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.
4 comments:
Funnily enough, I was listening to a good deal of Cream these past few days. I dip in and out of three albums at my leisure, splash some in my coffee from time to time.
I have no doubt that Ginger Baker was a dangerous bastard. You can see it in his eyes. Some fucked up Lawrence of Arabia shit which hints at privelege; the desire to deflower his nanny or wet nurse at an early age.
I would not have cared to have included him in my small circle of acquaintances, I don't believe. The flashdance of Tom Brown's Schooldays. The ritual of self flagellation.
Ginger did not come from a good place but rockstar money can fix that in a hurry. I have been listening to Cream's "Good-bye" since I recently came across a used cd version of the record. Crashing stuff.
You can tell I have not read his autiobiography. My intuition is clearly fucked up in this instance. "Good-bye" is a great LP, much as it is roundly thrashed as a throwaway piece of shit. 'Badge' is one of my favourite Cream outpourings. I have limited appreciation for Clapton after the 70s kicked in with Delaney Barlett, but prior to that he cold always be depended on to deliver in fine style.
Baker was no fan of Delaney and Bonnie and their influence on Clapton either. Too bad Clapton turned down Boring As Shit Avenue when he hooked up with them.
Baker comes across as a character from an Irvine Welsh novel who found success and never quite let it throw him on the dust heap.
He does not say too much about Hawkwind (faves of mine), who he joined for a short time, except to disparage their general musicianship, especially Harvey Bainbridge, who was playing bass for them at the time.
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