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Rating: "Relax, I was staring at him because he looks just like Jimi Hendrix for heaven's sake".
I don't know about you, but it often happens to me, you get the inspiration to do something but if you don't do it immediately, it ends up being forgotten or eliminated from the current priorities. You don't even think about it anymore until something comes along, an input that brings it back to prominence.
That's how it happened with this book as well. I grabbed it as soon as it was released but it got thrown away carelessly and was inexplicably surpassed by others I picked up later. I had never read books about the Seattle kid and it was already the second one recommended to me by a dear friend, a certified Hendrixologist/Hendrixian (let's say the first one, the second sounds like a Christian Democrat or a Renzian).
It was one morning in front of the bar, for the first of many coffees of the day, the sight of this guy among his friends was the trigger; same brooding smile, same hair... no, the clothes were definitely different, and after risking an argument at 7 in the morning with these young men, in the afternoon I started reading the forgotten book.
"Me, the best in the world?! Nonsense" J.H.
I never understood the "rankings" of musicians. Only someone better could (and always with a personal opinion) afford to judge... but if they are the best?... well, for me, it's an old, useless story. Anyway, who cares who the best is. One thing I believe is objective: Jimi Hendrix is the only guitar recognizable after just a few chords. Even by me. Hendrix revolutionized the guitar, redefined its sound, expanded its boundaries.
All self-taught, no formal training, he would listen to a record and instantly reproduce it on the guitar. An extraordinary, unique, absolute talent.
What has always impressed me about him is his relationship with the instrument; a physical relationship of love and longing. Even the way they moved on stage was something never seen before (or after). I've read several times that for Jimi, the guitar was an extension of his arm; I disagree, I would bet he spontaneously used the guitar better than his limb. He always seemed to be playing with his guitar, even in the way he wore it on his shoulder, how he handled it, how he held his right thumb over the neck... everything was different from the others, unique, with a disarming naturalness. Jimi dominated the guitar, dominated the stage and his charisma was incredible. "It’s like all the souls come together"; that's how he described a well-achieved concert. His music may or may not be to everyone's taste (oh dear, in the latter case you're in bad shape), but he is one of those who are in a category of their own.... like Ali, Federer, Maradona, you know.
Alan Douglas is a film producer and friend of Hendrix who also dealt with many of his posthumous records, while Peter Neal made the only biopic ("Experience") dedicated to the musician during the years 67/68 and screened while he was still alive. The two brought together all of Jimi's documented writings.
"Neither Alan nor I had any intention of putting words in his mouth, so we started experimenting with dialogues based on things Jimi had actually said. By using only authenticated sources, we pieced together an enormous dossier. There was an overabundance of material because during the four years in the spotlight, Jimi gave continuous interviews. Furthermore, he was an inveterate writer: he used hotel stationery and loose sheets, cigarette packs, napkins, and whatever came to hand... when examining the available material, one gets the distinct impression that Jimi left a vast and notable account of himself, despite being fragmented and sometimes elliptical. In short, Alan and I felt the need to give Jimi an opportunity to illustrate his personal vision of life and music amidst a myriad of legends and half-truths. Zero is the result of reorganizing this material according to a narrative logic."
The reading flows quickly and pleasantly: letters and postcards (especially to his dad), interviews, notes, poems, some of his lyrics, and above all pages from a personal diary that tell us about his thoughts, his emotions.
Adolescence, running away from home and school, life as a wanderer, military conscription to avoid prison; and then the Guitar, which becomes his inseparable companion, the source of every type of emotion he will experience. His first experiences as a musician for hire - so to speak! - for various artists (Isley Brothers and especially Little Richard, who treats him like a rag), the meeting with Chandler and the departure for London. He feels right at home in old England, the rise with his band is meteoric, then the return to America, eager to show what he can do where, until a few months before, he was a nobody. The story of the album recordings, the live performances, the festivals he participated in. Admiration for Dylan and the Beatles. Love for Sweden "I always had a soft spot for Sweden, I like performing here because I feel like the audience can sense the purpose of our music. There are different ways in the world to express appreciation but in this, the Swedes are unbeatable... and then peace and silence... and the girls are prettier than elsewhere."
Blues, freedom, improvisation, experimentation. These four words/concepts recur incessantly. Blues is his music, the foundation of everything. The other three words represent what he wanted most of all; to do new things all the time, to explore, to have no restrictions, the maximum freedom of expression. He couldn't stand classifications in musical genres, he couldn't conceive them, he considered them an absurdity.
Everything, however, doesn't happen, and in a very short time, Jimi shifts from the exaltation of London, the first album, and Monterey, to depression and insecurity, to the pains caused by the oppressive demands of record companies and the whole music business environment. He is a star, but he doesn't have a strong character. He suffers from critics' judgment (which he hates but endures), there is always the psychological burden of what his father thinks, having to constantly demonstrate what he has become. The thoughts become confused, often writing one thing and shortly after almost the opposite. He's a person everyone wants on their side and who, however, doesn't give the impression of having clear ideas and above all of being able to assert them. Completely overwhelmed by events.
I felt a lot of sadness for him, he hardly enjoyed himself. The Greatest was caged by the system and didn't have the strength to rebel. Many of his thoughts made me genuinely tender. He should have and could have had it all, but instead, mind and body couldn't make it.
I've read enthusiastic comments on this book; they don't find me in agreement. The book is interesting precisely because it tells his life (or at least part of his life) directly from his own testimonies. A couple of things, however, "lower" my judgment. The writings, at least the "personal diary", I cannot believe weren't "adjusted" and/or cut in the transcription; it seems impossible to me that a little more than twenty-year-old boy with the world at his fingertips, at least apparently, talks about parties, drugs, women almost as a monk would, or often doesn't mention them at all, come on! (and yet I haven't read anyone who noticed this). It's too scattered in themes and periods to be considered an autobiography as the authors tell us. I believe it is a book of interesting but vague and confused emotions, which needs to be paired with a more chronologically detailed book on Jimi's history. From the mix of the two, the most possible could emerge about the Seattle kid. That's why I'll recover "Jimi Hendrix: a Purple Haze" which had been previously recommended to me.
Happy reading, anyway, the guy always deserves it big time.
This is the history of Rock in its noblest essence, no jokes.
Au revoir, les Nobles
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