The Last Rock Star Book
Written by Kimber Friday, 06 February 2009 17:30
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I knew there would be at least one mental casualty when I agreed to write for this site
– I would be working with modern music critics. .
If there is one thing I’ve noticed over my years of dating (or whoring, or just interacting with men in general – whatever that’s called nowadays) is that those who find themselves qualified to write about the expansive world of rock and roll also tend to be the most self-absorbed, analytical pricks who can hardly hold themselves together in a conversation about the opposite sex. It is as if those who find themselves credible to write about rock music are the same people who believe they are more prone to catastrophic heart break whenever their phone calls aren’t answered.
I say all of this, of course, with only the greatest love and intentions in my heart for my fellow writers. Many of which happen to be men. And I imagine my survival of writing in this realm is directly related to whether or my fellow writers are not soon approaching some kind of romantic crisis – the kind of crisis that drives them to post a variety of arbitrary manifestos all over our city and perform Cusack-inspired acts in order to get back a woman that was never really meant for them in the first place.
Why do I bring this up? Only because I came across an old, dog eared copy of Camden Joy’s “The Last Rock Star. Or: Liz Phair, a Rant.” In re-reading the underlined passages I could only help but notice most men are completely devoid of testicles (assuming, of course, all men are anything like Camden Joy – and I do have my suspicions. Joy’s fictional, autobiographical novel is just proof that some people should not be trusted with something as delicate as rock history.
However, it did feature Liz Phair in the sub title, so why the hell not? I received my first taste after absconding with my sister’s record collection when she went abroad during her junior year of college. Phair has an amazing ability to change the life of a teenage girl. And Joy’s fictional, yet flippant, attempt to consolidate her career into a glossy coffee table book is enough to make any moderate fan of pop-rock music cringe just a little.
