Jim DeRogatis

I feel really weird rating this book. What R. Kelly did to countless Black women and girls over a few decades is horrific, abhorrent, and beyond despicable, nd rating this story just does not serve any justice to this story or the women and young girls.

While reading this book I thought back to R. Kelly in the 2000's when I was growing up, and while I remember listening to "I Believe I Can Fly" and "Ignition" on the radio or on tv, I do not remember being aware who R. Kelly was. The infamous show more tape that initially saw Kelly arrested was not only filmed before I was born, but was not seen in by the public until I was a baby, and this would never have been discussed by my parents around me at any young age. R. Kelly to me growing up was an unknown entity, until I saw the Boondocks episode about R. Kelly, and it was then that I learned who he was. After I learned who R. Kelly was I never listened to his music or any media he was associated with. For me as a a young tween R. Kelly was a dangerous man that countless adults had warned me about over the years, and so he became a nonentity throughout the rest of that time.

When in January of 2019 the first episode of Surviving R. Kelly came out, I remember discussing the docuseries with someone who had watched it and we both had been horrified. I only got to watch the docuseries a year or two ago when it came on Netflix, and I remember staying up all night to watch it and did the same when the second Surviving R. Kelly series came on Netflix too. There is something about this story that just hits me like a ton of bricks everytime I hear it, and I'm not sure why. While reading the book I had to keep reminding myself that this story is nonfiction because you almost want to believe this could never happen to someone. Jim DeRogatis describes how the public and the industry, especially the industry, knew who R. Kelly was for decades, but sat by and almost let it happen as long as R. Kelly created good music.

How could the people around him let it continue? Why did we let this continue? show less

In which Jim de Rogatis does a fine job documenting the rise and fall of the fabled gonzo rock journalist, Lester Bangs. The book is thoroughly researched and beautifully written - as befits the story of a beautiful writer - and, to his credit, de Rogatis avoids the temptation to imitate the inimitable style of his subject, instead playing the narrative with a refreshingly straight bat and deriding those acolytes of Bangs who, without the wit or perspicacity, attempted to ape his approach to show more writing. This rather dispassionate voice does give credibility to the undertaking and, by association, its subject. The author is plainly a fan of Lester Bangs, but he isn't a sycophant, and he is prepared to give a damning assessment where he sees fit. This he does to Lester's unpublished (apparently deservedly so) opus, "Rock Gomorrah".
Bangs' story is pretty much classic, almost cliched, rock 'n' roll. What struck me most was how interchangeable many parts of it were with the established legends of the rock 'n' roll pantheon - without having that special "something" which makes a rock 'n' roll star, nor the guile to realise it, Lester's life observing those who did was part Elvis, part Sid Vicious, part Hendrix; from a religious fundy upbringing right up to the indeterminate cause of death - just weeks after he had apparently turned the corner and cleaned up. And what of the shadow of the new romantics across the scene? It was a Human League record spinning on the turntable when his body was discovered. Rock 'n' roll is dead, aye. show less

It reads like a really good Behind The Music taking the reader along the short life of drugged up, horny comical mess, the self-proclaimed beat deviant of rock writing legend Lester Bangs. An inspiring read, inspiring to continue an autonomous path despite being hated.

The reader is immersed in the counter-culture that rock critics were familiar with in the embryonic phase of rock criticism. The background information is in Bangs style not biographical but objective and sturdy that instills show more an understanding of a suburban kid with a dour upbringing who loved deviance of any kind, grew up a deviant, and happened to be there in the right time of rock ‘n’ roll upcoming. I love the apathy love/hate battle between Lester and Lou Reed and when Lester exclaims The Marble Index and White Light/White heat to be the albums that people should pay attention to but no one does. I want to own the entire collection of Creem and am now even more grateful of Lester’s contribution to rock’n’roll history, but who cares about history, man?

++Personal Anecdote about the book++
In 1981 Lester Bangs refused to write his ten best album’s of the year list for Robert Christgau’s annual Village Voice article. He wrote instead, “Almost all current music is worthless,: it is fraudulent and so are the mechanisms which perpetuate the lie that anybody else finds it vial enough to do more than consume and file or ‘collect’ (be the first on your block).”

Lester was a non-conformist’s non-conformist, a degenerate degenerate’s, he never did anything in the eyes of others because he never thought anyone else had a pair. He knew what was good, what was right, and spoke his mind.
He had a very firm view of what constituted good music, had a tight grip on his moral compass, and more than anything put his money where his mouth was. The man spoke his mind but he could always back it up with objective and subjective reasons for his opinion. As Phil Spector was the genius that genius’ came to, Bangs was the middle ground between the fan and the artist, confirming their views, renouncing the popular belief but if he did, even if he was talking to the person who thought an album he hated was the best in the world, would still open their eyes to life. Successful journalists have to be insane because they have to truly understand their subject. Well, that was the thought behind the New Journalism movement at the time.

Clearly Bangs was disenchanted with the music industry and with his own life, the year after he died, but I must say that I agree with him that, “the rest of rock is recycling various formulae forever.” Which is why almost thirty years later I’m in shambles when I go to see an act and they aren’t making music, their just strumming hard on guitars, pounding hard on drums and throwing in other instruments to distract from the reality of their mundane sound. I don’t want to hear it. I’m either the most miserable sod at a venue or the happiest. show less

Keeping the authors in perspective is a given - they are not without know-it-all opinion - but this was still a fun survey. Head to head comparisons of genesis, albums, outrageousness, and musicians was a good approach. Akin to listening to an art critic talk about his/her favorite artist, the book is full of information for the casual listener...nuts about either group would probably already know most of it. Still, Starr and Watts as two of the most underrated drummers? McCartney as one of show more the best bassists of all time? Interesting to read the reasoning as to why those pronouncements.

Oh... as for me, the answer was a no-brainer. The Beatles did have some head-scratching duds, but the Stones only had a couple of good songs.

In my opinion. show less