I was so excited to read this book and ended up having to skim a lot to get through it without losing all respect for the author. How much space could he really dedicate to talking about obscure British fashion labels and makeup brands? The entire first 25% of the book, it turns out. With frequent revisits as he returned again and again to the magic of his unique fashion while name dropping the twenty thousand people he was proudly copying. (Seriously, if superficial name dropping is your jam, this is 100% your book.)
As unbearably shallow and pretentious as his early life is, it gets even worse when he actually starts making music. This was the most interesting part for me because he knew Julian Cope at one point, although he quickly dismisses him for his lack of talent and style and basically for not copying the right people. Absolutely everything is beneath Pete Burns, which you learn in great detail because he will spend several pages comparing himself to every aspect of another singer--for example Jim Morrison--before declaring that he never listened to that person's music, but does have a similar, although better, voice, more talent, more style, more ambition, less interest in drugs--which he's never seen before and can't identify, or has tried and is all up above, depending on what best fits the version of the story he's telling on a given page--and so that person is less than nothing to him. One thing I know for sure about Pete after compiling all the different versions of his interest/indifference/superiority is that he cares A LOT about things and people that mean less than nothing to him.
I could also write an entire review just based on his feelings toward David Bowie. "He's a poser, an imitator, I was always being compared to him and it was so unfair, I was wearing dresses in every day life before he wore one on an album cover, he was totally copying me, everything he did I did first as a little kid, he's boring, Ziggy Stardust was a terrible record, I never listened to Ziggy Stardust, his only good song was Lady Stardust, I hate all of his songs, all of his records are terrible, I wouldn't look like him for anything, I'd never look like him, he was copying my look, I got shut out of all the cool clubs because you had to look like Bowie to get in and I was too punk", and just on and on and on. Just so you don't have to look it up, Pete Burns was maybe 10 years old when Ziggy Stardust came out, so make of that what you will.
Really, the whole book seems to be his expression of love for things that he immediately dismisses as meaningless. Even his own motives change from page to page. First he's wearing outlandish clothes and heavy makeup because it's who he is, his own organic self, and he doesn't care what anyone thinks. Is, in fact, unaware of public opinion. Then he's doing it to imitate a dozen women I've never heard of but whom he believes are well-known enough to need no introduction. It's also a shield to prevent people from looking at and noticing him, because he hates that. Two pages later it's a deliberate affront to society, because what is he, a shrinking violet trying to escape notice behind wild clothes and makeup? And this isn't an evolution. It's not the changing feelings of a teenager growing into his twenties. It's all presented as happening at one time, when he's about 15 years old. Ultimately it comes off looking like he doesn't know himself very well at all and is just saying whatever occurs to him during that day's writing session.
It takes him forever to get to the music, and when he does, it's still about the clothes and the makeup and the clubs, how the interiors are decorated and what the musicians look like, just as his stories of childhood record buying are all about the album covers. The music, the sound and the message, are all strictly secondary. Even in his own career, he uses the phrase "sound and vision" constantly (with an apparent lack of irony; perhaps he genuinely doesn't know that was the name of a David Bowie song, and massive world tour?), but it's clearly only the "vision" aspect that he's interested in. Perhaps that lack of attention to "sound" is what led to him hating his own music as soon as it was recorded. Maybe a little less time in front of the mirror would have made a difference?
It's such a crushing disappointment because I was a fan. I own Sophisticated Boom Boom on vinyl. I wore out two copies of Youthquake on cassette before buying the CD. I'm forty five years old and the record is over 30 and I still listen to it. Or I did. Now that I know Pete hates it, it doesn't feel the same. He loathes and resents You Spin Me Round, and has nothing at all nice to say about the rest of the tracks except that two of them became tolerable as remixed singles. The album as a whole, he informs us, is absolute garbage. Total shite. Not even worth a second listen. So I feel pretty stupid. At this point I've probably heard it more often than he has and I thought it was great.
But what do I know? I also think David Bowie was a brilliant musician and fashion icon, and Julian Cope is a goddamn lunatic genius. Not that it matters. If he was still alive, I'm pretty sure Pete wouldn't want someone of my no-class, low-rent taste as a fan anyway.