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21 of 22 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
An unglamorous and honest self-portrait., August 31, 2008
This review is from: When I Grow up: A Memoir (Hardcover)
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A disclaimer: I've been madly in love with Juliana Hatfield's music since I was in high school, in the "find an excuse to leave work at 10 in the morning and buy her new album the day it comes out when the stores open" sort of way. This makes it highly unlikely that I'm capable of delivering a fully unbiased view of this book.
Having gotten that out of the way, "When I Grow Up" is a refreshing snapshot of a musician whose career, by all commercial measures, has been on the decline for well over a decade. Hatfield does not present the sort of tawdry, polished trash that most memoirs by rock artists put out-- there's no ghost writer, there's no glamor. But there is something entirely different-- a lot of grit, a lot of hope and a lot of fragility.
Splitting the chapters largely between non-linear biographical reflections and a detailed account of her US tour promoting Gold Stars 1992-2002, it's largely a story of a shy and somewhat neurotic young woman thrust into a dirty, grimy world of touring rock clubs-- unclean hotels, poor sound systems and creepy fans. And as a fan of Hatfield's music, it's entirely what I'd hope it would be-- well written, engaging and brutally honest. Hatfield does not hide from herself, from her failings, weaknesses and problems, but rather presents them, not as some romanticized presentation of the perils of the rock and roll life, but rather as the everyday troubles of someone trying to live their life and get past their own frailties.
I've been trying to think, as I set out to write this review, if this is something for someone who isn't into Hatfield's music, and I think the answer is a distinct maybe. What she presents is something we don't get a lot of: the point of view of the person who's fallen out of favor. Juliana Hatfield is someone who has survived as a musician but she hasn't exactly thrived.
This book is being released to coincide with Hatfield's latest record, the polished How to Walk Away, a superb effort in its own right, but I'd suggest that a better soundtrack could be found with 1997's Please Do Not Disturb, written shortly after the non-release of "God's Foot", that record very much captures the feel of this text.
Bottom line-- this is a well written and interesting portrait of life as a musician. She doesn't pull any punches and it was everything that her music, painfully honest in a way I'd expect from Hatfield (this is someone who posited, "it's a miracle I'm even here, you're over me" on perhaps her rawest record, 2006's Made in China). Memoirs rarely live up to expectations, they seem too careful. This one is very much what I would have hoped for it.
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16 of 18 people found the following review helpful:
3.0 out of 5 stars
Juliana's version of "Mein Kampf" - seriously., January 1, 2009
This review is from: When I Grow up: A Memoir (Hardcover)
This book is recommended for fans of Juliana Hatfield and readers who'd like to get a glimpse of the "inner workings" of an artist. I have a lot of Juliana's CDs as well as a few Blake Babies efforts and I enjoy her music from time to time. After reading this book, I can't say much surprised me re: Juliana and her thoughts. A fan of hers can glean this from her recordings.
The book is surprisingly well-written. It's a quick read - but one you don't want to end. In the "readability" department, it's a 5-star book. Juliana is a natural and talented writer. She's very articulate and expressive as well as observant and pretty darn funny. She'd be a great music critic or columnist in a music related magazine. She also excels at social commentary - making wry observations as she travels the country on tour.
As mentioned in other reviews, the chapters alternate between her tour at the time of the writing and meaningful events in her past. It's slightly annoying at first - you'd like her to expound on how the Blake Babies picked up momentum and got signed and so forth, but instead of that the next chapter picks up on tour again. Is it really necessary to know about each club and what her memories are of the audience and the food spread from show to show? I think it was easier for her to fill the book via her journals. I wish she'd gone the autobiography route - She really leaves the reader begging for more autobiographical info. Read the chapters that go beyond the tour and you'll see what I mean. As I read through the book I found myself asking questions re: her food intake, outlook on life and business acumen. Some of these questions were answered towards the end of the book.
It's hard to comment on the book without criticizing Juliana herself. She strikes me as being snobby, condescending and oblivious to what it takes to maintain a fanbase. I've never seen her live, but after reading this it's obvious that as a fan I'd most likely be disappointed in her concerts - she writes about how detached and sloppy her performances were throughout the tour, and I certainly wouldn't want to hang around and meet her. She clearly finds dealing face to face with her fans as something she'd prefer not to do. And she claims it's because of anxieties and not being able to fake a smile. She'll pretend not to hear people call her name and things like that! She reminds me of someone you'd date who was self-effacing, vulnerable and had lots of issues, but instead of feeling sorry for her predicament, you can't stand her because she is disparaging and nitpicks you to no end. She could take a hint from a country artist and realize that some time spent after a gig meeting her fans might help keep her fanbase interested in her and maybe get some good word-of-mouth going for her next tour. Why not genuinely try to like people that make it possible for you to make a living at music? I get the impression she views signing CDs as a necessary evil, rather than a way to meet some of her fans.
