Truly a bad book. Long, laborious opening section that drags on with minute details of his dull upbringing and early career. He doesn't even get to the Commodore's first record being made until page 166, and then he rushes through that! His early years could have been cut down to a few dozen pages, but this guy is preachy and thinks he's super spiritually inspiring (he originally wanted to become an Episcopalian priest).
He not. Lionel Richie reveals himself to be a typical liberal race-baiting egotist who claims God is on his side while the singer has no problem sleeping around, grabbing his crotch on stage, or doing all sorts of ungodly things. Way too much of the book is used up pushing his perspective on race relations and I think he uses the word black (incorrectly capitalized) more often than in any book I've ever read. It's funny that in one paragraph alone he twice uses the capitalized word black to denote dark skin color but then twice uses lower case white for people with lighter skin tone. So much for accuracy and fairness. Stop the crusading and propaganda.
Much of this is creative non-fiction because (as he states up front) he can't really remember all of it so it is "not written to represent word-for-word reenactments. My job has been to evoke the real feeling of the words spoken, in keeping with the true essence of the mood and spirit in which they were conveyed." What a bunch of hogwash--it becomes obvious quickly that he's creatively fine-tuning the old stories he wants to tell in order to make himself look better or at least add something exciting to the yawn-inducing pages.
It upset me to hear his excuse for trying to graduate college by basically skipping a final semester to go off and play concerts. He obviously didn't understand the value of higher education nor how universities work. Though he couldn't blame the mostly-black school's denial on racism, he manages to take other things people say or do out of context. Like when the group is hired to be in the Billy Dee Williams movie about Scott Joplin and the director asks them to "do that thing you guys always do together." Richie takes that as a racist comment ("Maybe they assumed that all black people kind of danced together"). Huh? He's in a group of all black men who have performed on stage for years with coordinated dancing while music is playing, what is racist about asking the group to reproduce that on film?
He flings those "racist" allegations often when people aren't saying anything about race. Richie also makes the unfounded claim that radio in the mid-1970s was "segregated" so he had a hard time getting airplay. I was in the business then and in addition to the Jacksons or Fifth Dimension early in the decade, by 1975 the list of top 25 songs for the year included Earth, Wind & Fire, Minnie Ripperton, Labelle, and War. Those are not shrinking-violet white performers but represent very in-your-face black culture. Lionel, stop spinning everything racist and acting like you somehow overcame a music business working against your skin color--maybe it was your soft songwriting skills that kept you from always getting early airplay on stations.
And by the way, Richie uses the full N-word more often than I've ever seen in a memoir, which is disturbing, inappropriate, and unnecessary (just writing "the N-word" is sufficient for anyone that feels the need to explain something).
There are a few good stories. He does give interesting details on writing a few of his songs, like Endless Love and All Night Long. And there's a very nice longer chapter on We Are the World. But there aren't enough of these between the minutia of his everyday life, his insecurities, and the focus on his fame. He namedrops like crazy and won't stop bragging about himself (though he does give credit to the few who gave him his start and really began the Commodores), despite his very limited success until he finally makes it big about 200 pages in.
Then come 150 pages about his career, which contain the bulk of the way-too-long book that's worth reading, but it all comes to a screaming stop when he cheats on his wife in the middle of his greatest creative peak. They get a divorce that takes three years to finalize and he withdraws from show business, claiming depression and that he suddenly discovers he always was ADHD. Right. He uses the book to then plead his case that he was the good guy in the relationship, he shouldn't have been forced to give half of his career income to his ex, and that she didn't inspire almost any of his songs.
What a creepy, cruel "man of God." Lionel Richie is caught cheating, it blows up in his face, he starts spouting that he suddenly has all these physical conditions that we're supposed to feel sorry for, and he blames his ex-wife for every single problem. Instead of manning up to his mistakes he runs away embarrassed and tries to convince everyone he is the one suffering. It must be rough to be a rich egotistical jerk.
Then during all of this he claims to have a "nervous breakdown" (self-diagnosed, as he is always looking for sympathy) over his father's death, goes to Jamaica to recover for five days (poor guy), and is told by an old man there that he happens upon "You must survive because you are our beacon of hope." Richie calls it "a message from God." Seriously? Is this guy so delusional that he wants to manipulate readers into thinking that he's the savior of the world after being caught cheating on his wife and adopted daughter? Disgusting.
After getting his live-in affair-partner girlfriend pregnant he eventually marries again but divorces a few years later because he feels the call to get out on the road to tour (namely, his ego needed stroking after a long dry spell) and she wanted him home with the family. "Being a loving, supportive dad has always been central to my identity." Right, Lionel, just keep telling yourself that as your actions take you around the world without them.
Then he gets to his self-proclaimed "distinguished" end of career, where he quotes someone calling him a "hero" and his manager pushes the industry to give him all sorts of lifetime achievements awards, telling Lionel, "You're the GOAT."
The greatest of what? He had a few big-selling albums in the 1980s but blurred genres and isn't at the top of any list.
I found him to be the opposite internally of the humble shy guy he claims to be externally. I also don't think he's a "legend" in the same class as some of the artists he worked with or befriended (like Michael Jackson, Diana Ross, or the original Motown gang). And instead of inspiring readers by being a great role model, this hefty waste makes us appreciate him much less. Truly.