Image courtesy of Sami Keinänen's Flickr page - Scar tissue: https://www.flickr.com/photos/sami73/87897738/in/photolist-8LuWf-9RbZq-9iEUpK-9iJ3L7-qFTPaS-5UHLGF-5sdxbQ-afW5mR-944qdM-afbnEZ-afW5kt-727YQY-afW4Y4-dZaeH-qG3Ehc-aNwpfv-8nJVYn-8nJVWa-akE9Wh-dZaeE-atu2XF-4s1PQ1-49BTa9-eYNbjV-n2SitM-gaRfV-dSyLXg-64aof2-dtqc4p-4pf4Y1-5QNPwL-9ivTdc-gRvmo9-2gDncs-ct1mhb-afYPLW-qAsEkG-8qi6Ry-FPhib-ankmk3-ankmpC-afbnDF-iceuA-fMKvHu-afbntH-afeauj-o2fjQh-5JCYam-enZ4Kt-4SdUya
Image courtesy of Ian Murphy's Flickr page - Scar Tissue (6): https://www.flickr.com/photos/malico/4433118908/in/photolist-7KJTNC-7KJW5d-7KEVNv-7KJTgb-7KJURS-7KEWZX-7KJSSJ-7KJXwb-7KEVqc-7KJUCE-7KJTrq-7KEWM8-7KJWfU-7KJWWs-7KEXFX-7KJWv5-7KEXvi-7KJSZC-7KEWbg-7KJVsN-7KJT8E-o1pb18-e13o4C-3d4Ceg-4N8oqd-3d92cJ-kY6As3-3ycF3R-3d8vXC-iCKfvF-9iETrp-9er2bn-7enkEK-AhTY-jvkdf-EaNCHK-6Cu8Qn-qFvRMW-dfc7iP-9iz1aq-dhtGEu-83sVMk-dhtFWT-dhtH9c-iceuB-8LuWf-9RbZq-9iEUpK-9iJ3L7-qFTPaS
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Okay, I have to admit that there never actually was a review of this particular book probably because I was still in a state of shock about it, and how disappointing it was. It was not a conscious effort of refusing to write it, so much as disinterest in writing a review in which I would have to elaborate on how little I liked a book about someone whom I had quite a lot of respect for before reading it.
I lost a lot of respect for Keidis after reading it, and just was not impressed with both what he chose to discuss at length, and how he went about it. Yes, he obviously had some substance abuse issues, and it takes some considerable courage to discuss it as openly as he does in this book. Yet, somehow, it comes across at times as if he were almost boasting about it, telling funny stories at the local bar, if you will. Then, there's his constant tales of womanizing and sexual conquests, which seems to me to be mindless examples of kissing and telling. Not only did he exploit these girls sexually, but now he is exploiting them by telling of these experiences in a book, to boot, which seems cheap. Finally, he seems to boast not only about drugs and women, but also about all of the expensive stuff that his status as a rock star allowed him to obtain. A big, beautiful mansion in California, expensive vehicles, trips to exotic locations, and properties in foreign lands. He spent so much time focusing on this boasting, that it's a wonder that he got around to his musical career at all. He does discuss this, but not nearly as much as one might think.
It has been a few years now since reading this. At the time, I was going through a nasty breakup with the girlfriend who actually got this book for me as a present, and so reading this also was an effort to feel a little closer to someone I was missing greatly at the time, which also made it feel all the more disappointing when the book was nothing like what I had imagined it might be.
So now I should explain why my expectations were so high. In the early nineties, the Red Hot Chili Peppers were really on top of the world. They had such incredible energy, and it was reflected in their funky music, and their on stage performances. At a time when a lot of truly great and imaginative music was arising - and the early nineties might have been the most incredible such period of music during my own lifetime - the Red Hot Chili Peppers stood out as among the elites in unique and creative music. Good music, at that. No, scratch that, great music! I mean, "Blood Sugar Sex Magic" is, to me, one of the top two music albums of the nineties, and that is saying something! I would place that music over some other truly great albums from some of my favorite bands and albums, including Nirvana's "Nevermind" and Pearl Jam's "Ten" and Smashing Pumpkins "Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness," among many others. That's how good and original that particular album is, and again, their energy and uniqueness, indeed their whole image, seemed to set them apart. This in an era when there seemed to be many bands offering a glimpse of what not only a more inspired music scene could offer, but offered glimpses of what a better world might offer, the Red Hot Chili Peppers seemed to stand alone as perhaps the most unique and inspired band.
