Rod stewart autobiography 2013 hardibacker
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He’s an excellent entertaainer but a better whiner than singer, and these parts really call for violins and hearts bleeding.
Rod started out in the early 1960s, playing the clubs on London's R&B scene, before his distinctively raspy voice caught the ear of the iconic front man Long John Baldry, who approached him while busking one night on a railway platform.
As for the latter, he insists he wasn’t an addict, it was just part of the lifestyle, and as for the second… as he sings, “some guys have all the luck, some guys do nothing but complain.” There are a lot of crocodile tears here about he just COULDN’T stay faithful with all these beautiful women constantly forcing themselves on him.
Truly." –The Independent online
“Anyone who wants to be a rock and roll superstar should read this…crazy stories.” –Jimmy Fallon
“A likable, mostly generous and well-written look back at the days of bedding starlets and destroying hotels.” –Kirkus
“Looking at the fall release schedule and seeing memoirs slated from Pete Townshend and Neil Young, who would have tipped Rod Stewart as being the rock graybeard most likely to produce the best book?
If you just want a good time, on the page or at the show, Rod’s your man.
And during all this, he found a spare moment to write 'Maggie May', among a few others, and launch a solo career that has seen him sell an estimated 200 million records, be inducted into the Hall of Fame twice, and play the world's largest ever concert.
I hate whining from people who have it all but don’t appreciate it. I still love the incredible run of albums he had from the early to late 70’s, but starting with “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?”, almost everything just seemed like something to cash in on. More playful than Townshend's at times ponderous Who I Am and far more insightful than Young's numbing Waging Heavy Peace, Stewart's memoir has much of the joyful, big-hearted raffishness of the singer's classic early '70s recordings.
He doesn’t blame the women for his broken marriages and relationships, he laments being and absent father (and when he is present, it seems to be all fun and games with the kids, nothing about the work involved in single motherhood.) If this had taken up a couple of chapters, fine, but it was at least 50-60% of the book and the fact that he feels bad about it doesn’t mitigate the number of pages he spends on it.
So, that’s it for me.
Stints with pioneering acts like the Hoochie Coochie Men, Steampacket, and the Jeff Beck Group soon followed, paving the way into a raucous five years with the Faces, the rock star's rock band, whose offstage antics with alcohol, wrecked hotel rooms and groupies have become the stuff of legend. A rollicking rock 'n' roll adventure that is at times deeply moving, this is the remarkable journey of a guy with one hell of a voice - and one hell of a head of hair.
Rod also has the reputation of being one of the nicest and down-to-earth guys you could meet., which I can easily believe because there’s not a bad word about anyone here, not even the publicist he fired who then went on to invent one of the great rock legends – or rock myths – to revenge himself upon Rod.
(For those not up on the story, which I heard MANY times with only slight variations in details, Rod allegedly went to a bikers’ bar and “serviced” every customer there, on his knees, after which he had to have his stomach pumped; the quantity of “material” which had to be pumped was usually about a gallon in most of the stories I heard and anyone with even the vaguest idea of how many bikers would be needed to produce a gallon would see through the story but critical thought is not always a strong point here.) The most Rod said was that the publicist was very good at his job.
A huge middle part of the book is dedicated to the two protuberances on the front of his body, meaning his sexual and cocaine exploits, with names named, and how he could have maintained some of the relations with some of the world’s most beautiful women if he hadn’t been a slave to the lower one and how he almost lost his voice forever due to stuffing white powder in the upper one.
Tomorrow sees the publication of one of the most entertaining, revealing, captivating books of the year-- the autobiography of Rod Stewart. (The + is because at a 1975 Led Zeppelin concert, Ronnie Wood came out for the encore – “the newest member of the Rolling Stone” – to jam and at the end, Rod Stewart was physically carried out to wave; I was in no condition to tell you what they played and he was in no condition to stand, let alone sing, so I guess it was a draw.) Whether these two performances can be considered concerts or just shows is debatable, just as whether this book is all that good is really a matter of opinion.
Rod has been called “the laziest man in rock” because it feels like he does the bare minimum; there’s a lot of show and performance but it all feels a little sloppy, kind of frat house stuff, and while it’s entertaining, you can wonder where the passion and sweat are. Sorry.
Rod's is an incredible life, and here, thrillingly and for the first time, he tells the whole thing, leaving no knickers under the bed.
But he did. As a university professor, this has been less problematic for me and as a red-blooded hetero male, this could be my first case of ”penis envy” – but it isn’t.