Posts Tagged ‘Books’

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Graham Nash was on a helicopter with drummer Dallas Taylor flying into Bethel, N.Y., where their band was scheduled to perform at a festival. As they neared their destination, Taylor asked what lake they were flying over. It wasn’t water, the pilot replied. It was the audience.

The gig was Woodstock. The band was Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. The gathering on Max Yasgur’s farm would be only their second-ever live performance, after recently solidifying a touring lineup with Neil Young, Taylor and bassist Greg Reeves. The weekend would prove to be a high point for the counterculture that Woodstock quickly came to represent—and for Crosby, Stills, Nash & (sometimes) Young, the ensemble that was in some ways the house band for the Woodstock generation.

“Their music and their image became indissolubly linked with the fate of the baby-boomer era,” music historian Peter Doggett writes in CSNY, one of two engaging biographies released tracing the band’s fractious history. The other is Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young by David Browne, a senior writer for Rolling Stone magazine.

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Browne covers the full arc of the band’s career, from its members’ musical origins in other groups in the ‘60s to the present. Doggett focuses on the musicians’ early lives and careers through 1974, when David Crosby, Stephen Stills, Graham Nash and Neil Young toured together for the last time. Though both books cover some of the same ground, Doggett’s is far more detailed about the beginnings of the band and the musicians’ upbringings. Browne takes on the monumental task of summarizing a half-century’s worth of conflict, self-sabotage and, when the musicians managed to get out of their own way, music.

Crosby, Stills & Nash wasn’t intended to be a “band” at all, at least not in the late-‘60s sense of the word, which implied a specific identity, expectations and business commitments. Those things amounted to limitations, in the minds of Crosby, Stills and Nash, who had each dealt with all that in the Byrds, Buffalo Springfield and the Hollies, respectively. They started singing together for the thrill of it, and they quickly realized that they harmonized with an uncommon purity that astonished their friends. That feeling of amazement carried over to the listening public when the trio released Crosby, Stills & Nash at the end of May 1969, thanks to songs including “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes,” “Long Time Gone” and “Helplessly Hoping.”

The singers intended CSN to be a sort of “mothership” situation that would, between group efforts, permit solo projects, outside collaborations and plenty of musical experimentation. Yet converting their “party trick” harmonies (Browne and Doggett both use the term) into something that certainly looked like a band, with a record deal and all the attendant obligations, quickly subsumed the idea of singing together for its own sake. If bringing in Young to help flesh out the songs onstage made sense from a musical standpoint, each book illustrates how adding a fourth massive ego also hastened the band’s descent into creative disputes and power struggles.

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Though both authors admire the group and its songs, the musicians come off as intensely dislikable, especially as money and fame transform them. Stills is a taskmaster perfectionist with control issues. Crosby is a blowhard, a drug-addled hedonist with an attitude toward women that is startlingly chauvinistic, even for the era. Young, who had been part of Buffalo Springfield with Stills, is a cynical opportunist who sees joining CSN as a way to jumpstart his own then-lackluster career. Only Nash sometimes seems sympathetic; the most level-headed, he tries to act as a go-between among warring factions with limited success.

Together (and, just as often, separately), they cut a path through popular music in the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. Doggett writes vividly about the L.A. scene that produced Crosby, Stills & Nash, chronicling their interactions with Cass Elliot of the Mamas and the Papas, Peter Tork of the Monkees, Joni Mitchell (who was romantically involved with Crosby, then Nash), Judy Collins (whose relationship with Stills inspired “Suite: Judy Blue Eyes”), Jimi Hendrix, Atlantic Records impresario Ahmet Ertegun, David Geffen and more. Doggett does his best to tame the mythology of CSN, sorting through various stories and inconsistent recollections about when and where they first sang together (Was it at Elliot’s house, or Mitchell’s? The night the Hollies played the Whisky in February 1968, or sometime afterward?) and when various songs were written and recorded.