It was painful and annoying hearing her repeatedly complain about her hunger as the band drove into a new city. She'd routinely eat one Clif bar for breakfast and next to nothing for lunch then be famished when dinner rolled around and the "spread" (if there was one) at the club wasn't up to her expectations. Why not load up a cooler with some nutritious food so you don't starve? And God forbid if there was any kind of non-vegetable matter (like cheese) on her food. She won't eat the food or she'll scrape it off. She's a vegan and foolishly expects to be able to roll into some nowhere town and find good vegan cooking (if there is such a thing.) She disparages most of the clubs she plays. Good luck getting booked in them again when you decide to tour in the future!
The ironic part of all this, and the pathetic part is that she is fully aware of her shortcomings - she wishes she could be better with her fans and her relationships. She appears to enjoy wallowing in her depression. She occasionally meets men that she has momentary crushes on, but instead of going out after a show somewhere - and maybe making a new friend or potential lover, she retreats to her hotel room. Self-fulfilling prophesy. This is not an inspirational book. It could be called Juliana's "Mein Kampf". And I'm not joking. It's more of a book on what it's like going through life painfully self-conscious, anorexic and mildly to moderately depressed. It made me wonder about the cliche "you are what you eat". If you don't nourish your body, the rest of your being suffers. Read it if you want to feel Juliana's pain or maybe feel better about yourself. About 5% of this book is triumph. Most of it is self obsession. Funny thing is that after reading the book I still liked her, it's hard not to since you get to know her so well, and you know she wishes she could do better.
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14 of 16 people found the following review helpful:
1.0 out of 5 stars
For Hard-Core Fans Only, May 8, 2010
This review is from: When I Grow up: A Memoir (Hardcover)
A major disappointment.
I understand her desire to write a 'warts-and-all' memoir, but instead of giving us gritty reality, Hatfield does nothing but throw herself one long pity party - 300 pages of it.
There are passages regarding life on the road that are interesting and show promise. But her god-awful writing makes the book read like the diary of a teenage drama student. (Where WAS the editor, anyway?) She is a talented song writer for sure, but the poetry involved in song writing is a completely different animal from that of writing prose, and Hatfield simply isn't up to the task. Virtually every-other page exhibits embarrassingly twisted grammar, awful sentence structure and excruciatingly bad writing technique
Worse still is Hatfield's constant complaining: She didn't get $15 food money from a promoter.......her hotel room had an odor she didn't like.......all the "adoring" fans won't leave her alone....she was only paid $1,500 for a show instead of the $3k she wanted........waaa, waaa, waaa. At first I thought this was a set up for later enlightenment. I was waiting for the moment of 20-20 hindsight - the "I see now how lucky I truly was and I shouldn't have treated people like that" moment. But, no, she just keeps complaining right up to the end.
Amazingly, she doesn't even catch on to her numerous contradictions and ironies. Her complaint about not getting the $15 meal money is quickly followed by the chapter about her $400,000.00 advance, for example ($400k would buy a lot of meals, I would think). She admits the $1500 paycheck for the above-mentioned show was "pretty good money, though. I couldn't complain, really." Only to then go ahead and spend the next full page complaining about it.
In one instance, she's approached by a fan after a show who wanted her to autograph about 20 CD's. The discs included imports, singles, and very rare discs that Hatfield admits even SHE doesn't own. But instead of recognizing that this man was a major fan who obviously goes through a lot of effort to purchase her work (and in doing so, puts money in Hatfield's pocket, allowing her to lead the kind of life she's always wanted and the rest of us dream about - a concept that's continually lost on her throughout the book), Hatfield can do nothing but complain about this fan - for a full page and a half - and how burdensome it would be to sign all 20 disc. (She ends up only signing two and sends the fan away.)
Indeed, her lengthy screeds about long-past slights (or at least what she perceives as slights) only leads the reader to ask the obvious questions: can't Hatfield let go of anything? Why does she devote so much effort and page space to minor offenses from years past? What kind of person would be so petty as to spend a full bile-filled page about $15 she didn't get 7 years ago? And why am I wasting my time reading it?
As with most artists with small but highly devoted fan bases, Hatfield's hard-core fans will see anything she creates as nothing less than brilliant (I probably take that attitude toward anything Nick Cave does). But to the rest of us, this is a tortuous book to read, written by a narcissistic, ham-handed writer.
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