While I'm mentioning Blur, it seems apropos that I mention Alex James' recent autobiog, which I'm partway through. It's mostly a pretty breezy read, though James is no Peter Ustinov or David Niven. He's had a pretty charmed life though, with few of the struggles that typify rock biogs; Blur are fully formed by page 38, and have had their first hit by page 67.
One passage stands out so far. Not because it's well written, or revealing, or shocking, however. Instead, he's describing hotel life and touring...
Okay, it's hardly Led Zep fishing for sharks with groupies, or even The View flooding a Travelodge. But I can't help thinking that unlike Robert Plant, John Bonham, Jimmy Page et al, James had actually worked in a hotel. And therefore his actions are even more reprehensible. For taking the piss out of underpaid and overworked staff, Alex James is officially the Irk The Purists ***TWUNT OF THE MONTH***
Having worked in a hotel, I knew exactly how demanding guests could be and I set about making myself a nuisance, calling reception and asking for more pillows, more towels, more bubble bath, some matches, board games, books, whether they serve Ricicles at breakfast and if they knew anywhere I could get Golden Nuggets.
Nominations for November's Twunt of the Month will be announced shortly.
2 comments:
Alex James like to think he's a country gent, but he's more like Michael Elphick in Withnail & I.
Spot on! "Here hare here."
Funnily enough he describes Damien Hirst in similar terms in his autobiog (i.e. as fairly rustic despite a patina of metropolitan sophistication), and I happen to think that he's right about that too.
In his defence, James has a good amount of self-awareness throughout the book, and so I'm surprised that his appalling behaviour in the passage cited passed without any self-criticism...
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