Customer Reviews

Everything I'm Cracked Up to Be: A Rock & Roll Fairy Tale

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Jen Trynin was an almost-made mid-1990's alternative rock superstar, and her memoir is billed as "what it's like to be catapulted to the edge of stardom, only to plummet back down to earth." As a music fan, I was obsessed with Trynin's contemporaries--Liz Phair, Hole, Nirvana, Aimee Mann, Better than Ezra, Alanis Morisette, the Goo Goo Dolls, and the like--but I don't remember Trynin's radio hit (which is, I suppose, what this book is all about).

Given the premise of a foiled attempt at rock superstardom, I read Trynin's narrative on the edge of my seat. Oh, is hiring this lawyer going to spell her demise? Hmm, is this unfounded loyalty to her backing band going to cause her downfall? Ah-ha--this choice of record label will be her death warrant! Did she not read her contract closely enough? Did she trust the wrong person? Is that rep a back-stabber? Did she screw up her indie cred and lose everything?

The reality behind Trynin's (lack of a) music career is much more subtle, less easy to pin-point, and well-narrated. This is a great story for any child of the 1990's, any musician, or any music fan. Trynin formed her own indie label when that meant having a direct fax line and spending hundreds of dollars on mailing list postage. It's a remarkable contrast to the wired podcast world a decade later, but the issues of dealing with a major label remain the same.

Jen is, above all, accessible. She's skinny in a heroin chic way, but she's terrified that people will discover that she doesn't even know whether heroin is something one snorts or injects. She doesn't know what her image is. She worries about being a "grown woman in a teenager's too tight corduroys." She's clueless about the music scene once she goes on tour, and thinks someone named Alice Morrison (Alanis Morisette) is the one everyone is watching on MTV.

Trynin hits at a lot of the pitfalls of the rock n' roll lifestyle without addressing them head-on. She goes days on nicotine and caffeine so that she can fit into her skin-tight pants, nevermind the foggy light-headedness. She knows that alcohol won't improve her performance, yet she downs it to calm her nerves, to escape, and suffers painful hangover-addled interviews on the days after her shows. She's in love with a long-term boyfriend, yet there are temptations on the road, and it is much cooler to have a free, easy-going image.

This terrific memoir is worth it alone for the time Trynin's music video appeared on Beavis and Butthead, for the backstory behind the Goo Goo Doll's smash hit "Name," and for the insider view on the (lack of a) process for creating music videos. It inspired me to buy Trynin's debut CD, Cockamamie, which is, unfortunately, out of print, but available on Amazon for less than a buck. That's a fitting end to this rock n' roll fairytale.

Ok, not sure if I'm the first one to write a review who didn't actually know Jen Trynin - but was a fan at the time all this was going on. I'm from Boston and I'm a musician, and I was naturally curious about the rich music scene in that town and tried to keep somewhat on top of it while I was there, which included the entire 90's decade. I ran across Cockamamie (Jen's first CD) at the time of release, as it was getting a lot of buzz around town. I had even scored Jen's earlier eponymous release, which was a 12 song cassette. I still have it somewhere. I had gotten that from someone who shall remain nameless. who ran a studio in 1995. When I excitedly asked him about it, surprised, he said, "oh, that SUCKS. You can have it." Ended up being the last time I worked with that guy because I decided he didn't have ears I could trust.

Jen's music was exquisitely good, and you can currently get Cockamamie for a penny. First off, buy it. Then buy this book. This is one of the best rock memoirs I've ever read, only surpassed by Al Kooper's Backstabbing Bastards. Perhaps part of why I like it because I recognize a Boston rock chick's tone of voice in the narration. But that's a little unfair and pigeonhole-ish, because Jen's being herself, and she's telling a great story, riveting, and required reading for all aspiring pop stars. She's frank, engaging, vulnerable - no BS, and you can't help but root for her as the story unfolds.

