To answer the last one, they were commissioned, and never published.
I got interested in biographies while working on The Juicy Parts book for Jack Mingo. (Go ahead and look that one up; copies start at about $0.01 U.S., I imagine.)
While I didn't pursue authoring a second Juicy volume, per Jack's suggestion, I did find myself hooked on biographies, for several years. A lot of them were junk, and made no other pretenses; a number of them (those with the names Richard Ellman or Peter Guralnick on the spine) were entertaining, edifying, and well-written.
Unlike the following, a few of my "lost" book reviews, which deserved to remain that way:
Colonel Tom Parker: the Curious Life of Elvis Presley’s Eccentric Manager
by James L. Dickerson [AMG RATING: 8]
The greatest mystery surrounding Elvis Presley isn’t whether or not he actually died in 1977, but what was the nature of Elvis’ relationship with his secretive manager, the man known as Colonel Tom Parker. For one who was so often in the public eye, and whose decisions drove Elvis’ career—and so affected millions of Elvis’ fans—there are few definitively known facts about Parker. How did Parker convince Elvis to pay him a reported 50 percent commission? Why didn’t he let Elvis tour Europe? Was Parker a U.S. citizen? And who, exactly, was Colonel Parker?
Many of the facts and allegations about Parker have appeared elsewhere. James Dickerson brings to the subject a knowledge of Memphis history, organized crime, and the racial politics of America’s South. He speculates on some of the biggest mysteries surrounding Elvis and the Colonel, and supports several of his theories well. Elsewhere, conjecture on Parker’s ethnic heritage, for instance, goes nowhere. And at times, the normally reasonable Dickerson’s conjecture—such as suggesting that Parker failed his Army physical due to his “homosexual reaction” to other naked men—is both unsupported and ludicrous.
Dickerson is at his best when demonstrating how Parker’s “dark destructive … impulses” impeded Elvis’ career. The fact that the most tantalizing questions about Parker are probably unanswerable doesn’t make it any less exasperating when the author poses them. And when the author himself admits that a fact as basic as his subject’s true identity may never be known, it doesn’t augur well for a definitive biography. Dickerson does provide some interesting perspective; just don’t expect Colonel Tom Parker to dispel all the mysteries of an enigmatic subject.
Dancing With Demons: The Authorized Biography of Dusty Springfield
Penny Valentine and Vicki Wickham [AMG RATING: 6]
Some of the worst biographies are produced by friends, family members, and business associates who should know their subjects best. Whether due to inadequacies as writers or the desire to bend history to their interests, these insiders perpetrate some of the most incomprehensible biographies. Add Dancing With Demons—written by Dusty Springfield’s long-time friend, Penny Valentine, and long-term manager, Vicki Wickham—to the list of insider biographies that utterly fail to lend any sense of what made its subject exceptional. While the authors clearly care for their subject and her music, their attempts to interpret Dusty’s eccentricities, along with their hazy sense of chronology, are as much of a disservice to the singer’s legacy as a sleazy tell-all would have been.
Dusty Springfield was a remarkable stylist who crafted an achingly soulful vocal sound from her deep appreciation of rhythm and blues music, not that you could discern much about her talent from this book. The overwhelming impression of Dusty in Dancing With Demons is that she was famous primarily for being an eccentric “personality,” like Zsa Zsa Gabor or Anna Nicole Smith. Throughout Demons, Dusty’s musical accomplishments are overshadowed by accounts of her bizarre behavior and unconventional lifestyle. The authors trot out numerous accounts of Dusty throwing dinnerware and cutting herself before revealing that she was diagnosed as manic depressive. Many of these numbingly repetitive episodes serve no purpose other than to support the authors’ pop psychology analysis, that Dusty’s behavior was her way of dealing with “chaotic … psychic pain.”
Dusty’s contributions to pop music are incidental to the story the authors try to tell, which focuses far more extensively on her sexuality than on her accomplishments. It seems likely that anyone who would seek out a biography of Dusty Springfield would be more interested in reading about her singing a duet of “Mockingbird” with Jimi Hendrix (on her BBC TV show), for example, than with the names of the gay clubs she played late in her career. There are some revealing anecdotes, such as the encounter with Buddy Rich that gained her a reputation as a “difficult” performer, but far too few. Late in the book, there are brief references to her “fine” R&B record collection (which she sold to Graham Nash) and to her perfectionism in the studio. These tantalizing glimpses into the singer’s personal and professional life only make the reader more aware of the book’s shortcomings.
There are allegedly better books on Dusty Springfield out there, and it’s always possible that one of her confidants will pen a revealing biography doesn’t lose sight of why the singer is so revered. Dancing With Demons, though, despite an author named Valentine, is no love letter.
[Bonus JAG blab: I recently read a reference to this book, and author Penny Valentine, in an interview with Andrew Loog Oldham. As I recall (which is usually dimly), Oldham disparages the book, saying something like “at least Penny Valentine acknowledges being Dusty’s friend,” and suggesting the lack of objectivity that goes along with that. So if someone like Oldham, who was there, finds this account lacking, I’m not surprised it seems so deficient.
Just so you know where I stand on, you know, deficiencies.]