Browne in many ways has the harder task, as the band’s earlier years were its most thrilling and creatively rewarding. Surprisingly little of the music they made together still resonates; after their first two studio LPs, CSN and 1970’s Déjà Vu with Young, and the 1971 live album 4 Way Street, the Crosby, Stills, Nash (and Young) catalog is a study in diminishing returns. In the latter half of Browne’s book, there’s almost a numb inevitability to the musicians’ fumbling attempts in the ‘80s to contemporize their sound, Crosby’s ever-deeper descent into drug addiction that led to a stint in prison, and Young’s inability to stop dangling the possibility of a full-scale reunion in front of his bandmates, only to flake out nearly every time for inscrutable reasons of his own.

Taken together, CSNY and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young present as full a picture of the group as is ever likely to emerge. It’s not a triumphant story. Beneath the promise of those early songs—and that initial camaraderie—lurks a mostly unwritten, certainly unanswerable question that poses itself again and again: What if?

Much like the dream of the Woodstock generation, the tale of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young is awash in senseless vanity, squandered chances and potential left tragically unfulfilled. Yet it’s often hard to look away—just like with any car wreck.

In 1998, five New York friends — Julian Casablancas, Albert Hammond Jr., Fabrizio Moretti, Nick Valensi, and Nikolai Fraiture — formed a band called the Strokes. They released a debut album, Is This It , in 2001. In 2009, Music magazine NME named it Album of the Decade; Rolling Stone Magazine ranked it No. 2, behind Radiohead’s Kid A. This is an account of what happened in between, starting in 2002.

Meet Me in the Bathroom charts the transformation of the New York music scene in the first decade of the 2000s, the bands behind it–including The Strokes, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, LCD Soundsystem, Interpol, and Vampire Weekend–and the cultural forces that shaped it, from the Internet to a booming real estate market that forced artists out of the Lower East Side to Williamsburg. Drawing on 200 original interviews with James Murphy, Julian Casablancas, Karen O, Ezra Koenig, and many others musicians, artists, journalists, bloggers, photographers, managers, music executives, groupies, models, movie stars, and DJs who lived through this explosive time, journalist Lizzy Goodman offers a fascinating portrait of a time and a place that gave birth to a new era in modern rock-and-roll.

read this excerpt:

Ryan Adams (musician): One night I was hanging with the Strokes guys and Ryan [Gentles, the band’s manager]. We were really stoned because we were basically always smoking pot. It was very late. Fab would always play me a song that he had written, some beautiful, romantic song. So one night, jokingly, I’m almost certain, Fabby said, “Dude, what if John Mayer was playing that guitar right now?” And I said, “I can make that happen.” Now, I lived down the block from John Mayer, and he’d been talking to me about his new song for a while. So I texted him, because he was always up late back then. I said, “Come to this apartment. Bring an acoustic guitar. I really want to hear your new song.” I didn’t tell them that I’d done it. So everyone is sitting there and I was like, “Let’s all take bong hits.” I really wanted it to get crazy. We smoked some bong hits; I probably did some blow. The doorbell buzzer rings, and I open the door, and John Mayer walks in with his fucking acoustic guitar, and they were all slack-jawed. John sat down and played the fucking acoustic guitar — three or four songs that probably have gone on to be huge — while those guys just sat there staring at me like, Oh my God, you’re a witch.

Gideon Yago (journalist): Ryan Adams, he was one of those guys where I just remember being like, I just don’t know. I didn’t take to him very well. I mean, that to me was the beginning of the end.

Albert Hammond Jr. (guitarist, the Strokes): When he shows you a song, he doesn’t stop for hours. You’re like, “Oh, that reminds me of a song I wrote.” And you play a G chord and he’s like, “I know what you’re talking about,” and he grabs the guitar back. There’s no way to play music with him. It’s the Ryan show, always.