I always wondered what happened after her major label release came out, then sank into oblivion. While it wasn't as strong as the first record (which itself could have been played to death on the radio) it had an obvious hit on it - "Getaway/February" should have gotten monster airplay - and it didn't add up that this was all we were going to get. I'm glad to be able to read about it now, in fact I regard it as something of a gift from left field, one of the rare times you actually get to find out why a favorite artist evaporated from the scene.

If you haven't heard of Jen, I don't know what to tell you, except like the rest of the world, you're missing out. Her website has a couple of downloadable tracks, so check there first. But I highly recommend this book and her two discs (but start with Cockamamie).

Anyone who knows anything about independent music knows that it's tough on the musicians. I happen to be close friends with several serious hardworking independent musicians who are outstanding talents, and I wish they were all world famous, but we still gotta be realistic. Jen Trynin gives us a pretty enjoyable memoir here, but there's not really too much that's revelatory about it. In a world where there's 10,000 struggling bands for every one superstar, and where trendy untalented saps get rich while serious artists starve, we know that the biz is brutal and everybody gets ripped off by the power players. The biz is known for chewing up and spitting out up-and-comers in the rush for easy profits, and that's kinda like what happened to Jen Trynin, but not quite. The advance descriptions of this book may have you believe that she was badly ripped off, and you might expect an unforgiving report on the slimy underbelly of the music biz. But actually, Trynin was wined and dined by major labels, picked up a lot of hype, was treated reasonably well by the label she signed with, and released two real albums, but the company merely lost interest and dropped her when her career went from hot to cold.

So Trynin's story is less heartbreaking than it is depressingly predictable. It's all surely a good learning experience, and this memoir is usually quite enjoyable as Trynin describes her uphill ride to near-stardom. Her writing isn't too deep but it's frequently funny and sharp-witted. However, when things go downhill and Trynin's career sputters, so does this book. In her increasingly numerous passages about feeling lost and overwhelmed by the biz and its disappointments, Trynin is trying to come across as literary in a dark chick-lit sorta way. But she doesn't really have the writing ability to pull it off, and her attempts at self-examination and deeper insights into the biz just don't go anywhere useful. That goes for her coverage of her mixed-up love life too. This book is still a very fun read for those who love the do-it-yourself rock scene, but it doesn't quite reach as deeply as it thinks it does. [~doomsdayer520~]

I don't have my TV hooked up to anything besides a DVD player, but whenever I have an opportunity to watch cable, one of my favourite vices is VH1's Behind the Music. Each episode follows a formula: humble beginnings ... rapid ascent to stardom.... and then a downfall predicated by drug use, sex within the band, a mental breakdown or all of the above. In the final 15 minutes of the program, the artist is either eulogized, or, if still alive, redeemed through AA, therapy, or religious conversion. As if in a replay of Icarus, rock gods propel themselves into an intense spotlight only to plunge from the heavens with melted wings, providing solace to people like me who never got signed to a major label and live very ordinary lives.

"All I'm Cracked Up to Be" appears to follow the VH1 formula initially, but with at least one crucial difference. The book's rock and roll casualty, Jen Trynin, never becomes famous, but we get an excruciatingly intimate glimpse of the mechanics behind her tumble from promise. Trynin, a songwriter turned alt-rock frontwoman in the mid-nineties Boston music scene, is led to believe by industry wags that rock and roll stardom is at hand. Instead her hype-laden career whimpers to a halt despite major label backing.

The book humorously and heartbreakingly demonstrates the ill-effects of music commodification on an artist's sense of self. After Trynin grows tired of the "Sunday-to-Wednesday night folk/acoustic-chick-band-wasteland,"she reinvents herself as a rock star, or at least what she thinks one is. She then self-releases a brilliant CD, and a label war of epic proportions ensues. Her music industry courtship is replete with expensive dinners and first class accommodations, as well as dizzying dialog between Trynin and her lawyer over the financial intricacies of dueling record contracts. Soon a seemingly sweetheart deal from Warner leads to a grueling tour schedule dotted by the monotony of ratty motels, interviews with clueless DJs, and awkward label meet and greets, in stark contrast to the amenities and coddling of the sycophantic bidding period. It is also at odds with her fantasy of life on the road with a surrogate band family.

