| Stevie
Wright was the lead singer in the 1960's pop group The
Easybeats. From the success of chart-topping recordings
and performances to the desperation of drug addiction,
the man's life has been media fodder. It was only a
matter of time before someone wrote a book about him.
The
most interesting part of this book occurs before page
one. It is a little ditty told by Dorothy Wright about
her son when he was two years old. The rest of the
narrative is an unfolding of Stevie Wright's days
of fame and infamy spliced between the author's process
of gathering the material for the book. A compelling
device.
The
writing is straightforward and pragmatic, yet Marx
uses metaphors, similes, allegories, anecdotes and
droll observations to maximum effect. For example,
on being accused of raping a girl, the author in the
story lets us know . . . anyone who's ever known me
intimately is aware that, with alcohol or drugs in
my system, I am physically incapable of satisfying
even the most lascivious tart of the termite kingdom.
And, fixing the antenna . . . I stand astride the
spine of the roof, each foot precariously placed on
tiles which could at any moment become skateboards.
However,
as a reader, I did not like or have any feeling for
a single character in the book. Marx writes a two-page
diatribe about the uselessness of popstars near the
beginning of the story, signalling that he is letting
one accompany him on a journey of discovery of a person
he has no empathy with or sympathy for. I would be
curious, very curious, to read the story of Little
Stevie Wright written from the perspective of Harry
Vanda and George Young, co-band members of The Easybeats,
who moved on from pop success to become respected
song writers and businessmen within the music industry.
Over the years they tried to help their friend Steve.
Sorry
is obviously a younger person's observation of an
older person's failed life. I personally did.
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