It works for some people, just not me . . .

Why do I find this book so irritating? That’s the most interesting thing about it to me. The strange weaving of overly familiar bits of musical history, the sad but not especially insightful memories of his troubled mother, and his persistent self importance make tedious listening. He may be a nice fellow, but the book seems to be motivated by nothing more than a need to do something “important.”–to write the book that will patch up the various holes in his leaky self-esteem a little while longer.