Customer Reviews

Smile, You're Traveling (Black Coffee Blues Part 3)

5 star:		(7)
4 star:		(8)
3 star:		(4)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(1)

 

 

Mind you, I am hesitant in my criticism -- one would be hesitant in criticizing Rollins about anything after reading this book. These journal entries, from '97 to '98, have a lot to say about the meaningless and mean (yeah, mean) "criticism" our man Rollins has had to endure since his beginnings with Black Flag, and it makes you inclined to shy away from adding to that dung heap more out of pity than defense. However, Rollins does leave himself open, especially if he's printing his journals for public consumption, so hey, fair is fair, right?

These entries show us that Rollins is growing up...er, well, at least he's trying. And hard. He's scored huge brownie points for not throwing us the "I'm an impenetrable mystery" shlick that most utterly self-absorbed persons do, which leads me to believe he's is doing sincerely what he claims: trying to figure himself out before he dies. Good luck, Hank, you're gonna need it. On the other hand, his full-throttle musings in the "lone man wandering the vast desert" vein (he even drags in dear, dead Hemingway for reference) in defense of his burdensome loneliness and incapacity for relationships with women get irksome, as it is quite transparent. He fiercely avows never to marry or have kids to the extent that one hears a voice from the wings: "Hank doth protests too much, methinks." At these points in the book, Rollins is little more than a case study in avoidant-ambivalent attachment style, and it gets depressing after a while. This is especially so due to his frequent mentioning of difficult bouts of depression and loneliness.

There are enjoyable points, don't get me wrong. He does express well and clearly his great affection for music, from his youthful giddiness over Black Sabbath to his near-mystical adoration for jazz and its decorated heroes like John Coltrane. Wonder why Rollins is so lippy towards musicians that don't meet his approval? The reason is made clear here: He loves music. He really LOVES music. And like anyone with some sense and a heart, he abhors witnessing the thing he loves most being kicked about in the dirt by low-wit thugs or parceled out indifferently by agenda-serving leeches. There's no shame in that, even though oddly many think Rollins ought to be shamed. So in the end, we find Rollins digging in his heels and U2 and Sheryl Crow supporters whining and sniffling. Hysterical, really. The other thing that is enjoyable about this book is the evidence that Rollins does things with very good intentions. Sometimes he doesn't make the best choices and other times he is overcome by his own shortcomings. But while he exhibits a tense bitterness edging towards cynicism, he doesn't mean to be mean. Good example is his regret over his defensive hostility towards to two fans that approached him at an inopportune time in a parking lot in Ohio, and his small, but thoughtful gesture to make amends for it. It's things like these that make this book an interesting read.

Yet among other frustrating bits is his agitation that results from a combination of his poor social skills and his inability to cope with himself. Some of this gets aimed at innocent by-standers, which gets painful to read at times. Otherwise, it's leveled, deservingly, at the music industry. However, since Rollins is honest enough to see some pretty hard truths about life, he eventually (we can only hope) will realize and accept that he must walk a different path apart from a majority of the human race, and that's not something he needs to be hostile about. He longs still, nearly forty, to be understood, and one is inspired to awe at how hard he will work and how far he will go for that. At the same time, he succeeds well at grating your nerves to point you want to shove some of his own witty snideness right back down his throat. When that happens, just flip to some point where he's describing as eloquently as he can a moment of thoughtful meditation or some time in solitude, where you can see that he's actually a decent man once he's in his element. Yeah, you read me right, the "Hot Animal Machine" is a thinking man after all. Hooray, or something.

The thing with Rollins is that his major talent is not writing or music, but simply being honest and "putting it out there." He's on the verge of making his truthfulness an art form. You get out of him what you do, and that's that. No apologies. I, for one, can dig that. Maybe you can too, but one observation should be made. The printing I have contains a multitude of typos. Hopefully this will be corrected if it goes to print again. Another thing is that there is a section of '97 entries tagged on the end, in a section after the '98 entries, with no explanation. Strange. But rather than leaving us with heartaching thoughts at the year-end anniversary of his friend's senseless and tragic death, he lets us off the train somewhere in October, a "magical" month for him he says, with the line "I have a good life." Now that's keeping your chin up, Hank.

I think this is Rollins' best book so far. It is great to see how his writing has matured since Get in the Van or even Black Coffee Blues. It's like reading a cross between Jack Kerouac and Nietzsche. A wonderful travel journal, that is as much a journey of the mind as it is a journey of the world. A peek into a mind with focused attention, spiraling depressions, and burning aggressions. He has a deep misanthropy, because he likes people, and people do stupid things. He sees how people either don't think or simply pretend to think, rather than actually doing it. It's more evident here than in any of his other works. After reading this book, I listened to "Come In And Burn" again, and heard it in a whole new way.

This is a great book, and even better after reading the first two books in the BCB trilogy!

I've been a fan of Henry Rollin's writing since I read _Art to Choke Hearts_ some years ago. I read his chapter on Africa when he emailed it to his website and howled until tears rolled down my face. This latest book reflects some of the twisted humour that first drew me to his writing and spoken words, but it also showcases his admirable misanthropy. Hard to tell someone you really admire them when you don't like people in general, much harder when they don't like people much either. I'll just have to settle for recommending this book because of its insight, candor, occasional venom, absurd moments, and the moments when reading it in public would defeat the purpose.

