Last Night at the Disco by Lisa Borders

ARC Received from NetGalley

Chances are, you've met the narrator of Last Night at the Disco. Maybe not during the actual 70s, but somewhere in the course of your life you've come into contact with the co-worker, the distant relative, or the child of a friend of your parents' who thought they were Hot Shit^TM. They were better than everybody else, they dropped celebrity names like a litterbug, and they demanded flowers without first purchasing the seeds. They dreamed big and likely manifested what luxury came to them, but at the end of the day you could tap their sternums and hear the Tin Man echo.

Lynda Boyle is that person. She's an A-lister in her mind when in reality she's not even a pop culture footnote. As Last Night at the Disco opens in the present day she's determined to set straight a Rolling Stone article about the recent induction of a rock legend to the Hall of Fame, delivered by her former eighth grade English student. If Lynda gets anything correct in her diatribe, it's that she did facilitate the meeting between 90s feminist rocker Aura Lockheart and Johnny Engel. Pretty much everything after that is history purposely skewed in Lynda's favor.

And it's freaking hilarious, right up to the last few pages of the book when Lynda's epislatory demand for credit concludes with a sitcom worthy womp-womp. But I won't spoil it.

As you read Last Night, you probably won't like Lynda, and that's okay. At the height of the 70s Me Generation she's conceited, vain, manipulative, and myopic. She aspires to fame as a poetess but rarely writes, using her time to schmooze people with actual talent during weekend jaunts to Studio 54. In a way she is like Gatsby's Nick if Nick were petulant and demanded credit for getting Jay and Daisy to hook up. She's convinced everybody loves her, that gay men will turn for her, when it's a sure bet that in the present day she's completely forgotten. 

Lynda isn't Hot Shit^TM, she's a Hot Mess^TM, an unrealiable narrator who would normally inspire me to close a book. I didn't, however, because the mess is such a fascinating train wreck I wanted to know if she got either comeuppance or a clue. That, I also won't spoil.

I did hesitate on reviewing the book here, because while there are music themes within the book, Last Night at the Disco doesn't focus wholly on music. Lynda is surrounded by amazing people - a gifted guitarist, student prodigies, shifty New York types and a cameo from 54's Steve Rubell - and she manages to make the entire story about her. That's the point, of course, but bless her, she isn't dull.

Rating: B

Yoko: A Biography by David Sheff

 

Every once in a while the question comes up on social media: Who deserves the big apology? Something to that effect. Every time I check comments I see the same few names. Monica Lewinsky and Sinead O'Connor for two, and I won't argue there. If anybody ever mentioned Yoko Ono, it's either slipped my memory or else I scrolled too fast. As long as I have lived, I've seen Ono maligned for her art and music styles and blamed for the Beatles breakup. I've read more books about The Beatles for this blog than any other group, and it's easy to tell which authors seemed eager to get in their shots.

In my review of Cynthia Lennon's John, I note that people either love Ono or hate her with great passion, no real middle ground. One would think that over time, especially as receipts come in showing that she wasn't responsible for the band's divorce (it was inevitable after Brian Epstein's death and everybody itching to do their own things), people might lighten up a bit. With regards to Lennon's marriage... just remember John had a part in that.

Of course, the more I thought about it the more I realized the true answer began with an R and ended in ism. Had Ono resembled Cynthia, Pattie, or Jane Asher would she have received as much vitriol? 

Books like Sheff's new biography may help open the doors to appreciation of Ono, and after reading the book I think it would be nice for her to receive it while she is still alive. Her many decades of performance art, film, and music with their themes of feminism and compassion and pleas for peace have never been more relevant.

I read Yoko because I wanted to read about Yoko Ono and receive a fuller picture than I've gotten from other books. Pick up a Beatle or Lennon bio, and her story ends with Lennon's death. Yoko, as expected, not only continues her story through the present day but fills in gaps left blank by other authors. There's a deeper dive into her youth and emergence in New York's art scene. Ono had it rough right from the beginning, including cold and disapproving parents, sexism among her peers, and custody battles with her second husband. Post-Lennon, his fans clamored to keep his memory alive while at the same time chastizing Ono for her efforts in maintaining that visibility. Add to that the number of people around her trying to cash in on Lennon nostalgia by stealing her stuff. Can't win for losing.

All through Yoko, biographer Sheff writes with sympathy for his subject. The reader is advised from the start of Sheff's friendship with Ono. He was the last journalist to interview Lennon and stayed in Ono's inner circle for many years afterward, though he writes they have fallen out of touch. Contributions from Ono's son Sean Lennon and former partner Sam Havadtoy bolster this book as more authorized than other stories. Sheff also notes a book by Elliot Mintz, We All Shine On, which I am reading next. Be on the lookout for a comparison.

Despite that intimate connection, Yoko does not come off as biased. Sheff handles his subject with care but doesn't gush. Yoko works as a supplement to Beatle/Lennon bio but stands strong on its own as the biography of an influential and often misunderstood artist who does deserve recognition apart from the man she married - regardless of what you think of her creativity.

At the very least, though, give Walking on Thin Ice a listen. It's a banger.

Rating: B

Rememberings by Sinead O'Connor

We owed Sinead an apology. I will admit I should have been first in line.

Not to say she was correct about everything she ever said or did, but I feel some of the grander gestures deserved more compassionate thought and dialogue than immediate cancellation. One can argue cancel culture began with Sinead’s act of ripping up a photo of JPII on Saturday Night Live, and one can also argue the cancellation was aimed at the wrong people. Sinead was trying to tell us something at the time and we weren’t listening. I know I wasn’t.

I was in college that year, and I was a fan. The Lion and the Cobra featured heavily in my car’s cassette deck rotation, and my dormmate round-robined I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got with a number of Pet Shop Boys tapes throughout the semester. I joined the Catholic Student Union and attended the student masses. I lived as cleanly as temptation allowed. Like millions of others, I took Sinead’s act personally and knee-jerked. I tossed out the tapes and the Rolling Stone issue with her interview that I’d saved. I even wrote an editorial for my college paper and received blowback for it. I didn’t care, though. I had believed an artist I admired dismissed my beliefs. It took years for me to realize she wanted to start a movement to save our faith.

Sinead’s story here, I think, parallels the situation with Bill Cosby. We heard rumblings and rumors of impropriety between priests and young parishioners. Sinead spoke up; nobody listened. We heard rumors of Cosby’s womanizing. Women spoke up. Nobody really listened. The Boston Globe broke a story; people listened. Hannibal Buress turned Cosby’s sins into a comedy act; people listened.

The lesson here is maybe we should listen to women before the shit gets too real, but if you’re new here you’re expecting a book review so I won’t veer too offtrack for my first original Substack post. Rememberings is short for a memoir, but quite impactful. It reads exactly as the title implies, which chapters covering different stages of Sinead’s life—a difficult childhood with an abusive mother, teenage rebellion and rehabilitation, the perils of fame.

As a memoir, it is not complete, and Sinead even notes this late in the book. She explains how large gaps following the SNL incident and recent years left her memory owing to personal trauma. While we can piece together that part of her life through other sources, it’s sad to know that time has died with her. Nonetheless, the book worth the price of admission for her vivid childhood recalling and her Prince encounter story.

Be warned, the book begins with a message that no doubt was meant to introduce hope but now reads as a gut punch. From there, one can read Rememberings with the hope that she has finally found peace.

Rating: B+