Everything I'm Cracked Up to Be: A Rock & Roll Fairy Tale: A Rock & Roll Fairy Tale – A Behind-the-Scenes Memoir of Major Label Bidding Wars and 1990s Music - Softcover

Trynin, Jen

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0156032961 ISBN 13: 9780156032964

Verlag: Mariner Books, 2007

Inhaltsangabe

It was 1994: post–Liz Phair, mid–Courtney Love, just shy of Alanis Morissette. After seven years of slogging it out in the Boston music scene, Jen Trynin took a hard look at herself and gave “making it” one last shot.

It worked. Suddenly Trynin became the spark that set off one of the most heated bidding wars of the year. Major labels vied for her, to the tune of millions of dollars in deals. Lawyers, managers, and booking agents clamored for her attention. Billboard put her on the cover. Everyone knew she was the Next Big Thing. But then she wasn’t.

In a series of dizzying, hilarious, heartbreaking snap­shots, Trynin captures what it’s like to be catapulted to the edge of rock stardom, only to plummet back down to earth. Everything I’m Cracked Up to Be is the story of a girl who got what she wished for—and lived happily ever after anyway.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

JEN TRYNIN lives in Boston. This is her first book. She still rocks, when she feels like it.

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An Entertainment Weekly Editor's Choice

A People Great Read

"An edgy, honest and bittersweet account . . . without a drop of self-pity."—Los Angeles Times

"Much more than a memoir . . . a wonderfully well-written, funny book that stands alone as a story of letting your failures become what make you a success."—Bust magazine


It was 1994: post–Liz Phair, mid–Courtney Love, just shy of Alanis Morissette. After seven years of slogging it out in the Boston music scene, Jen Trynin gave "making it" one last shot. It worked. Major labels offered millions of dollars in deals. Billboard put her on the cover. Everyone knew she was the Next Big Thing. But then she wasn’t. Catapulted to the edge of rock stardom Trynin plummeted back down to earth. Everything I’m Cracked Up to Be is the story of a girl who got what she wished for—and lived happily ever after anyway.

"Hilarious . . . expertly observed . . . At once bittersweet and laugh-out-loud funny, it captures the music biz at its most surreal."—HITS

"I’ve read enough biz books to be certain this is one of the best . . . Read it quick."—Robert Christgau, The Village Voice

 

Jen Trynin lives in Boston with her husband and daughter. This is her first book. She still rocks, when she feels like it. For more: www.JenTrynin.com.

Aus dem Klappentext

"With plenty to say and ample musical gifts with which to say it, Boston newcomer Jennifer Trynin is poised to join the upper ranks of GenX alternative rock queendom . . . One of the year's best debuts. A revelation."--Billboard
It was 1994--post-Liz Phair, mid-Courtney Love, just shy of Alanis Morissette. After seven years of slogging it out in the Boston music scene, Jen Trynin took a hard look at herself and gave "making it" one last shot.
It worked. Trynin sparked one of the most heated bidding wars of the year. Major labels vied for her, to the tune of multiple millions of dollars in deals. Lawyers, managers, and booking agents clamored for her attention. Rolling Stone photographed her, Billboard put her on the cover. Everyone knew she was the Next Big Thing. And then, just as suddenly, she wasn't.
In a series of dizzying, hilarious, heartbreaking snapshots, Trynin captures what it's like to be catapulted to the edge of stardom, only to plummet back down to earth. Everything I'm Cracked Up to Be is the story of a girl who got what she wished for--and lived happily ever after anyway.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

1994. November 1. 4 p.m.
 
     91 South! There! On the left!” Buck is turned around in the front passenger seat. You’re clear! Go!”
 
     Robby swerves left, to much horn-honking and raising of fists from other drivers. Yikes,” he says. Touchy.”
 
     Oh yeah?” says Buck, rolling his window down, sticking his hand out and giving someone the finger. How about this?” he says, sticking out his other hand, giving the double finger.
 
     The sun is low in the sky and flashing across the highway. We’re on our first band trip to New York and I’m feeling slightly delirious and very pinch-me. We’re playing at Brownie’s, the kind of skanky rock dive I’ve been dying to play. In my previous life, the mere mention of Brownie’s caused me deep pangs of inferiority and what-about-me.
 
     You know that guy,” someone might say. Freddy? From Brownie’s?”
 
     Sure,” I’d say, the booking guy,” hoping I wouldn’t have to admit that I’d been calling Freddy from Brownie’s for over two years to exactly zero avail.
 
     Until a few weeks ago, when he’d finally called me back.
 
     Yeah, this is Freddy from Brownie’s,” he said when I answered. I’m looking for Jennifer Trynin?”
 
     This is Jen,” I said, my heart pounding up a storm.
 
