose like this? I really liked this book of short stories very loosely based on Fahey’s own life. The parts about country bluesmen Skip James and Bukka White are very good and funny. The one about Skip James is especially interesting because of Fahey’s very negative views about the folk scene of the times. Otherwise the writing is quite original and there’s a lot of references to hinduism and German philosophers and various reptiles, one can’t really be sure but I guess this gives at least a little bit of an inside view of Fahey’s interests. The first piece about his childhood is actually quite creepy in its portrayal of the local kid’s gang and its Hitleresque methods of going against their parents. An interesting and funny read to say the least!

[Brendan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Re-read, 05/2022: These “stories” are still fantastic upon re-reading, like a portrait of Fahey’s life as seen through a hallucinatory, visionary filter. One of my favorite books by a musician.


Fahey's writing is strange and whimsical, taking unexpected left turns into nonsense and disappearing into tangents for pages on end only to return to the main theme as if all was easily connected. He writes like he plays guitar, and I'd gladly read this as much as I listen to his music.

[Aengus · Rating 5 out of 5]

Running the Azalea Street Penis Club, worshipping the Great Koonaklaster, catching a world record alligator gar while drinking whiskey with Bukka White, chatting with the ghost of Hank Williams,giving Antonioni an American style ass whupping in Rome, American eccentric and steel guitar maestro tells the story of his life.

[Doo Rag · Rating 5 out of 5]

bluegrass music is the naked truth

[Dmitriy Slepov · Rating 5 out of 5]

Полагаю, что большинство читателей этой книги знают автора за его музыку. Так и со мной - я знаю и люблю музыку Джона Фэи, а то, что у него ещё и книги есть, мне не было известно, пока не заметил на полке.
Сама книга конечно очень необычная, как ещё могло у него быть. Это вроде бы мемуары, но при этому они как бы художественные. Тут сплетены реальные и вымышленные события, при этом собственно места "сцепки" заметить невозможно, и периодически по прочтении главы остаёшься в недоумении, что же из всего этого было на самом деле. А потом вдруг понимаешь, что и не надо даже пытаться, в этом и идея. Джон Фэи погружает читателя в какой-то необычный мир, где миражи и сны существуют на равных правах с "жизнью", они столь же реальны, как и то, что мы называем реальностью, и поэтому разграничивать их нет смысла, да и не получится.
Книга разбита на главы, и каждая глава - отдельный эпизод из жизни (или снов?) автора, они не связаны между собой, т.е. нет сплошного повествования из детства к нашим дням. Тем не менее описаны разные периоды жизни Джона: и детство, и начало увлечения музыкой, и поиски старых пластинок по чёрным кварталам, и встречи с музыкантами.
Отдельно хочется отметить работу переводчика, а в данном случае даже интерпретатора. Георгий Осипов не является именно переводчиком, он любитель музыки Джона Фэи, и не ставил задачи точно перевести оригинал, о чём честно сообщает в предисловии. И мне кажется затея удалась отлично, найти в тексте столько намёков из околомузыкальной сферы мог только человек, действительно погружённый в тему.
Общее впечатление выразить сложно, так как я где-то совсем не в "зоне комфорта". Хочется для себя классифицировать как художественную литературу или как мемуаристику, и потом оценить, но вот классифицировать не получится. Просто необычная и интересная книга про необычного и интересного человека, которую он сам и написал. И всё равно рефлекторно во мне остаётся вопрос: все эти мысли и сны - они были на самом деле или нет? А ответа на этот вопрос не будет.

[MonkeyApril · Rating 4 out of 5]

Good stuff. Fahey’s organization style is very noticeably erratic which compliments his personality. Emotionally tethered to nostalgia and a bygone world. Fahey brings everything to life through his own , strange, expressive perspectives.

[Adam · Rating 4 out of 5]

Short stories and musings loosely based on truth by fabulous guitarist John Fahey. Stories of youth growing up in the D.C. suburbs, young love, quests to find old blues singers in Mississippi, performing at folk festivals and recording music for Antonini's film Zabriske Point. Quite intriguing. I would say it would be an enjoyable read for anyone who has spent time with his records. Read it over the course of several plane flights.

[Juanita · Rating 1 out of 5]

Finally, I couldn't read this book and gave it away. I'm not sure why I failed to connect with this author and musician, but the book never held my attention long enough to get into it.

[flannery · Rating 5 out of 5]

The best story in here is the one where Roosevelt Sykes talks about why he loves honey. The second best story in here is the one where John Fahey punches Michelangelo Antonioni in the face.