Trynin becomes disembodied and suffers an identity crisis epitomized by a fight with her bass player over a bowl of nuts and an Alice in Wonderland reaction to too much nyquil while at a hotel where coincidentally, catatonic Beach Boy Brian Wilson is also staying. The label realizes she is "losing it" when she marks a DJ's face with a sharpie. Meanwhile, her hit song begins its descent down the charts before the end of her first tour. Despite releasing a second album to critical acclaim, if not commercial success, she is forced by her label to endure the indignity of performing as an acoustic opener to a insufferable self-righteous lilith fair singer songwriter who just happens to have a hit at the time. Trynin's star doesn't rise according to the record company's timetable and corporate politics shift the engine's attention away from her. Trynin is thus callously cast aside as a "has-been who never was," with strains of Alanis Morisette playing in the background.

Trynin doesn't deny having a hand in her own demise in that she engages in a self-destructive, sexually-charged relationship with her juvenile bass player, reverts to a curt New Jersey demeanor in situations requiring graciousness, and drinks too much on the road. However, her alienation is exacerbated by being a cog in a music industry machine manned by ego-damaging hipsters such as the makeup artist who calls attention to the bags under her eyes and the Warner employee who cautions her not to make faces when she plays guitar. The entities that stand to make money off her don't appear to genuinely care about her or "get" her music. They only see an image of alt-rock heroin chic and hear a cash register. In fact, label honchos stay at the best hotels, on the artist's budget, while their benefactors are shuttled to Motel 6's. Trynin, the talented yet insecure head case, is their perfect pawn until she starts to be "difficult".

Trynin's creative drive is destroyed but she winds up pursuing a life not possible while touring: she goes back to school, marries and has a child. She misses the dream but not the reality of the music business. I didn't sense that she wrote the book to generate pity, but to provide insight into what went wrong with her career and perhaps serve as a caution to those who have their sights on the big time. I knew the book would not end well, but was gripped to the end to learn the how and why. Yet Tryinin does not maliciously point fingers, but instead provides a wryly humorous, yet terrifying view of what can happen when a promising artist surrenders control for career advancement and get sucked in an exploitive whirlwind. I highly recommend this book to any musician kicking themselves because they failed to get signed. You are probably lucky you didn't get what you wished for.

I found this to be a light, fun, even informative read, but ultimately there's something missing...Make no mistake, I enjoyed it, but nonetheless, as I read, a certain undercurrent sort of burbled to the surface. Which was, I think, neatly summmarizable in this question: "what DOES Jen really care about?" It's obviously not really the music. To her, it's just a matter of getting the formula right...along with the right tight pants, big shoes and leather jacket...the right amp and guitar. Everything is in the service of Jen, whatever it takes for her to "make it", to no be a nobody. Very short shrift is given to her "art", what it means to her, etc...for those of us who care about such things, we're left with an empty feeling and, even more to the point, the observation, "if she doesn't care deeply about her music, why should we?"

I had never heard of Jen Trynin. I wanted to redeem a gift certificate, saw nothing eye-catching in the genres I regularly read from, but decided to give this one a read.

I'm glad I did. It's a very engaging, quick read in a journal-type format. Lots of truth in what she writes; you can feel her pain, frustration, uncertainty, and excitement as she sees her freshness and innocence taken away as the major record labels, attorneys, and other music biz sleazeballs jockey to represent her, and the potential riches her promising career will bring to them.

She tells it as it happened, and I applaud her ultimate decision to do the"right" thing. Although the ending seems a bit rushed, it still was an educational, entertaining book.

I went to her website, heard samples of her two cds, and am eagerly awaiting their arrival. I'm happy that Ms. Trynin hasn't given up on her writing.

