TALK IS CHEAP / CHARACTER PRICELESS

"Gossip is the Devil's radio" - George Harrison

"Well, you know what they say: if you don't have anything nice to say about anybody, come sit by me! " - Claree (from Steel Magnolias)

I'm conflicted.

I mean, who doesn't love to dish?  To gossip a little?  Be a little snarky at times?  To flat out shit-talk? To discuss people we know (or those we don't, even if we feel as if we do because they come to us daily via our televisions and/or our iPods and/or our computer screens?)  It's natural.  Gossip's been around forever.  Shalom Alecheim called it "nature's telephone."  Shakespeare is the first to actually make "to gossip" a verb.  And I'd be a liar to say I didn't engage in gossip here and there.  I'd be a sanctimonious phony if I preached and pretended otherwise.   So here's the thing.

Gossip has taken on the qualities of a bloodsport and I can't stomach it.  There's good natured gossip.  There's genuine discussion of people behind-their-backs which doesn't have any evil intent.  (There will always be yentas.) And there's the natural curiosity about a celebrity or newsmaker.  And even though I ceased purchasing any magazines or newspapers since it's no longer part of my job to monitor them for gossip, don't think for a minute I ignore the stacks of US Weekly or Life & Style or People magazines calling to me while my pedicure dries.  I'll flip through the pages -- hell yeah, I'll peek to see which celebrity is JUST LIKE US! doing their own shopping or getting a mani or pushing their kids on a playground swing.  It's brain candy - the literary equivalent of mindlessly gobbling Jelly Bellys. 

And still, I feel just a little bit dirty and pathetic when I do so.  Am I a hypocrite then because I truly believe Perez Hilton is a horrible, horrible (sub) human?  He's nothing more than a self-righteous, non-repenting bully - never was anything more and never will be, no matter how he attempts to "rehabilitate" his persona, no matter how much weight he loses, no matter how long its been since he and his team of monkeys ceased drawing penises and semen all over celebrity photos, or how he disingenuously fawns over certain celebs and admonishes those who don't live up to his new found "standards."  The fact remains: Perez Hilton traffics in bullying and gossip at the expense of people.  He gets off and he gets very, very rich off of the misfortunes and missteps of others.  He is, at his core, a bad, hateful person. 

Harvey Levin is no better.  He's created an gazillion-dollar empire over at TMZ because people are obsessed with celebrities, be them A-, B- or D-list, and he's spread his reach (not unlike a flesh-eating bacteria) all over the TMZ (thirty-mile-zone - that's where the TMZ name comes from) and beyond, infiltrating police departments, hospitals, courthouses, and other entities who employ individuals more interested in gaining their 15minutes of fame (or more likely an easy payday) to turn in and turn over and turn on famous friends, co-workers, plaintiffs and patients.  But it doesn't matter how revolting I find Harvey Levin and his posse of paparazzi trolls.  I'm in the minority.  People are eating this slop up like pigs at the trough and causing more legitimate news outlets to lower themselves to TMZ levels in an attempt to compete for audience shares and breaking news.

It's the vicious nature of the gossip trafficked by Hilton and Levin and their ilk that is bothersome.  The simultaneous malevolence and sheer glee with which they deliver damaging news about people is nauseating.  The old-time gossip of a 1930s studio-coordinated publication or the warm, non-vicious gossip of icon Liz Smith is forever long gone, replaced by vultures preying on those they believe sold their souls to the devil for fame and fortune and therefore declaring open season.  The long-standing notion that we build people up only to tear them down has become a competitive sport.  It all makes me feel so dirty. 


I suppose it comes down to the basic idea that I don't want to belittle others in order to raise myself up.  I don't want to feel good about myself at the expense of other people.  Other people's success doesn't diminish me and others' failures don't embolden me.  If you lack any other way to build your own self-confidence and pride than to revel in the failures and foibles of others, you're a sad soul.  We all indulge in a bit of the schadenfreude now and then but it can't be the largest chunk on your dietary pyramid.  It's poisonous.

