I don’t recall who said it, but it’s absolutely true (and I’m paraphrasing, here), that: stories about junkies are really only interesting to other junkies.
So. This is the druggie diary of Nikki Sixx, of Motley Crue. Self-indulgent? Probably. Worthwhile? That’s your call. Interesting? On some levels. But it does seem to me, no matter what his intentions with this book, that there is still some glorifying of a way of life that means little to me, and many others, personally. So why did I read the book? Why didn’t I just see it for what it was and walk away? Well, I dunno, maybe I was hoping there’d be something redeeming in it. And there is, to a point.
The good here is that, while it’s written in the spirit of looking back through the pages of his diary at years spent fucked up, at his worst periods on junk, at least he’s looking back at it and not still fucked up on it. And he’s donated the profit to help runaway kids. Well done. So there is that.
This book only reaches me on superficial levels. Oh, it’s interesting to a point, I suppose, but only 59 pages into the thing, I realized it’s just repetitive. “I had to go to the studio, but I was fucked up. I used all day and all night and got really paranoid and hid in my closet. I hate drugs but I love them. I’m famous and I act like an asshole. Touring is so hard when you’re high all the time…” Blah blah blah, repeat.
At least he’s clear-eyed about it. Simply surviving, to be able to look back at all, is the greatest accomplishment of his life so far. But it still doesn’t validate his actions at all, and for a person in a position of such influence, the behaviour he admits to was, by and large, deplorable. We hear all the time about the pursuit of sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll. Fine, but we can’t all be Keith Richards, now can we. Nor should we be.
And aren’t I all high and mighty? Yeah, well, I’m not the one dumb enough to do that shit to myself, so cry me a river.
Ultimately, for me it’s still next to impossible to have complete sympathy for anyone strung out on drugs (whether you’ve met them or not), because they probably did it to themselves. It’s a choice. It’s their weakness, not mine. They started it, so they should finish it and make it stick. I suppose this book is his attempt to do just that, so fair enough. And the deleterious effects of the lifestyle? Life sucks, wear a helmet ‘cos you made your choice. At least this book is a step in the right direction for him as he tries to leave drugs behind, and power to him. Get help, man, and move on.
Like he said in the introduction about his intentions, if this book helps just one person get off drugs, then it’s totally worth it. Amen, brother. I hope it helps many.
Bonus Marks Question:
Would we have had such classic hair-metal records as Girls, Girls, Girls and Too Fast For Love if Sixx, chief song-writer, hadn’t been stoned out of his ass the whole time? Would it have mattered anyway? Discuss.