I have to admit I never heard of Jen Trynin prior to reading her book, but nonetheless, I thoroughly enjoyed her story. The book really captures the chaos and confusion associated with signing with a music label, the drain of a tour and the pressure to produce a hit. I hope that Jen writes another book (maybe one on her experiences as a mom)- her voice is fresh, funny and she certainly is not afraid to expose herself warts and all - a nice change of pace.

I was thrilled to find out Jen Trynin's been doing anything since her terrific, unheard 1997 record Gun Shy, Trigger Happy, and reading her memoir of those music-making years, Everything I'm Cracked Up To Be, I'm pleased to say Trynin is at time a crafty writer. Even at nearly 350 pages, her observations about the music industry never flagged - her reporting is as merciless and captivating as her best songs were. Trynin writes in a highly hermetic first-person, which means her anxiety and confusion when aimed at life on the road or at industry BS is terrificly lived-in. But it also means that her presentation of everyone else involved in her story remains remote and even, ultimately, irrelevant - there's not a single other person in the book who comes off with a full-fledged personality, not her sound-mixing husband-to-be Guy, not her hothead paramour/bassist, not her lawyer, not her parents. Worst hit by this phenomenon are the people in the industry itself, often reduced (probably due to contractual requirements of anonymity) to interchangeable nicknames like "Head Honcho," "BigWig," "Einstein" (so named because he had "Einstein hair" - who he is or what he did I have trouble recalling), or - most baffling of all - "EdR". Writing like that is a symptom of Trynin's position of privilege, being a writer with a recognizable name (marginally, at least) - she sometimes feels actual descriptions are unnecessary and thinks a coy, somewhat irritating line like "I was feeling very butterflies-in-stomach" is something other than ingratiating coquettishness. Still, her story is a worthy and absorbing one - bidding wars, failed possibilities, and a music industry utterly unconcerned that a real talent is getting only minor attention. In the end, it makes Trynin's well-chronicled disillusion seem like the only logical response to such an environment.

As an singer-songwriter myself with dreams of becoming signed and making a living through music, this memoir sure brought me hurtling back down to earth.

The book may be a fun, escapist read for non-musicians, but for me, it was a sobering reality check. Here's a talented woman who, it seems, the stars aligned for... and then, despite a major record deal and the right chops, simply didn't make it.

I think Trynin, like many musicians, is no more (or less) talented than thousands upon thousands of other musicians out there. She simply lucked out, while other equally-talented peers languish in obscurity forever. Expectations went from reasonable (unsigned indie) to vastly excessive (signed) in the blink of an eye.

We in America are conditioned to believe that, if we try hard enough, anything is possible. While I think that makes us unique as a country, and certainly fosters industry and innovation, it may not be a realistic attitude to have when trying to make it in the music business.

Analogy: Do all wannabe starlets coming to Hollywood from Tulsa or Des Moines with dreams of "making it" actually make it? Of course not - it's simply not statistically possible. Most go home, dejected and jaded, their dreams dashed.

I think that having been signed to a major label deal was a tough burden to bear for Jen Trynin. This was someone who saw her (even more?) talented peers, such as Aimee Mann, struggle to get a record deal, while she gets one and proceeds to lose it, having made barely a ripple in the waters of success. And she didn't really even enjoy herself along the way.

It's not Trynin's fault that the stars fell out of alignment. It's also not her fault that the record labels decided she - at heart, a reluctant live performer who felt that rock stardom was an act of sorts, not much more - was destined to be the Next Big Thing.

In the end, she couldn't live up to the title. In truth, I think that few people - except, perhaps, her nemesis A.M. - could.

I loved Jen Trynin's two amazing albums, and always wondered what happened to her. How could an artist put out two of the best rock albums of her time and not be a huge success? This book answers that question and tells you exactly how the music business works, and why it's so hard to make it. At times a bit repetitive, but overall a wonderful first-person account.