There's this line in Bull Durham where Kevin Costner's character tells Tim Robbins's character, "You got a gift. When you were a baby, the Gods reached down and turned your right arm into a thunderbolt." A lot of the point of this movie is that while the young pitcher has been blessed with incredible talent (and is also, being played by baby Tim Robbins, very sexy), it's the seasoned but mediocre career minor league journeyman Crash Davis who's the leading man with the depth (and sexiness, despite being played by Kevin Costner who is, outside of this role, completely gross and unsexy) to fascinate Susan Sarandon's incomparable Annie Savoy. In the movie Ebby Calvin LaLoosh is this kind of silly dude whose right arm is a thunderbolt, and that talent is fascinating but it doesn't mean he is.
I thought about that a lot while reading this book. You don't pick up Slash because Slash is a compelling, interesting guy who gives amazing speeches about what he believes; you pick it up to find out what it was like to be lead guitarist in the greatest American rock 'n' roll band of all time!
The short answer is, it was pretty much exactly how you would guess. Really nothing unexpected here: Slash loves pet snakes, dope, and pussy (not necessarily in that order), and being a rock star never faces any shortage of the three, nor of guitars or booze, his other two totally unsurprising great loves.
This is a book you can definitely judge by its cover. It's exactly as stupid as its tagline -- "It seems Excessive... but That Doesn't Mean It Didn't Happen" (??) -- but also kind of as awesome as its photo of the iconic Slash. I mean, I did read all 458 pages, even though a lot of them were like this:
One night when [my girlfriend] Renee and I were at [manager Alan Niven's] house with him and his wife Camilla, Alan said something really inappropriate to Renee. I don't remember what it was exactly, but it was creepy enough that we left immediately. I never forgot it, and I won't repeat it here (p. 321).
Uh, what?
There are also a lot of pages mostly taken up by large, bold quotations that seem to be selected from the text to pump up or titillate thirteen-year-old boys, but were there thirteen-year-old boys in 2007 who had even heard of Slash? I feel like I'm way more the demographic. (A sampling of the giant bold excerpts: "The act of shooting up always turned me on"; "I was pissed off at myself for having died"; "The sight of a guitar still turns me on"; "There was no way in hell that I was going to county with fingernail polish on"; "I could feel it in my loins that she was having a hard look" [okay, that last one is pretty awesome, not just because of the use of the word "loins" but because the "she" is Elizabeth Taylor.])
The main problem with this book is that it doesn't seem to have been written by a professional writer or looked at by a professional editor. This would be way less of an issue if he'd gone with an actual ghost, rather than a music journalist who shared the writing credit, because then I could've indulged the conceit that Slash actually somehow wrote the thing by himself. As it is, I guess I had unrealistic expectations and was distracted by being sad because this book could've been so much better than it was.
The biggest issue is that like most of us, Slash (and evidently, Anthony Bozza, in an apparent folie à deux) has no concept of what is interesting or boring about his own life, so he spends page after page describing tedious relationships with girlfriends and telling generic junkie war stories, and then he'll have one awesome throwaway sentence about how smoking crack with Dave Mustaine nearly led to him joining Megadeth, or he'll casually bring up how he used to date tragic eighties porn superstar Savannah and give a quick debauchery anecdote before rushing along to other way more boring things. I'm in no position to complain that there's only one dismissive paragraph about what Slash sees as the non-issue of being a half-black rock guitarist, though I would've loved to have had him give his take on the infamously racist "One in a Million" lyrics, and at least a couple more details on what's summarized just as "a fight" with the guy from W.A.S.P. after the guy announced that "n-s shouldn't play guitar." Basically, whenever you want more details about something, it's just glossed over, and whenever you could really give less of a shit, you're going to learn a lot more than anyone ever wanted to know: Where was Slash during the 1994 Northridge Earthquake? Home in bed! Want to hear all the details? Too bad, you're going to! And then most of the anecdotes that seem like they should be good aren't told very well and come off weirdly flat, like the one in which teenage Slash sneaks into an LA club dressed up (by his mom?) like a hot chick, or when Slash and his wife flee New York after the 2001 Trade Center attacks and wind up at a depressing "love-themed hotel" in the Poconos... Isn't this the whole point of hiring a writer to write the book for you, to make all these random stories good?
