19 September 2011
I am not real keen on biographies and autobiographies, preferring fictionalized stories about real life. Never did I understand this preference better than when I read a shitty biography about Charles Bukowski, whose novels, short stories and poetry do so much better of a job of giving us a look inside his life as well as entertaining us.
This morning, however, I drank coffee and finished reading Ginger Baker's autobiography "Hellraiser." Motherfucker was barely out of diapers when he started taking pills yet he is still at it! A lot of guys seem to be able to get away with living like that.
Made me proud to have been a Cream fan. Their first album was one of my first. Still hate drum solos though. When Eric Singer started in on one at the KISS show I saw earlier this year I left my seat and went for a long beer shit, not returning until I could hear guitars again. If I want to be bored I can do it for free in one of my neighbourhood's many Houses of Motherfucking Bullshit we know as churches.
Ginger has crossed paths with a lot of well known people. One of them, who we all miss dearly, was Hunter S. Thompson. "Hunter was driving and it was quite alarming. We got totally lost in the car park and couldn't get out of it." On another occasion, Hunter was again at the wheel with Ginger a passenger. "He had a round tin full of coke ... into which he continually dipped a straw and sniffed. I was sitting in the back seat with a bucket of ice and and a bottle of Chivas Regal, which Hunter kept reaching back for, still driving of course!"
I cannot drink Chivas - it is the horse piss of overpriced whiskies. Maybe it tastes better if you mix it with coke.
Well worth reading, "Hellraiser" reminded me of something I have long been quite sure of, I would have died a long fucking time ago if I had the financial resources to get as fucked up as Ginger Baker, his mates and the parade of dead motherfuckers he has left in his wake.