     Oh, hey. Well, like, I got your 45 with the big boots on it andthat’s yours, right? This is you, right?”
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     Yeah,” I said. How in the world did Freddy from Brownie’s get ahold of my 45?
 
     Well, I think it’s really good. Where you from?”
 
     Boston,” I said.
 
     What’re they puttin’ in the water up there anyway? A lot of great bands comin’ outta Boston. How come I never heard of you?”
 
     Shit shit shit. I didn’t want to admit that until very recently, few people cared about my music one way or the other. So I began coughing, fake choking-coughingwhich unfortunately dislodged something in my lungs that really did catch in my throat, causing a real coughing fit.
 
     Hey, you okay?” asked Freddy. Want me to hang on? Maybe get yourself some water?”
 
     No, no, I’m okay,” I wheezed, pounding myself on the chest. Just getting over a cold.”

   Sounds like a bitch,” he said. Anyway, you want a gig?”
 
You alive back there?” asks Buck.
 
     What?”
 
     I said do you like the Clash?”
 
     I guess,” I say.
 
     You guess?” says Buck, turning around, leaning over the back of his seat and hitting me on the head with a magazine. He smiles. Go back to sleep, rock star.”
 
     I smile, closing my eyes, the sunlight catching in my lashes, and for once I’m not dreaming. This is the way I’d always imagined it would be. Me and my bandmates goofing around in the van, roaming the highways. I have the feeling I used to get driving down to the Jersey shore with my family when I was maybe six. I’d pile blankets into the back-back of the station wagon and make a fort where I could be alone, but not really alone. I remember wanting never to get there, wanting always to stay just like we were in that car, together and forgiving, because there was nowhere else to go.
 
I’m walking toward Brownie’s big black door, which is covered with band stickers and graffiti and chewing gumwhen someone bursts through from the other side.
 
     Hallefuckinluiah!” yells this short guy with long black hair who’s sucking on a lollipop. His fingers are dirty. You’re Jennifer, right?” He has a black leather jacket and a long nose with two silver studs.
 
     Are you Freddy?”
 
     Ready Freddy and willing,” he says. He’s clacking the lollipop around in his mouth a mile a minute. Hey, you didn’t tell me this was gonna be a fuckin’ showcase. You got some pretty big dudes calling. You gonna be a rock star or something?” Freddy yanks the lollipop from his mouth with his dirty fingers and whips it toward the street, hitting the side of our van where it shatters and falls to the ground.
 
     Hey man, that’s our van,” I say, not giving in to my fear of people like Freddy. I don’t know what kind of life they really lead but I always picture it damp and poorly lit, filled with knives and heroin.
 
     Oh,” he says. Sorry ’bout that, partner. Listen, I’ll go get some crew guys to help with your gear,” and he disappears inside again. This is the first time anyone from a club has ever offered to help me do anything. I feel like I’ve been let in on some kind of secret handshake. For a moment, I imagine never having to carry my equipment again, but after a while, when no help materializes, I start dragging my amp across the sidewalk and life rubberbands back to normal.
 
     Inside, Brownie’s is no frills, just a big rectangular room with a bar along one wall and a stage at the end. Freddy counts through a ream of brown paper tickets and hands me twenty-four. Good for domestic beers or a buck off mixed drinks,” he says. I’m giving you guys extra cuz I’m stoked you’re playing here tonight.”
 
     You are?” I say.
 
     Yeah,” he says. You know, it’s good for the club when this kinda shit goes down.”
 
     What kinda shit?”
 
     You know, sharkfest,” says Freddy. Mark my fuckin’ words.”
 
     Awesome,” says Robby.
 
     Words marked,” says Buck, putting his arm around me, squeezing me tight, then pushing me away. Stophugging me all the time,” he says.
 
     I rip the tickets into eights and hand Buck and Robby theirs.
 
     Whoa,” says Robby. Can I sell some of these?”
 
     You trying to get us drunk, little lady?” says Buck. Planning on taking advantage of us after the show?”
 
     Do I have to wait that long?” I say, smiling at my guys. They seem to be glowing, as if the highway sun is still shining on them, as if they’re the best friends I’ve ever had and we’ll be like this forever.
 
H
 
1968, age four: I begin taking piano from the old lady down the street. She calls me Jenny my dear” and smells like an attic.
 
Eight: My cousin is married to the guitar player Robben Ford. He’s on tour with Joni Mitchell, which is how I end up backstage in a brightly lit room with lots of tables and mirrors and...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Mariner Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2007
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0156032961
• ISBN 13: 9780156032964
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Auflage: 1
• Anzahl der Seiten: 368
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Product Safety Manager; enquiries@harpercollins.ie; ; HarperCollins, Macken House, 39/40 Mayor Street Upper; Dublin 1; D01 C9W8; Irland