I liked them progressively more over the years, from the late eighties, when I knew just a bit about them, into the early nineties, when they really exploded into fame. There was an explosion of energy to them, and that was very attractive to a young man like me at the time. I saw them on television once jumping athletically onto the stage and just kicking it into a higher gear right away, although I have not been able to find that particular performance. But that just got me into them so much more.
Also, in the early 1990's, the blossoming alternative music scene seemed to coincide with what I perceived (rightly or wrongly) as an emerging consciousness that had the potential to change the country, and even the world, for the better. And the Red Hot Chili Peppers were one of those groups that more sophisticated people than myself were really into, and I felt envious of that. They seemed to have a more sophisticated approach to music and to lyrics than many of the bands I was into (mostly heavy metal bands before the alternative scene allowed me to diversify my portfolio of musical interests, if you will), and this suggested a more advanced outlook towards the world in general. It was like so many people around me knew far more than I did, to the point that I felt a bit like a redneck or a simpleton, and the music scene only exacerbated that. And the Red Hot Chili Peppers seemed like the kind of band that I should be into far more than I was.
It did not take long before I really got into them, and again, mostly because of "Blood Sugar Sex Magic." That album was just so incredible, and it sounded so radically different than not only anything I was listening to at the time, but anything that I had ever heard before. Even after all of these years, I think there is some truth to that. It is just a brilliant album! The music was just so different than what anybody else was doing, and the lyrics had some serious muscle to them. It was thought provoking music, and I cannot emphasize enough just how different they seemed to be from everybody else. They never exactly reached the status as my favorite band, although they were certainly among my favorites, but I held an impression of them of the utmost respect because they seemed so unafraid to stand apart, to do things and say things that other were not doing and saying, and to sound so radically different from everybody else. In short, they were incredible.
So, it was with a high level of anticipation that I read this book, thinking that it would offer a glimpse into the mind of an artistic genius.
Only, that proved not to be the case, in the end.
Yet, it must be said that the reviews of the book that I have read, particularly on Barnes and Noble online, were overwhelmingly positive, and most of the negative ratings went without comment elaborating what these readers did not like in the book. Indeed, most of the people who read it seemed to really love it, and there were plenty of claims that this was a book that they just could not put down, that it gave them more respect for this man than they had before, and so on and so forth. It kind of surprised me, then, that my impressions of the book were so different than theirs, because I just thought that it was a shallow advertisement of all of the most tired clichés of the rock 'n roll lifestyle. Frankly, from someone who had been a part of a band that showed so much artistic imagination and excellence, I expected more, but did not get it. But far be it for me to take away from what those other readers got, because again, my impressions were decidedly in the minority, and most readers seemed to love this book!
I must say that usually after reading a bio about somebody famous like this, it makes them more real, and thus more of a sympathetic figure. You see their flaws, perhaps, but you also understand what drove them. In this case, I actually lost a lot of respect for him, because the book focused almost exclusively on all the ways in which benefited from things, and how often he had fun. It was loaded with such stories of spending excessively on such things, of his many, many sexual exploits and, of course, on his almost countless times relapsing into drug use/abuse. I read it a few years ago, but I don't even remember the parts where he described how inspired he was to make music, and only briefly touched upon the stories behind certain songs. He talks about his childhood, and then all of his efforts to basically follow his wildest desires, and little else. Disappointing book that made me look at him much differently, and not in a good way. I almost wondered how such a man who showed no imagination in what he could have written about in such a book could have helped to come up with such amazing music - particularly with what I believe to be RHCP's best album by far, "Blood Sugar Sex Magic." Hate to say this, but it's true, I came away thinking less of the man, and try to forget his book when listening to the music he's involved with these days.
