Hopefully I’m off my rock and roll kick for awhile.
Can Pamela Des Barres write? No. The book is liberally strewn with such gems as “When I came to my extremely sensual senses” (although I am given to understand Jim Morrison had that effect), and someone giving her a “look of unabashed, wholesome cleanliness mixed with drop-down-dead hot, horny sexiness.” The over-the-top teeny-bop rhapsodizing had already worn pretty thin by the time I read that Waylon Jennings “itched his crotch” — oh my God no, no, NO! You do not itch things; you scratch them. What editor left that in? If it hadn’t been on my Kindle, I would have thrown the book across the room several times because of the horrible writing.
But…Does Pamela Des Barres have a story to tell? Definitely. There’s plenty of dish here. This was a girl having the time of her life, prescriptions and proscriptions of society be damned, sex and drugs and rock and roll like nobody’s business. How many girls get to cross Mick Jagger and Jimmy Page off their to-do lists?
If you can swallow 300+ pages of drug-and-sex-addled-teenage-girl-diary gushing, there’s a lot of fun in here.