Ryan Gentles (manager, the Strokes): I introduced Jim Barber and Ryan Adams. Courtney [Love] was dating Jim at the time.

James Barber (former A&R executive): Courtney thought the Strokes were a positive cultural influence. She was doing this MTV special. She wanted them on.

Marc Spitz (journalist): She was like their Yoda. Their coke Yoda. I’m not saying she gave them cocaine. I mean, most everyone was on cocaine, but it seemed like as soon as they really made it, she was all over them. And she was not in the best shape at the time. Maybe not the Jedi you want whispering in your ear about how to be a rock star.


Ryan Gentles: I was friends with Courtney; she would call me at random hours to give me advice. Then she did this overnight-broadcast thing for MTV.

Marc Spitz: It was called 24 Hours Of Love, and the premise was that she would take over the MTV soundstage, the one in Times Square, for 24 hours.

Albert Hammond Jr.: When you’re fucked up and the idea is funny, you just do it. You’re like, Oh, yeah. We’ll go up there and hang out with Courtney Love. By the time you’re in a taxi and you’re in traffic, you’re like, Wait, what are we doing here?

Ryan Gentles: She was all strung out and drunk; it was almost embarrassing. She was running up and down the hallways naked.

Albert Hammond Jr.: Oh, she was fucked up.

Ryan Gentles: I actually adore her in a way. She’s so smart. But I don’t know her. I don’t think anybody knows her.

Jenny Eliscu (journalist): Gentles briefly managed Ryan Adams during that era, which seemed to not go great.

Ryan Gentles: Ryan and I were buds. And went down to New Orleans and madeLove Is Hell. Then I had to quit, because the Strokes exercised a clause in their contract that said I wasn’t allowed to manage other artists.

Albert Hammond Jr.: Julian had a very clear thing, and we liked to do things a certain way. I think a lot of things they blame Ryan for is stuff the band just doesn’t want to do. Image

Ryan Gentles: Do you know how many times I begged the Strokes to do some shit and they just said no and it was idiotic and everyone in the world knows they should do it?

Amanda De Cadenet (photographer): They’re the band that turned down a million dollars for some Heineken ad. That’s dumb.

Dave Gottlieb (former VP of marketing, RCA): We got a request from Heineken for … it was either “Hard to Explain” or “Last Nite.” I think it was “Last Nite.” It was $600,000.

Ryan Gentles: When they were making Room On Fire they said they felt my attention wasn’t all theirs. They said, “You have to stop managing Ryan Adams.” It sucked. He’s super-talented, and I was ambitious, and I liked his music a lot, and I still do. How did he take it? Real bad.

Catherine Pierce (musician): Julian thought Ryan [Adams] was a bad influence on Albert.

Albert Hammond Jr.: Ryan would always come and wake me at two in the morning and have drugs, so I’d just do the drugs and kind of numb out. I knew I would shoot up drugs from a very young age. I’d been wanting to do heroin since I was 14 years old.

Catherine Pierce: [Albert] used to say, “I love drugs. I’m not an addict, I love drugs!”

Albert Hammond Jr.: In that Room on Fire time, I definitely got into a lot of pills and the beginning of opiates. That OxyContin kind of thing.

Catherine Pierce: Albert and Julian really loved each other and were kind of dependent on each other. Julian’s acceptance was really important to Albert, and I think Albert’s opinion was really important to Julian.

Albert Hammond Jr.: When Julian and I stopped living together, that’s kind of when it changed.

Catherine Pierce: It was such a weird time, because everybody was simultaneously psyched about “Oh, we’re all becoming famous, this is awesome, let’s all hang out.” But it was also like, “Wait, Ryan’s a bad influence.”

Albert Hammond Jr.: I remember Julian threatening to beat Ryan [Adams] up if he hung out with me, as a protective thing. He’d heard that Ryan would come and give me heroin, so he was just like, “If you come to my apartment again with heroin, I’m going to kick your ass.” I hadn’t really been doing it in baggie form until Ryan showed up. He was definitely a bad influence.