[Phil Griffin · Rating 1 out of 5]

John Fahey was a hero of mine is a guitarist. He is not a writer.

[Luca · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ben oltre le aspettative. Immaginavo che Fahey fosse stralunato anche come autore, ma lo sguardo dietro queste cronache autobiografiche romanzate è lucidissimo nella sua strampalatezza, e quando spiazza lo fa in maniera consapevole. Un po' beat, quasi salingeriano nelle cronache d'infanzia, mai banale, ineccepibile nel non farti capire se una cosa te la sta raccontando perché è vera o perché l'ha sognata, sfodera aneddoti e memorie per quasi 300 pagine senza stufare.Non sapevo che Fahey avesse anche scritto (anzi, grazie a Jim O'Rourke che a suo tempo lo convinse a pubblicare) e mi meraviglia che questi testi non abbiano tutta la (grande) fama che meritano.

[Keith zimmerman · Rating 4 out of 5]

this wasn't my first round with HBMDML, nor do i suspect it will be my last. if what you love about Fahey's music goes beyond his technical acuity and into the deeply numinous, sometimes nebulous and often nightmarish inner space explorations said playing evokes, you'll be at home (sadly an unsafe place in his experience) here. he was an uncommonly intrepid and eloquent guide who so generously allowed us to come along as he voyaged twenty thousand leagues beneath his own personal river styx. but. the moments of grace. merciful, plentiful. his music saved my life one winter. i hope he's found some relief on the other side.

[Sebastian · Rating 4 out of 5]

Most of the stories were wonderfully odd and hilarious, namely Neighborhood, Henry Vestine and the Allure of La Plastique, April in the Orange, Honey, and Antonioni. Some dragged on and lost their magic but had magic nonetheless which is a difficult task in itself, especially for a non-author such as Fahey. After listening to a decent amount of his music, his sense of humor makes total sense.

[dv · Rating 4 out of 5]

Libro di memorie atipico da parte di un musicista altrettanto atipico. Il Fahey scrittore non vale quanto il Fahey chitarrista, ma questi scritti regalano più di un momento divertente, oltre a essere espressione di un certo modo di vivere - ancora prima che un certo modo di essere intellettuali, musicisti, scrittori, etc. - pieno di autenticità e assai lontano da quelli diffusi oggi.

[Jack · Rating 3 out of 5]

A collection of hilarious fishing trips, childhood gang antics, and personal, insightful ethnomusicological anecdotes that are too often spoiled by casual racism, sexism, and reactionary boomer rants, sometimes all in the same story.

[Tony Sannicandro · Rating 4 out of 5]

What a strange book but then he was a strange person.

[Mark Patterson · Rating 5 out of 5]

Philosophies, facts, and fantasies pirhouette, fade, and re-appear in and out of mystery like the Cat People he espies. Wonderful stuff.

[Rivers · Rating 3 out of 5]

John Fahey was a weird dude

[Gabriel D. · Rating 3 out of 5]

Really enjoyed the first few and final chapters. Kindof fell apart for me in the middle

[Shaun Deane · Rating 1 out of 5]

YUK. Did I say "YUK?" Let's all chant YUK YUK YUK YUK. What a load of self-involved drivel. I gave it 30pp and then some light skimming. Awful.

[Joey O’Rourke · Rating 4 out of 5]

Just as hypnotic a read, as his songs are to listen to.

[Cian O · Rating 3 out of 5]

I love John’s music but these stories are a mess. Still some great passages though

[Daniil Vilenskiy · Rating 4 out of 5]

Захватывающие и местами угарные погружения в миры Джона Фэйи, в которых даже банальность и повседневность американской сабёрбии обрастают эзотерическими деталями. Я в общем и без этого всегда любил его музыку, но как только начинаешь лучше ориентироваться в его личной мифологии и его своеобразном миропонимании, то и музыку его понимаешь лучше. Растиражированная глава про встречу с Антониони, хоть и очень смешная, на самом деле самая слабая в книге.

[Diann Blakely]

Dean Blackwood deserves a new round of hand claps and raised lighters. The former Music City attorney played a crucial part in pulling together the collected prose of his partner in the Revenant record label, visionary guitarist John Fahey. HOW BLUEGRASS MUSIC DESTROYED MY LIFE is unusual in that it was published by a Chicago independent record label, Drag City. The story of how a box of "sticky and suspiciously stained papers," as Fahey's editor puts the matter, became this hilarious, provocative, scary, and vibrant read is partly provided by the editor's note and by musician/producer Jim O'Rourke's introduction, as well as by Blackwood himself.