These thoughts have been ping-ponging around my brain for a while but it was hard to coalesce them into a coherent though until just recently.   I just finished reading Duff McKagan's autobiography, "It's So Easy (And Other Lies)" -- McKagan's memoir was spellbinding and I couldn't put it down (in fact, one night I shut off all communication with the world and slammed through 237 pages in one sitting to get to the final pages.)  It wasn't simply that McKagan's story was fascinating (Seattle punk upbringing, L.A. scene in the 80's, the global mindblowing success of Guns 'n' Roses, the subsequent fallout, medical adventures, and self-reinvention/recreation he's undergone to emerge as a true renaissance man) but it was his tone and his voice.  He told HIS story - brutal, honest, ugly, dirty, trashy, harsh, and redemptive -- the way he recalls it, the best he can but does not trash anyone in the process, even those with whom he's had massive conflicts, both on the business front and in the physical realm.  Duff chose to take the high road, tell his story in his own clear voice but didn't do so unfiltered -- he filtered out the instinct to take down others.  He'll let karma take care of them -- Duff lets the universe work it out on its own.

It was refreshing to read his writing knowing there wasn't a scorched-earth agenda.   There are a lot of rock 'n' roll memoirs I've avoided simply because the authors seem to be on a mission to "set the story straight" everyone else be damned... regardless of the fallout and pushback and consequences.   Sorry, that won't lure me into buying your book.

So as unlikely and bizarre as the connection might seem, Duff McKagan's memoir reminded me of Rob Lowe's autobiography, "Stories I Only Tell My Friends," another publication I was equally as obsessed with during reading and equally as vocal about recommending to anyone and everyone who would listen to me go on and on about how incredible a tale he wove.   Rob Lowe's book doesn't pull any punches.  He talks about his life, all of it -- his drug and alcohol addiction, his '80s video sex scandal, the stigma of being part of "The Brat Pack," his personal relationships (business and romantic) and professional failures and successes -- and he does so without trashing anyone else in the process.  You want to believe he's being too nice but you slowly begin to realize this is who this man is.   There's simply no need to belittle or badmouth anyone else in order to share his story.  And trust me,  it's not like he isn't name-dropping in every other paragraph -- there are more movie stars and political figures in Lowe's stories than you can count -- yet there isn't a trace of vindictiveness in his voice.  These are his stories.  The people in them happen to have famous names.  He'll share the anecdotes but if there's something that's not his to share, he doesn't.  And he almost refuses to speak negatively or assign bad intent even to those with whom he's had significant differences (he must have suffered nosebleeds from the high road he chose to wander while writing about Sam Seaborn's departure from "The West Wing.")  In the end, his personal experiences weave into the history of American pop culture over the past four decades making him our own (ridiculously good looking) Forrest Gump, with just as much purity of heart.

In both cases, McKagan and Lowe, you learn about these men's personal journeys but it's not just the stories that fascinate you, it's how strongly their personal character jumps out at you from the page.  These are compelling stories told by inherently decent men.  (Men of much more character and depth and accomplishment than a Levin or Hilton.)   It would be an incredible experience to witness the two sit down and talk over a drink (though both being alcoholics the meeting would likely be at a Jamba Juice or Starbucks, shares and shares of which McKagan owns.)  I'm sure there are other memoirs written with the same integrity and those are the books I'll seek out in the future.

People have asked me if I'd ever write a book about my personal experience in the music industry.  Maybe one day... but I'd never approach it as if on a vendetta (trust me, there are quite a few people who deserve a public come-uppance, and some who deserve the karma boomerang to impale itself firmly up their asses.)  It's not just due to confidentiality agreements or it being a small, incestuous industry -- it's because that's not who I am.   My story is my story and if I can't tell it without dragging others down with me, it's not worth telling.  

Does this make me naive?  Or a sap?  Or lacking the opportunistic gene?  So be it.  I don't find being malicious fun or fulfilling.  There has to be a way to share your story, whoever you are, without trashing others like so much collateral damage in the process.

Will it be as salacious? As dishy?  Nah.
Will you get as much coverage on the tripe-peddling entertainment "news" outlets?  Probably not.
Will you be able to sell your pitch to a publishing company who is counting on the gossipy headlines you generate to move sales and do their PR work for them?  Unlikely.

But will you be able to sleep well each night and look yourself in the eye in your mirror each morning?

You bet your ass.