Ryan Adams: That’s so sad, because Albert and I were friends. If anything, I really felt like I had an eye on him in a way that they never did. I was around and we actually spent time together. He would show me his songs. It was like, “No one ever listens to my music, but do you want to hear it?” I would be like, “Fuck yeah!” I loved him so deeply. I would never ever have given him a bag of heroin. I remember being incredibly worried about him, even after I continued to do speedballs.

Is This It

Julian Casablancas (front man, the Strokes): Did I specifically tell Ryan to stay away from Albert? I can’t remember the details, to be honest. I think heroin just kind of crosses a line. It can take a person’s soul away. So it’s like if someone is trying to give your friend a lobotomy — you’re gonna step in.

Ryan Adams: I didn’t do drugs socially, and I don’t remember doing drugs with Albert ever. I wanted to smoke cigarettes and drink, like, dark red wine or vodka and write all night.

Albert Hammond Jr.: For me, the drug stuff was a release. I don’t know how to explain it. Success depressed me.

Ryan Adams: It was very dramatic, the way it all went down. I was asked to meet one single person in a bar and I got there and it was the whole band and Ryan. I was more or less given a lecture, a hypocritical lecture, and then they told me that I was not going to be part of their scene anymore. It was very weird. It was easy to brand me as the problem. I would suspect that they soon learned that I was not the problem.

Andy Greenwald (journalist): One thing about the 2000s is that everything happened too fast. The time that passed between Nirvana and Candlebox probably was two or three years. The time between the Strokes and Longwave was like 18 months. And there were diminishing returns. The Strokes weren’t really that big. Everyone needed them to be that big and desperately wanted them to be big, but they kind of weren’t.

Brian Long (former A&R executive): Bands like the Strokes, they sucked on the proverbial major-label tit, drank the last gulp of milk that was there. They were the handoff from one era to another era. I remember when their second record came out, we really liked them and were championing them, but we were all wondering if they could develop in a way that would make an interesting career. The analogy we used to make was, will they end up making a London Calling? Could they be that? Or is it going to be just cutting different colors from the same swath of fabric? And that’s kind of what’s happened.

Dave Gottlieb: Room on Fire is as good as Is This It; the problem was the band did not sell it. You’d ask, “What’s your vision? What are your goals?” They didn’t really have an answer.

Jim Merlis (publicist, the Strokes): When the reviews started coming in, they all said that it sounds exactly like the first record.

Albert Hammond Jr.: With Room on Fire [2003], people were giving us shit because they said we were sounding too much the same. With the third album, we were getting shit that we don’t sound like Room on Fire. We got fucked by the same thing twice!

Moby (musician): The Strokes were the first band of that era that went beyond just being PR darlings, and suddenly people were buying the records. It’s interesting, in their case, because they never sold that many records, but they made really good records. The reach, the awareness of them was so much greater than the record sales.

Dean Wareham (front man, Luna): It’s hard to make something perfect. They made a perfect record, and that’s hard to do again.

Jenny Eliscu: It’s important to zoom out and look at what happens when a genuinely so-fucking-good-it’s-insane band happens — it’s always disappointing on the commercial scale. The Stooges were never a commercial success. And yeah, the internet culture of today accelerates the pace at which you’re looking for the next example of the thing, and we get bored with the thing, because everyone knew about it so quickly and disseminated it so quickly. Hipsters get over shit so quickly. But it’s important to state that there’s a difference between the underground and hipsters. The underground is real and permanent. It’s more art than it is commerce. The Killers … and Kings of Leon were never part of the underground. Fuck no.

Nick Valensi (guitarist, the Strokes): We had conversations that went along the lines of “Gosh, I think our songs are better than ‘Mr. Brightside’ by the Killers, but how come that’s the one everyone is listening to? They did it a different way. They recorded it in a different way. They promoted it in a different way. We could be that big.”