HOWEVER I guess in spite of all my complaining this Anthony Bozza person must've done a good job after all, because I read the entire book even though I hadn't meant to when I decided to open the mildewing copy I'd found in a box on the street. I skipped his childhood to get to the important part and planned to stop reading after Guns 'n' Roses broke up, but I got kinda attached to the guy so I kept going until the end and then went back and then went back read the part that I skipped. Actually the beginning was pretty interesting -- growing up as delinquent feral kids of these successful anything-goes bohemian creative types in Hollywood in the seventies -- so I do recommend starting from the beginning if you are going to read this book.
Personally, the most interesting part of all this for me is about the sex and sexual politics, and I'm really fascinated by the female perspective on this era and milieu. There is so much profoundly fucked up shit in here: Steven Adler having sex with a woman in her thirties when he's thirteen and then being threatened by her husband (THAT IS CHILD MOLESTATION YOU INSANE PEOPLE!), all the groupies and porn stars and stepfordly anodyne pretty girlfriends, and then all this scary rapey stuff including a sexual assault charge against Slash and Axl that's not surprisingly breezed through... If anyone knows of an updated I'm With the Band kind of thing for this era that's good, please recommend!!
It took me forever to read and a lot of it annoyed or disappointed me, but in the end this book wasn't ever billed to be a Robert Caro biography and it got the job done: I did feel by the end that I'd gotten a pretty good sense of Slash and a better sense of what it was like to have lived his life. The post GnR stuff was interesting to me in a way it really wouldn't have been when I was younger, now that I'm an aging domesticated boring person who hasn't done much with her life and certainly hasn't ever played stadiums filled with rioting fans. It was fun to compare my own life (or lack thereof) to Slash's and to weigh what I've missed out on and what I am sincerely content to make do without.
Probably my least favorite catch phrase of the past fifteen or so years is the one where people exclaim "Rock star!" all the time about the dumbest shit. "You're a rock star!" "She's a rock star!" "Party like a rock star!" or simply, "Rock star!" Ugh, I hate it... I hate it for a bunch of reasons, but one of them is that the application of these phrases convey such a major misapprehension of what being a rock star is about. One thing this book did well was convey what being a rock star is about, and for me it was fun to read about but ultimately unappealing. At this point in my life (thirty-six), there's (okay, almost) no part of me that wishes I could've lived the rock 'n' roll lifestyle. Yeah it would've been awesome to have had a part in something so amazing and epic as being in the greatest American rock band that ever existed, but it doesn't sound like a lot of it was even that much fun at the time, and it's kind of depressing to spend the rest of your life chasing the dragon of a perfect record you made when you were twenty-five. The perils of rock 'n' roll decadence are well-documented here as elsewhere: the ravages of addiction are awful, though honestly in this book at least, Slash seems not to mind much and definitely doesn't sound like a guy who's permanently invested in staying on the wagon, despite having almost died from cardiomyopathy at thirty-five after two decades of the rock 'n' roll lifestyle. Drug and alcohol addiction aside, though, pretty much every aspect of his life sounds like a slog to me: relentless touring, egotistic meltdowns, speedballing, crabs, being embarrassed in front of Metallica, dealing with Axl.... yeah, the payoffs are immense but this rock star shit just isn't for everyone. While I understand it's the wet dream of leetle boys across the land (or was -- now they probably all want to be DJs or hedge fund managers or something) and also that earlier in my life I'd have felt very differently, now I know I'd be miserable if I had to live through more than maybe a few months of this shit (okay, let's be honest: I wouldn't turn down a quick little stint). The payoffs -- getting to feel cool as hell all the time, everyone (including a limitless supply of beautiful women) loving you, and being able to make a good living playing music, the last of which Slash does clearly love in a very real and pure sense -- just don't seem worth all the stuff that comes along with it to me.
But they definitely do to Slash, who, as much as you can tell from this book, seems very happy. And that's what ultimately is endearing about him, I think: based on this book he truly does seem to be what he's supposed to be, a huge-haired top-hat wearing guitar-playing icon who loves his rock 'n' roll life, a life normal non-rock gods like me and probably you like to read about but could never actually live.