le 5 décembre 2012
This book has no co-writer, so Rod must have done the whole job by himself (?). It reads like a dictaphone job, like he would talk to you directly. A plus, absolutely. This carries for like 60 pages, where he he tells us about his family, growing up, first musical and sexual encounters - never bragging, on the contrary. He could have written a good book had he kept on like this. Unfortunately, there are whole chapters about hair (of course), trains, football, cars, collecting art. And then the marriages, the model and actress girl friends. From this moment on, I started to read diagonally whole parts of the book. Until to the middle, when I started to only check like every tenth page if there would be something of interest. Until I read this: "The following day, I got into serious trouble when the paparazzi snapped me drinking a can of Coca-Cola." On an event sponsored by Pepsi....
I put the book down.
Read the rest later: Now I know which one of his women loved sex as much as he does, I also learned to my astonishment that Rod is not too fond of his best song in my opinion, 'Da Ya Thing I'm Sexy' - also the seminal 'Blondes Have More Fun' gets the thumbs low from Rod himself. Well, that sort of explains why he made some bad judgements about what has to go into the book. A simple case of disputable taste, then.
On the plus side: A discography at the end. And, lest I forget: At last I know the reason why he did get those puffy cheecks in the 80's: special voice treatments a.k.a. doping.
So, the book has it's strong parts, but on the whole it certainly talks too superficially about the music, the musicians, the industry etc. And there are way too many fillers here. Dommage.