Books and Stuff

by Will 'The Cranky Music Man' Golightly

There is so much idiocy this week that I don't even know where to begin. I do my best to pick out the best story of the week, but for this column I realize I've bitten off way more than I can chew. It's more mind-boggling than the concept of citizen's arrest. I'm lost; but, as always, I will persevere.

I hate books. They're worse than movies (barely). But not much is more entertaining than the celebrity autobiography. On the other hand, the celebrity biography is only funny when the actual celebrity-subject admits to reading it, as Moby has done. On his official website, the one-man-jingle-machine has publicly apologized for years of being "truly annoying". It seems he's been looking into a book about himself, and he finds the accounts of his early years full of negativity towards other acts in his part of the musical spectrum. Specifically, he regrets criticizing Orbital and Aphex Twin back in the day. Now that he has made buckets of money off of his last album by licensing every single song for ads, he's feeling a little regret for the snotty comments he made back in the leaner years. I'm sure his mother is pleased, if no one else.

Moby gets on my nerves because of his "I don't understand the ways of you people" shtick, as if he were some oversensitive, balding extraterrestrial. But what's even more annoying is the "I understand you only too well" condescension peddled by the likes of Jewel. In fact, she has so much empathizing to do that she's got an autobiography in the works, just so we can understand that she is a normal person just like us. Therefore we can buy her product (cds, books, movies) with a clear conscience. Here is someone who really understands the human condition, after all.

I've got Jewel's biography for you: Girl is born in some cold-ass place; Girl falls on hard times, lives in van or some other uncomfortable vehicle; Girl grows large breasts and jauntily crooked teeth, makes it big warbling on and pretending she cares about how you feel; The end-- unless you want a few chapters devoted to her critically ignored forays into poetry and acting. Which I strongly advise you avoid.

I'm thinking of writing an autobiography myself. If anyone has any heartbreaking-yet-uplifting stories they wouldn't mind parting with, drop me a line. Or if anyone has slept with a celebrity-- I could use a little naughtiness to pepper what is thus far a pretty tepid tale. Penis sizes and fetishes optional but encouraged.

You know what, I don't even feel like going on anymore. The most surprising things I've heard this week are the announcements of two tours. One is the VH1-condoned Has-Beens of Rock: Poison, Warrent, Quiet Riot, and Enuff Z'Nuff. The other is the gimmicky collection of Australian bands, the Small Market Acquaintances of Rock: INXS (with new lead singer, hopefully), Midnight Oil, and Men at Work. I can barely work up the energy to ask them, "What, no Hunters and Collectors?"

That's as much as I can take. It's late and I'm tired. I'm going to sleep now, quietly pleased that I didn't even mention that Puff Daddy has changed his name to P. Diddy.