Legs McNeile and Gillian McCain
New York, NY

Dear Sir and Madam:

Just finished your magnificent book, Please Kill Me, and although I found it a fascinating, disturbing, ultimately-depressing page-turner, I have two problems:

First, you never explain how The Sex Pistols, a group, as I understand it, made up kids who had almost zilch musical training and craft, recorded Never Mind the Bollocks, arguably the greatest rock and roll album ever. Compared to Bollocks, Marquee Moon is pretentious and flat. That two boarding school boys made it didn’t surprise me. Yeah, I know, Richard Hell wasn’t a rich kid—doesn’t matter, that mannered, up-tight, joylessness ultimately killed punk./new wave (I’m thinking of Squeeze, B-52s, Talking Heads, lots of Elvis Costello, etc.). Even The Clash always came off as poseurs.

Second problem is Patti Smith and Lou Reed. I saw both at the Bottom Line, and both—several times—in Madison, Wisconsin. At The Bottom Line, both gave enthusiastic performances, respected the audience, played thrilling encores. In Madison (and Lou’s case, once in Milwaukee), both were assholes. Dissing the audience—for what infraction, I never figured out—playing short sets, refusing to do encores. At a Patti Smith concert, for example, she went on a diatribe against organized labor (her sound system had a few bugs, quickly fixed). Then mercilessly berated some college kids who unfurled a “We love Patti” banner in the balcony. “Did I give you permission to use my name?” she screamed. “My brother’s in the Navy and he’ll kick your asses!” Shit like that. Then she did this incredibly infantile song called “Wave” where everyone had to stand up and do a thing with their fingers ending in a wave. It was so immature.

Lou Reed’s diatribe was against people who called for oldies like “Heroin” and “Rock and Roll Animal.” Given that he was pushing Coney Island Baby at the time, I sided with the audience. He bashed kids, many of whom had paid good money to see him, traveling from as far as Chicago, for being stupid. “That’s why I hate playing these fucking places,” he said, or something to the effect that the Midwest sucked. (I’m from New York, so my beef isn’t regional).

The worst experience I had—and I wished you mentioned it—was the Elvis Costello concert I attended back in 1977. Pure sadistic paranoia. If any kid was stupid enough to leave his seat for any reason—dancing in the aisle, taking a picture—humongous thugs immediately trounced on him—it was assault, pure and simple—then dragged the unfortunate out of the theater. I kept wondering, Is this legal? These kids were doing nothing bad. And Elvis is up there, several feet away, giving a show worthy of Traffic—boring, flat, note-by-note renditions of records that I stopped listening to years ago.

It was that gratuitous assholeness—as opposed to great performers like Bruce Springsteen and The Dead and even The Violent Femmes—that killed it for me.

I don’t think being rude to people who pay your bills—the fans—make you anti-establishment; it makes you an asshole.

Still, great book (though you should have kept the original ending with the dying Jerry Nolan remembering Elvis).

Best,

Recharger the dog