Usually if a book is crap I just put it down. It is so much easier than slogging through bruised purple prose but there is something about the manure created by music journalists that keeps me reading despite my misgivings. I call it the Klosterman Effect, after music journalist Chuck Klosterman. You remember him don't you? He wrote Fargo, Rock City and then some other shite. Fargo was readable, even enjoyable in it's defense of Heavy Metal and the personal stuff was easy enough to dismiss but then in his next book (whose name I will not mention here) I guess he ran out of music to write about and started writing about his personal life. It's not really a life, more like a desperate attempt to fool himself for another day. I imagine many music journalists suffer from this syndrome, I mean how many times can you give a Stevie Winwood or Michael Bolton album a positive review and still look yourself in the face every day?
Anyway, Rob Sheffield's Love Is a Mix Tape is a heartfelt paen to his dear departed wife rendered overly cute by the faux cassette song lists which they apparently made at that time.
At first I thought Sheffield would adhere to the song list prefacing each chapter, using each song as a bridge to a memory but no, instead he rambles on in that way that only music journalists do. Dude, if you were capable of poetic imagery and catchy lyricism you would be in a band, not writing about bands.
Some other problems I have;
- Nobody listened to Sugar Ray unless they had no choice so stop trying to change history Rob Sheffield.
- Mourning your wife by watching Audrey Hepburn and Liz Taylor movies is not sweet, it's just gay Rob Sheffield.
- Finally Rob Sheffield, you should know that you are a better writer than Klosterman and if you can shake off the deleterious effects of writing for Spin (poor, sad bastard) you should give it another go.
Love is a Mix Tape | By Rob Sheffield
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