I really surprised myself by rating this 3 stars. I came very close to DNF because the book is written so poorly. I decided to keep reading because it is written - I'm not exaggerating - at the level of a children's chapter book and thus an extremely quick read.
I was pretty much hate reading for most of the book and then my perception shifted. By the time I got to the last page, where the 81 year old Sly is talking about what tv shows he likes to watch and how he gets his family's attention by banging his back scratcher on the coffee table(He has COPD from years of smoking crack and angel dust), I was strangely...charmed? Not sure if that's the best word choice. He's your cranky grandpa telling you to shut up and go outside to play but grab him a beer first. I understand how his kids and friends are mad at him but also love him and still care about him, even with all his foolishness over the years. He's not an easy person to have in your life.
It's an extremely honest book, more so than most celeb memoirs I have read. Sly did not want to participate in this book but because he needed the money, he begrudgingly acquiesced. This baseline irritation of his, of having to rehash the past, ended up being refreshing. He has zero fucks to give. He doesn't care if you like him or if this book will help his career. He doesn't care if he is getting the story right or if he is giving enough details. He badmouths people with impunity. He barely describes major events in his life - Woodstock warrants 2 short paragraphs - and then spends pages transcribing old talk shows he was on because Jesus H Christ, a man has tv shows he wants to watch but he's being forced to write this dumb memoir so let's fill up a bunch of pages detailing a Mike Douglas episode from the early 1970s. Another good way to fill up pages is by summarizing old magazine articles and giving his opinion on them. You have to hand it to him, how he worked around having to do this project. Another page filler is going through all of his albums and critiquing every damn song. Every song. Not just the hits.
It was 1970 on the screen but 2020 in the room. I was watching the interview back, not for the first time. Of course I watched old interviews. Who wouldn't? When there's a record kept, play it. Time moves forward and also stays where it was. Two different times at the same time.
We wandered off to try to find some food. All we could locate was a table of sandwiches but they were already spoiled.You could see the meat walking. I don't remember how I left, maybe the same way I came in, but I wasn't there to see Jimi close the festival. One of his two brief paragraphs about Woodstock.
Sly has huge chunks of missing memory. Like astoundingly poor. He is the poster child of why you shouldn't do hard drugs. It was sad, how much has been lost to the ravages of his drug use. I also started wondering if he has dementia? I recently read Barbra Streisand's memoir and boy, talk about the polar opposite of Sly!!! She is the same age, a few months older, so I kept comparing and contrasting her life with Sly's. She has obsessively kept journals her whole life and recalled EVERYTHING (hence her memoir being a thousand pages). It's like she couldn't shut up and Sly wouldn't open his mouth. She did pretty much everything right careerwise which is why she now has a net worth of $400 million and Sly is broke(per the internet a net worth of $150,000 which isn't nothing but for a celeb with the hits he had it is nothing. At one point in the book he mentioned the address of one house in Bel Air he bought and then later lost to the IRS. I googled the address. The house has been torn down but you can buy the lot for 28 million. Oh Sly, if you hadn't become a drug addict you would have had a smooth life as a super rich guy) Barbra never doing drugs and rarely drinking vs. Sly smoking crack since before it was crack and still called freebasing. I think that is the key to their difference, the drug use. It's sad, thinking about how great his life could have been with different choices. All the music he never made because he was busy chasing the rock to smoke. Tragic.
Drugs were accelerating by that point. I didn't even have to buy them. People gave me powder or pills because I was famous or they wanted my approval or they were trying to establish a relationship on that basis. It would have been rude to refuse. I had a violin case filled with cocaine that I would carry around town with me. That's a lot of blow, filling up a violin case.
Drugs came in. There were reasons. There was a culture and there was a mindset, but there were also demands. I was trying to write, trying to play, trying to record. All of that needed to be fueled. But how did that fuel make me feel? A drug is a substance and so the question has substance. A drug can be a temporary escape and so I will Drugs came in. There were reasons. There was a culture and there was a mindset, but there were also demands. I was trying to write, trying to play, trying to record. All of that needed to be fueled. But how did that fuel make me feel? A drug is a substance and so the question has substance. A drug can be a temporary escape and so I will temporarily escape that question.
I also had a baboon named Erfy, meaning earthy. I forget where I got him. Baboon store? Erfy used to tease Gun and then, just as Gun's temper was spilling over, leap away, higher than a pool table. One day Erfy jumped away too slowly. Gun lunged and got a baboon foot in his law and then more than that. He didn't just catch Erfy. He killed him. And he didn't just kill him. He forced him to have sex after he was dead. I didn't see it myself but I heard about it from everyone. Oh my. I feel like this story is a good snapshot of what his life was like freebasing in a BelAir mansion.
