LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
BOOKED Solid |
Reviewed by Rebecca James |
The Truth Is...My Life in Love and Music, Melissa Etheridge, Autobiography, 2001
The truth is...Melissa Etheridge's talent lies in music, not writing, and some people might even argue with that. I'm no diehard Etheridge fan, but I do enjoy some of her rowdier songs and her stage presence during concerts. My ambivalence towards her music allowed me to remain objective while reading the singer's first (and hopefully last) book, an autobiography. Co-authored by Laura Morton, The Truth Is...My Life in Love and Music was just released this month. The rock star's autobiography was eagerly anticipated by many fans, in particular her loyal lesbian following. Billed as shocking and insightful, a very personal and revealing portrait of the true Melissa Etheridge, The Truth Is... exposed more than just family secrets. The book revealed Etheridge's social, emotional, and intellectual immaturity. A loosely organized retelling of her pattern of bad relationships and a brief, under-explored family history, the book lacked introspection. I do not necessarily attribute this to her lack of writing talent in this genre; in fact, I think the book is a very accurate representation of the author's shocking naivet. Despite the years of therapy Etheridge wears like a badge of mental health, she still seems to lack the depth I expected from someone who leads a life about which most people can only dream. There is a phenomenon noted by media and communications scholars where famous politicians and celebrities have begun to lose their superhuman aura. This has occurred because of the increasing exposure to the public as the real, imperfect people they really are through television and other forms of mass media. In this case, however, Etheridge joins the ranks of celebrities who have dug their own grave. She is a casualty of not knowing the limits of her own talentand not hiring a good enough ghost writer. By maintaining too much control over her own book, Etheridge's life story is lost. I was able to glean a few interesting facts about her life and music; I think she could have had a very interesting biography, written by someone with access to the facts and the knowledge of how to string them together in an appealing way with a greater sense of perspective. Etheridge and her publishers tout her two Grammy awards, seven albums, and Songwriter of the Year award as evidence of her tremendous professional growth. She began her musical career as a child, playing with local adult groups around her hometown of Leavenworth, Kansas as "Missy Etheridge." Following a brief and unsuccessful stint at Berklee College of Music in Boston, Etheridge found her niche playing at women's bars and festivals in California. She struggled to cut her first album, but finally found an agent interested in representing a new sound in rock. The 1990s' surge of female performers was yet to come, but Etheridge was ready when it did. Etheridge's raw appeal and energy are evidenced in many of her songs; her lyrics read like the personal diary of a heartbroken young woman. The problem is, Etheridge never grew up. She is still the pining adolescent in her songs. The sexual experiences she describes in the book (or rather, offers up as proof of her desirability) are no more thought provoking, life changing, or meaningful than a college fling. Etheridge apparently ceased to develop as a social and emotional being as she gained popularity as a musician. Her "bold and unflinching account of an extraordinary life" is clich at best; her observations of people and relationships are no more insightful than the self-conscious ramblings of a teenage diary. Maybe I should give Melissa Etheridge, lesbian-rock-star-icon, a break. After all, she's really only had a few long-term relationships with unhealthy women: unfaithful, abusive, and not really gay, quite a line-up. If you're really interested in how David Crosby came to be the father of her children, go for it. Read the book. But you'll have to cringe as Etheridge writes about her struggle to stay in her impossible relationship with Julie Cypher. The most interesting bit of gossip in the whole book is that Julie slept with k.d. lang while dating Melissa Etheridge (for not being gay, Julie sure can pick 'emmaybe she should date Anne Heche). Etheridge defends their decision to have children in an attempt to save their relationship by reasoning that straight people do the same thing. Hey, works for meby that rationale, you can do all sorts of fun things. As for the "shocking family secrets," be prepared for a let down. Inappropriate touching on the part of her sisterher senior by only four yearsis about the extent of it. Who didn't play doctor as a kid? Etheridge contends that it was against her will, that the shame she felt from those incidents when the girls were six and ten still permeates her life today. She calls her sister controlling and manipulative and blames her physically abusive relationships with women on Jennifer's behavior as a child. The sisters' relationship is still rocky today and I bet publicly accusing her of incest didn't help it. Celebrities often complain about lack of privacy in their lives; they've been known to sue tabloids like the Inquirer and the Star. In reality, I think they live for the attention. Etheridge does have enough insight to recognize that she fills the emptiness she feels inside with food, sex, and codependent relationships. What she doesn't seem to understand is that her lifestyle and celebrity have contributed to the empty feeling and have provided her with a new drug: fame. In general, people who made their mark in music, like Etheridge, or comedy, like Ellen Degeneres, or other fields besides writing do not make the best authors of their life stories. For truly loyal fans (and her book is obviously written for a lesbian audience) who are not particularly concerned with writing quality, The Truth Is... might be a fun beach book. For everyone else, stick with her music and wait for the biography written by someone else. Rebecca James is spending her summer reading, writing, and happily massaging at Rehoboth's Spa by the Sea on Baltimore Ave. She hopes she saved you a few bucks on this book and promises to review a good book next time. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 11, No. 9, July 13, 2001. |