Reading Dream Lovers feels like having a somewhat hysterical stranger tell you his life story. It is compelling, yet disturbing, in both content and the way it’s told. In this unusual tell-all, Dodd Darin makes numerous shameful revelations about his celebrity parents, Bobby Darin and Sandra Dee, and others in his family, not to shock readers, but ostensibly to sort out his own feelings about them. Darin is apologetic about airing the family’s secrets and faults, reflecting on how his parents would feel reading his disclosures. Ultimately, though, the principal “shattered life” Darin is concerned about is his own.
Darin takes an unsettlingly familiar tone with his readers, often leading to the unsettling sensation that he is speaking to close friends or dictating to his diary. While this personal approach may have been therapeutic for him, it makes for uncomfortable reading and a clumsy narrative flow. It doesn’t help that the story is often moved forward by reminiscences (indicated by long passages of italic text) from friends, family members, and professional associates of Darin and Dee. The harsh criticism of Bobby Darin from his sister, Vee, in particular, indicates that Dodd isn’t the only family member with conflicted feelings about the late singer.
Although the Dee-Darin marriage was brief, it is central to Dream Lovers. The characters and situations could have been drawn from the work of James M. Cain or Tennessee Williams. Bobby Cassotto Darin was raised never knowing his father’s identity, believing his mother was his sister, and always aware of a heart condition he thought would kill him by age 30. Sandra (Dee) Douvan was raised by a stifling, dysfunctional mother who may have willingly overlooked her husband’s sexual abuse of Sandra. The couple’s youth—he was 24, she was 16 when they married—and disastrous family backgrounds ensured drama and tragedy, and Dream Lovers delivers plenty of both.
While the Dee-Darin story is fascinating and obscure, the way it’s told will leave readers wondering if dragging such skeletons out of the closet is ever justified, no matter how therapeutic it may be for the author.
Dumb Angel: The Life and Music of Dennis Wilson by Adam Webb [AMG Rating = 6]
Despite good looks and a lifestyle that exemplified the Beach Boys’ image, Dennis Wilson was part of the group only at his mother’s insistence. He was a rudimentary drummer who played on only a few of the group’s records, and his vocal contributions were overshadowed by brother Brian’s soaring falsetto and cousin Mike Love's lead voice and front-man antics. And yet, it was Dennis’ emergence as a songwriter that helped the group craft some of its best work, like 1970’s Sunflower, an album critics have compared favorably to the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper's.
Adam Webb attempts to make a case for Dennis Wilson as the “Surf City Soul” of the Beach Boys, their initial inspiration and the champion of their integrity after Brian’s retreat from the band. Dumb Angel, however, is biographically sketchy and more enthusiastic than insightful in examining often transcendent music. Webb devotes too much space to material that has been better presented elsewhere—such as the lengthy chapter on Wilson’s relationship with Charles Manson—and making specious comparisons between Wilson’s music and that of Lou Reed and Big Star. (In fact, Alex Chilton’s name is dropped as often as Carl Wilson’s, Dennis’ brother and fellow Beach Boy.) Even Steven Gaines’ much maligned Heroes and Villains offers a better overview of Dennis Wilson’s life and career.
Webb’s statement that “Dennis Wilson had dreamt the Beach Boys into existence” is a nice sentiment, but one that overlooks the fact that Dennis was part of the band only as an afterthought. Good intentioned as Webb may be, his admiration for Wilson’s music doesn’t translate into a worthwhile addition to the Beach Boy’s history. Overall, Dumb Angel has the feel of liner notes barely expanded to book length.
If the Beatles’ obvious disintegration in the film Let It Be seems depressing, consider what authors Sulpy and Schweighardt went through in researching this book: they listened to every available bit of tape from twenty days’ worth of recording done for the project.
The authors list and describe hundreds of attempts at rehearsing and recording material originally intended for a live performance, although many of the listed titles are either very brief (many running only a few seconds) or formless jams.
The overall picture of the band is discouraging and unflattering. Presumably because the book is not authorized by the Beatles, none of them (or anyone else) is directly quoted; the authors only describe what is said over the course of the sessions. As a result, what could have been a fascinating “fly on the wall” documentary often reads like a paraphrase of court transcripts. This drawback is likely to limit the book’s appeal to a wide audience.
Still, those familiar with the Beatles’ history may be interested to learn that the band was aware of their decline and that they weren’t disciplined or motivated enough to stop it. When Harrison cites manager Brian Epstein’s death as a turning point, McCartney points out the pessimism that has crept into the band since then, calling it a “chore” to be a Beatle by 1969. They marvel at how the same band that produced Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band could be so sloppy and unproductive just two years later. Also apparent is the extent to which Lennon has already opted out of the band, contributing few songs, generally letting Ono speak for him, and shrugging off the possibility that Harrison may permanently leave the band.
Despite the band’s hostility and disarray, there are lighter moments chronicled here, such as the discussion of cover versions of their material and the pleasure they take in playing old rock and roll. Verbatim quotes would be especially welcome in the segments where the Beatles are enjoying each other and their music. As it is, Get Back is more useful as a reference book than a documentary.