Jim Merlis: There was bad stuff going on with the band — a lot of fighting, arguing, and the shows were bad. They were really, really drunk, everything was becoming a bummer, they didn’t want to tour. They didn’t want to do anything. It was just not fun to be around them anymore.

Marc Spitz: They seemed a lot older. A lot older. And it had only been, like, two years. And they seemed defeated in a weird way. And impatient, like they just wanted it to be over, you know? They were not deluded that maybe it was over, their moment was over.

Albert Hammond Jr.: That’s probably the first time I noticed it had stopped being fun, the recording of First Impressions (of Earth, 2006]. That’s when things started getting into the gap: Friends, girlfriends, strangers would all start coming in, being like, “You should be a bigger band,” and I was like, “Yeah, we should be a bigger band …” For as strong as we were and as close as we were, we weren’t close or strong enough to fight that.

Fabrizio Moretti: That’s the house of cards that is being in the Strokes. There were a lot of emotions that were kept secret but were so evident. We didn’t know how to process them, (a) because we were children and, (b) because it’s hard to process subliminal subconscious volcanic emotions. We were kids that wanted to conquer the world, but we had no idea that we were going to be given the chance.

Marc Spitz: Even when Spin made the Strokes Band of the Year [for 2002] after the Is This It tour, it was already starting. I mean, they played like they believed onstage. They went out there to kill, every fucking night. I still haven’t seen a better band. I didn’t see the Clash, but it was like what you imagine they were like. They came out and punched the audience in the fucking mouth every night. But I remember Nick saying, even then, “Man, this is all bullshit. Like, we’re not even Band of the Year. We shouldn’t be here. The White Stripes are Band of the Year.” They didn’t want to own it, you know?

Julian Casablancas: My biggest regret in general is that I drank so much. I warded off any kind of intense introspection.

Marc Spitz: Julian was a perfectionist. And you saw Jack White was too, but something about the whole thing sat better with Jack. He acted more like a rock star. He crashed his car, he dated Renée Zellweger, he punched out that guy from the Von Bondies. He seemed more suited to that role. His vision seems pretty strong. And Jack didn’t have the burden of New York City.

Jack White (front man, the White Stripes): Sometimes being thrust out there pushes you to hurry up and figure yourself out and do away with years of fumbling. That happened to the Strokes; they had to get it together fast. Meg [White] and I had three albums out and an almost too realistic view that nobody was ever going to care about our music. We were assuming we had a life of playing in bars for 30 people in our future. The extra time to get our things together was good for us mentally. It still shocks me that the mainstream accepted that music; it doesn’t add up.

Austin Scaggs (journalist): I saw the Strokes’ bubble burst when I went to South America and Brazil for a bunch of shows with Kings of Leon and Arcade Fire and the Strokes. I was like, “Ryan, I’ll take the video camera, I’ll document this trip, I’ll just shoot everything and you can have whatever you want. I’ll pay for my own ticket.” Honestly, I was thinking it was going to be like Led Zeppelin, like you walk into the room and there’s a bed full of women. I thought it was going to be a giant debaucherous orgy of booze and drugs. It was the absolute opposite. To be super-blunt about it, the Strokes were crumbling right in front of my eyes, right in front of the camera. There was a lot of resentment and there was a lot of tension. When I got home I was like, “Wow, that was not what I expected.” I didn’t see one naked girl the whole time.

