I think Albert Goldman and Phillip Norman demonstrate that losers really shouldn’t write books about rock and roll LMAO. Like so many of the tales they put in their own words or put their spin on- you can just make out a stripped down version of the story that really isn’t that shocking or out of step with what we know. But they hear these stories and their eyes pop out of their heads like looney tunes characters because they’ve never been to a crazy party or taken drugs or lived with any kind abandon in their lives. Which is fine, but then they have some pretty heavy judgement for the people who do, while also being fascinated and disgusted at the same time. So they can’t help but fiddle with the narrative.
People who find stories about sex and drugs that shocking, who want to make them either even more lurid or who can’t really contend with the implication that not everyone involved was a red blooded heterosexual and needing to explain it all away- shouldn’t be writing about some of the most hedonistic figures of the 20th century, imho. So many of the people who write about rock stars are so stuffy and just have no benchmark for what they’re delving into, let alone the extent to which these guys lived it.
If either of them were actually party animals and I’m wrong someone please correct me, as I’d be fascinated to know. But I feel pretty sound in my read.
IDK if I would paint them quite with the same brush (Norman is less salacious in his writing, for one, and also Goldman can definitely contend with people not being hetero lmao — there's this one passage where he appears to be mocking John for being closeted) but I get your point overall. I agree that they add tone to stuff that isn't really all that implausible when viewes through a more neutral lens.