Blackwood says when he first read Fahey's stories--some of which might also be called memoirs, reviews, or even manifestos--most of them were "complete," in the loosest sense of the word. Impressed, the lawyer/record reissue producer sent "Antonioni," Fahey's chronicle of his involvement with the film "Zabriskie Point," to O'Rourke--whose record label happened to be Chicago's Drag City, which expressed immediate interest in the work. Blackwood tried editing Fahey's material but soon became overburdened. "Drag City found a woman named Damian Rogers," he says, "who took just the right approach--[she kept Fahey's] voice totally intact and only edited for clarity purposes."

That voice is at its clearest, smartest, and most hilarious in the Antonioni piece, in which Fahey addresses the revered director--who turns out to be a surly, anti-American jerk--as "Ant." Also noteworthy is "Skip James," a memoir of Berkeley in the '60s detailing the collision between privileged flower children and the largely impoverished country blues singers whom they attempted to adopt. Even the presumably enlightened Fahey is disappointed to discover that Skip James doesn't welcome his acolyte's pilgrimage to Mississippi as anything other than his long-past due.

Anyone who knows about Fahey won't be surprised that HOW BLUEGRASS MUSIC DESTROYED MY LIFE became the handsome book currently in stores only through several years of back-and-forth literary negotiation. Indeed, Fahey lost the manuscript several times and originally threw parts of it away, retrieving some sections from a Dumpster. But the jagged interrelatedness of HOW BLUEGRASS MUSIC DESTROYED MY LIFE happens to be the mode of some of the best contemporary fiction writing: Denis Johnson's JESUS' SON and Tim O'Brien's THE THINGS THEY CARRIED are all composed of discrete stories that nonetheless combine to create a novel-like whole. Fahey is predominantly a musician, not a writer, and thus while his prose isn't at the level of those noted here, he brings his firsthand knowledge of the "old, weird America," as Greil Marcus calls it, to an audience hungry for the unmediated and the authentic.

(originally published in the Nashville SCENE)

[Leon · Rating 4 out of 5]

An absolute whirlwind.

Chaotic. Contemplative. Angry. Nihilistic.

EVIL.

Know what I mean?

[Anthony Glass · Rating 5 out of 5]

The story behind the book is as entertaining as the stories themselves--scrawled random, stained scraps of anything Fahey could find to write in, and shipped to a friend, who merely asked for details about Fahey's ill fated gig composing score for Antonioni's Zabriskie Point. The remaining holes were filled through interviews and so forth. But it's all Fahey. He coulda been a contender. He coulda been a great writer, but aside from this he was was content to write wickedly funny liner notes for his own self published albums, parodying the liner notes of the blues reissues coming out at that time. He "got" the blues--as in, grokked-- in a way no one else did or could have. His characterizations of Bukka White, Skip James, Bill Monroe, and Hank Williams and/or their music may well send you back for a relisten, asking yourself "What did I miss?" Music actually takes up a relatively small amount of ink--some of the more engaging stories revolve around his growing up in Maryland, the neighborhood "gangs", a fictional--almost allegorical--encounter with Fred Rose, first loves, etc. Throughout, I could hear nothing in the background but a handful of my own favorite Fahey tunes--his writing weirdly conjures up the sound of his music--the elaborate "joke" to which he wrote his liner notes. "American Primitive" guitar? Sure, why not. I can safely say that John Fahey's book did NOT ruin my Christmas Break. Much less my life. At least, not yet.

[Jerry Oliver · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is a mystical touchstone. One has to read this at the right time in your life. Especially if you're a guitar player. You might be ready. You might not be ready. If you've never listened to any of John Fahey's music and read the liner notes to his albums perhaps you should start there. If you listen to his music for ten years or so you might be ready. This book is a cosmic melding of fact, fiction and dreams and it is all very real. Real because it existed in the life and mind of Fahey. We get to spend time scouring black neighborhoods of the south when there were still old blues men to be found as Fahey recounts time with Bukka White and the fearsome Skip James. We also witness Hank Williams last river boat performance and learn about the cat people who come out at night and more. Some of the most magic time is spent in the memories and or imagination of Fahey's as a youth in the suburbs of 1940's and 50's Washington D.C. It is really quite hard to explain, much like Fahey's distinctly original music. But once you "get it" it is a treasure to behold.