There’s no shortage of Tom Petty books on the market, including Paul Zollo’s stellar Conversations With Tom Petty and the singer’s own authorized oral history Runnin’ Down a Dream. But it wasn’t until longtime friend (and Del Fuegos guitarist) Warren Zanes sat down with Tom Petty that he decided to tell the whole story, including the childhood abuse he suffered at the hands of his father and the late Nineties heroin addiction that nearly killed him. The resulting book is the definitive account of Tom Petty’s entire life and career. Zanes even convinced original Heartbreakers drummer Stan Lynch, who has remained almost completely silent since leaving the band in 1994, to open up about his tumultuous time in the group. The drummer holds back little, even lashing out at Petty for skipping the funeral of Heartbreakers bassist Howie Epstein, but he also expressed deep regret for his own failings as a bandmate. Who knows how Zanes managed to get these guys to reveal so much about painful chapters from their past, but let’s hope this his first of many rock biographies

​From the guitarist of the pioneering band Sleater-Kinney, a candid, funny, and deeply personal look at making a life-and finding yourself-in music.

Before Carrie Brownstein became a music icon, she w as a young girl grow ing up in the Pacific Northwest just as it was becoming the setting for one of the most important movements in rock history. Seeking a sense of home and identity, she would discover both while moving from spectator to creator in experiencing the power and mystery of a live performance. With Sleater-Kinney, Brownstein and her bandmates rose to prominence in the burgeoning underground feminist punk-rock movement that would define music and pop culture in the 1990s. They would be cited as “America’s best rock band” by legendary music critic Greil Marcus for their defiant, exuberant brand of punk that resisted labels and limitations, and redefined notions of gender in rock.

Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl is an intimate and revealing narrative of her escape from a turbulent family life into a world where music was the means toward self-invention, community, and rescue. Along the way, Brownstein chronicles the excitement and contradictions within the era’s flourishing and fiercely independent music subculture, including experiences that sow ed the seeds for the observational satire of the popular television series Portlandia years later.

With deft, lucid prose Brownstein proves herself as formidable on the page as on the stage. Accessibly raw , honest and heartfelt, this book captures the experience of being a young woman, a born performer and an outsider, and ultimately finding one’s true calling through hard work, courage and the intoxicating power of rock and roll.


Love Goes to Buildings on Fire: Five Years in New York That Changed Music Forever
Author: Will Hermes

New York City is known as one of the major music cities in the world. Musicians are constantly being discovered in New York—whether they are natives or transplants seems irrelevant after a while, because the truth is that when it comes to music, there’s something special and inspiring about New York City.

Will Hermes’ book Love Goes to Buildings on Fire documents the music scene from 1973 to 1977—the beginning of what would later become one of the most influential eras in music. The book travels throughout the city, detailing the neighborhoods where hip-hop was born, jazz was reimagined, and punk gave a generation a jolt of energy.

The People’s Cosign: I lived in NYC during the period covered (1973–79) and he captured the tone, the atmosphere, the craziness, and of course all the music. So thorough, with so many citations. He is an amazing researcher and writer. His style draws you in, whether he is discussing punk or jazz or any other genre. Highly recommend to anyone interested in the 70s or just music in its many forms. He evokes the era!


The Last Sultan: The Life and Times of Ahmet Ertegun
Author: Robert Greenfield

There are countless books, documentaries and other tributes to music’s greatest stars. But it’s more rare to hear about those that helped guide those musicians through the industry maze. In order to have a well-rounded knowledge about music, or any subject for that matter, it’s important to get the full story.

The Last Sultan: The Life and Times of Ahmet Ertegun, tells the story of—you guessed it—Ahmet Ertegun. He was a savvy businessman and music lover who founded the legendary Atlantic Records, bringing rock and roll to the mainstream media in the process. A perfect read for anyone with dreams of being on the other side of the music business.

The People’s Cosign: The Life and Times of Amet Ertegun was a TERRIFIC book! If you’ve ever wondered how the music recording industry worked, this will give you the details of what is was like for Atlantic Records, Ahmet Ertegun and Jerry Wexler. You may have heard it was cut-throat and back-stabbing? Well, you can read all about it in this book because Robert Greenfield didn’t hold anything back, Ahmet lead an exhilarating, full life and this book will take you through his priviledged childhood in Turkey to NY to Atlantic Records trying times and great successes (and everything in between)