What I mean to say is that, while you often get the stories behind some great art or feats in such bios of famous people, and it often allows you to appreciate their work through a different angle and/or obtain a deeper understanding, in this particular case, the words about his music and what inspired him remained so much a part of the background as to be almost like a footnote to how many hot chicks he banged, how many and what kinds of drugs he got high on, and how easily and effortlessly he spent money on the most luxurious car or property that he obtained, as you suggested, on a whim. At times, it certainly felt like he was writing about it based on egotism, because he liked to indulge in those memories, and was almost showing off. And it was hundreds of pages like this. Kept waiting for it to delve a little deeper into something more meaningful, but my hopes were dashed as the end of the book neared. By that point, being so close to the end, I just finished it. But rarely have I had such high expectations for a book, only to be greatly disappointed by it. That is one book that I would never recommend to people, because again, it felt all about "me, me, me, and how many times I got what I wanted." If there is a way to sum it up, that would be it, and that was not what I was personally expecting.
It almost made me lose respect for him. What it felt like to me, while reading this, was that Keidis was actually writing this to an audience that he presumed was just like him, an audience that went a little nuts for drugs, and who worshiped his money and the access to the spectacular things that it allowed him to get as mindlessly as he himself seems to have done. Maybe I'm wrong, but that was what it felt like to me. As if his approach was basically this:
"Hey guys! I'm a famous rock star with millions of dollars! And I'm going to tell you about all of the times that I used drugs, so that it's obvious that I had a huge drug problem. Yet, I'm not going to talk about it in terms of how horrible it was and how it almost wrecked my life, but will instead keep focusing on just how easily I could afford it and get away with it because...well, I'm a famous and rich rock star! Oh, and did I tell you that I banged a lot of hot chicks throughout my life, chicks that were off the charts - or at least off your charts? Because, well, I'm a rich and famous rock star. Oh, and that reminds me of the time that I bought this amazing property or this unbelievable car that you'll never get to drive, let alone own, because again, I'm this rich and famous rock star. Oh, and by the way, here's a paragraph or two (but not much more) about what inspired this or that song that you love so much. I know that you're interested because I'm this rich and famous rock star, and it was your interest in my music that made me that. So without further ado, here's this book about how much I indulged from the stardom and millions that you guys provided me, and how much I got to enjoy it, in detail. I definitely kiss and tell, and will mention certain other stars that I got to bang by name, even if this might seem a little classless to you, but I can get away with it, because of who I am. Did I forget to mention that I'm a rich and famous rock star? Oh, and by the way, all proceeds from this book will likely go towards me pursuing still yet more of this excessive and self-indulgent lifestyle because... well, let's not beat around the bush: I'm a rich and famous rock star!"
Perhaps some people like and appreciate this kind of autobiography, a kind of no holds barred, XXX version of the lifestyles of the rich and famous. It almost felt like he was this rock veteran telling war stories about all of these crazy stories of excess and self-indulgence, and then adding the obligatory few paragraphs on the stories behind his actual art - his music and his lyrics - just to give a little something to that part of his audience that was interested in that. Give them that little bone, so that they do not feel completely disappointed, before he went on to what he was really interested in discussing further, which was the sex and drugs and rock 'n roll lifestyle to make many people envious. While it was clear that he was out of control - and he basically admits to it in this book - he does so almost like he's sharing funny stories about it, with an eye towards making the audience a bit envious of him. One comes away not sure if he is expressing regrets about his chosen path in a real confessional, or documenting all of the times that he enjoyed allowing himself to lose control in ways the rest of us could never afford to do. He talks about his excessive drug use almost without making clear that it actually was a problem, and at least this particular reader got the impression that he was almost saying he would do it all again exactly as he did it if given the chance to.
"Scar Tissue" was a book that was promoted almost as a confessional about how excessive and self-indulgent the author allowed himself to be in the past. But he goes into so much detail about the privileges that he got to enjoy, and so little into the ideas - musical and otherwise - that inspired him, that the impression that this reader got was not so much that this was less a confessional from a man now grown and expressing some measure of regret at having been so self-indulgent, as it was more a man using this book as an opportunity to brag yet again about his various "scores" (whether women or drugs or expensive luxuries) to what he assumes will be an audience who will hang on his every word, and do so with envy, dreaming that they too might be able to make it big and afford to pursue such a reckless lifestyle as well.
I would definitely not recommend this book!
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