When you’re in bed with the flu and between moments of sleeping, about the only thing you can do without expending too much energy is read. Here’s the book I finished yesterday:
rating: 3 of 5 stars
This is a story about the author’s year-and-a-half spent working for a major record label in New York City. While the book is a continuous string of one-liners and has reviews of “Hilarious” and “hysterical inner monologue” on the cover, Dan Kennedy’s experience on the whole seems sad and sucky. I kept wanting to pluck the author out of his hell hole, except for his moment at an Iggy Pop concert, when he experiences true joy.
The bits after the end of the story are light-hearted. They lose the melancholy of the rest of the book. I especially liked Kennedy’s book group discussion questions.