It is obvious from his latest work that Henry Rollins has matured greatly since his days in Black Flag. Not only his style but also his outlook has changed. Whether it is his own wry way of viewing the poverty of Africa versus American life or the realization that he is no longer punk rock and is now an icon. Rollins' self-awareness has consistently been his strongest artistic virtue. His writing in "Smile" shows he recognizes his growth and evolution. Rollins does not fear aging. He embraces it. Covering the period before the end of the previous incarnation of the Rollins Band, he shows us that 20 years in the business have made him not only wise but ready for any challenge he faces. Solitude truly is his hard won ally.

I am beginning to wonder if a fan of Henry Rollins can give an objective review of his work. Like Rollins himself, his fans seem to portray an intensity that leaves them blind to their idol. I learned quite a bit by reading this book. I learned that Rollins plagues me. It isn't the volumes of contradictions and ridiculousness that bother me. It is that one stinging observation, the one that makes me stop and realize his vision and clarity, that makes me insane. Many times while reading this book I found myself wanting to drive to LA, find Rollins, grab his shoulders and shake him. I wanted more, yet I couldn't take it. I finished this book rather quickly, and I have been contemplating since then whether or not to start another of his books. As it is, I sit and watch VH-1 countdowns and say to the television, "where is Rollins' commentary?". I check his website like a silly obsessed groupie. I don't know that I can call this an enjoyable book. It is tolerable, at best. And anyone who thinks about reading it should make sure they are ready to commit to the long haul. Henry Rollins has a way of attaching himself to your synapses, leaving you not knowing if you love or hate him.

This was my introduction to Henry Rollins, the writer, and I was incredibly impressed. The minute after I finished the book, I started reading it again -- and planning my next trip to an exotic location. Rollins writes and lives fearlessly.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading "Smile You're Traveling"(particularly the Appendix), and I love Rollins and his work, but I can't help but gripe a bit about what he has written here overall. Sometimes, especially towards the end of the Appendix as he details his trip to Bankok, Thailand, he just sounds like such a typical spoiled-rotten American CHILD! That's right, I said it: Rollins sounded just like a spoiled brat. It was more or less like, "Oh, Bankok is such a stinkhole! It's fascinating and all but I'm just bored and I want OUTTA here!! I wanna go see the next thing, I'm just so TIRED and BORED of seeing these pathetic people living in squalor! Next!" All Rollins does throughout the book is complain about the living conditions of the people in various poor countries, but not once has he even considered the possibility of using his popularity and influence to try and make at least a small difference. Which brings me to his snapping on Bono: Now I'm not a big fan of U2 either, but I do admire the extensive humanitarian work that Bono has done in Africa. Yet Bono is the favored target of Rollins' barbs, but what the hell is Rollins doing? At least Bono is doing something; all Rollins does is whine and COMPLAIN,COMPLAIN,COMPLAIN. What's up with that, Rollins?
And then there is the depression. When you read his journal entries about the extensive bouts with loneliness and depression, you just feel so bad for him, not only because he struggles so hard with these things, but because the answers he seeks on how to deal with it is right in front of him. It's like you just want to smack him one and then give him a big hug and tell him it's going to be alright, that is, with the help of a therapist or counselor. I'm serious. Another thing: the subject of wife and kids. Now, I actually agree for the most part about what Rollins says about being a loner, that you get more things done, that certain things take on such profound meaning when you and ONLY you are there to revel in said things. His experience in Madagascar, for one, under the moon and stars. Of course such instances wouldn't be the same if he were sharing that experience with someone else. It wouldn't have had the same impact. Now with that said, I find it rather striking how Rollins reiterates, over and over, how he will never ever ever bother with having a wife and/or kids. His reasons are flimsy at best. Not that I blame him overall, a spouse and kids are rather cumbersome, but still, here is my observation: if Rollins was SO adamant about that, he wouldn't feel the need to keep stressing it. You can't help but think to yourself, "Just who are you trying to convince, Henry?"
All in all, it's a good book. It has the unique effect of putting you in this man's head and seeing the world through his eyes. I would highly recommend it to someone who's ever thought about ditching his/her job to do what he/she really wants to do in life, or at the very least, to someone who is seriously considering(or planning)extensive world travel, as I am. I actually hope to meet Rollins someday; perhaps we may cross paths while I'm on my own travels.

It's going to take a fairly intelligent person to fully understand this book to its full potential. There is a lot going on here and even more to criticize. But that's what makes it so great; its complete honesty. It's interesting to see how this man's mind works and how he deals with the world around him.

I don't believe it's a book to agree or disagree with but just to "watch". Only a pretty bright person can really relate to his base "you have to be alone to really create something worthwhile" attitude.

I think for most people this book will be an all or nothing experience.

This is pure crass class! I have read all the Coffee Blues books and they get more positive with time. This book for me was a kick in the (...) that I so rightly deserved. I work in an office. Rollins would call me a god damn coward and he's right as well. The message from this book is loud and clear. Get off your ass and do all those things you want to do, or be damned. This book made me want to (...) myself - just check out the man's reviews of some tracks for MTV. If that doesn't make you laugh nothing will. I am now returning to my cold, fluorescently lit, crummy small room. BUY IT OR DON'T BUY IT!

The third instalment of "the black coffee blues" series. Rollins has a different tone in this book. He seems more open to seeing the world, and less focused on wanting to destroy peoples souls... Fear not
though, this is still classic Rollins.