Sly was an awful friend, an awful bandmate, an awful husband, an awful father, an awful pet owner, an awful tenant, an awful neighbor - a never ending tale of shittiness. I think underneath the drugs Sly was a good guy but the drugs created a monster. Sure, it was also the era of casual sexism and bad parenting, but Sly doubled down and was worse than the average guy. I got an undercurrent of deep sadness from him, not that he is remotely self aware or insightful about his sadness or the reasons why. He is the epitome of a closed book. He would be a difficult person to have in your life.
Some people said I didn't have any clocks in the house, and while I can neither confirm nor deny that, it sounds right.A minor thing but is a good detail showing how crazy his life was.
I completely agree with the one star reviews on Goodreads yet I went with the three stars because he does have some batshit crazy stories worth hearing and the book is the best anti-drug message I've ever read. Sly accepts nearly zero responsibility for the way his life played out. Blames everyone but himself. Classic addict. I did end up being glad I read it but I wouldn't call it an enjoyable read. Worth checking out if you keep these caveats in mind.
A small taste of some of the great comments he made about other well known people.
Arlene wasn't the only one who felt her skin crawl around him. He made everything crawl. He made people want to sleep with one eye open. He was bad vibes all the way down. Even so I partied with him. He had connections I could use. about Ike Turner.
Michael(Jackson) was respectful, always that way and extremely so, to the point where I would sometimes wonder if he was for real. I wanted to know about his shit. And we now know that creepy soft spoken act was an act. Ugh.
I worked for a few days on songs for Diana but the vocal arrangements didn't fit with the sound she had in mind. I don't remember exactly why but I do remember that she was musty. I think she had been napping and someone woke her up to sing. About musty Diana Ross. HAHAHA. Snap!
I used the phone there to call Huey. "Bring Dawn's clothes over here," I said. He started explaining but I cut him off. "You can't have this one," I said. "She's mine." About Huey Newton and some other Black Panthers trying to forcibly impregnate women for 'the race' so they kidnapped Sly's girlfriend/drug buddy and took her clothes so she couldn't escape and she jumped out a window with only a towel around her.
I was on Grace to smoke some crack. She got royal about it. "No, thank you," she said in her slippery Grace Jones accent. I kept making the case. Eventually she came around. "'ll try it," she said. "I don't like it," she said. I couldn't believe it. Who did it once and stopped? I'm sure she is thrilled about him telling this story lol.
I wish that some of the rappers would have called me: Snoop, Mystikal, Ludacris. I could have made their music better Haha!
I heard a song from a new Bob Dylan album. He sounded drunk. Someone asked me if it was the kind of thing that I would have thought he would have made when I first heard him sixty years ago. I said it sounded like it was made sixty years ago.Hahaha. Sly tellin' it like it is!
Bill Cosby sat on a couch off to the side, a red couch, leaning back like a little king, shirt off and girls rubbing lotion on his chest. They seemed like they were doing it because they wanted to. But there was a feeling around him, a sideways vibe. Otherwise, he was just all right, cool enough but not with a capital C.
Once I went to a girl's apartment. At some point in the evening, she told me that she had a film of herself and Jimi(Hendrix) having sex. "Let me see," I said. I didn't want to see the movie. I just wanted to get eyes on it to make sure it was what she said it was. It was. When I left, I took it with me. I figured that Jimi didn't know about it and I didn't think it was right to have it out there in the world like that, where it could appear suddenly and do him harm. I gave it to someone who wasn't in the business, who I knew would never do anything with it other than throw it away.
His name was Charlie Manson. I crossed paths with him a few times. Sometimes he would give an opinion and l'd give the opposite and we'd have a little disagreement. They weren't even about songs. They were about nothing. Turn the lights brighter or darker. Open or close a door. Whichever way I went, he'd go the other way. Spooky! About meeting Manson at the house on Cielo Drive where the murders later happened.
The details in the stories people tell shift over time, in their minds and in mine, in part or in whole, each time they're told. That's what makes them stories. Telling stories about the past, about the way your life crosses into the lives of those around you, is what people do, what they have always done. Those people aren't trying to hurt you. They're trying to set the record straight. But a record's not straight, especially when you're not. It's a circle with a spiral inside it. Every time a story is told it's a test of memory and motive. Telling stories isn't right and it isn't wrong. It isn't evil but it isn't good. It's the name of the game but a shame just the same.