Books like Mid-life Confidential: The Rock Bottom Remainders Tour America with Three Chords and an Attitude

This relic, which perhaps should have been left buried and forgotten, has all the feeling of the last dying gasp of the Big Chill/Me Generation, written about five years after anyone might care that Stephen King, Dave Barry, and Amy Tan (the latter in full s&m garb) would be touring in a rag-tag rock band singing “Wooly Bully,” “These Boots Are Made for Walking,” and “Double Shot (Of My Baby’s Love).” (And yes, a full set-list is provided, for those who are curious as to just which songs these aging Boomer non-musicians played during their ten-day “tour.”) At least the title is honest. These writers are all clearly going through a mid-life crisis and, on the cusp of transitioning from middle age to old age, are trying for one last hurrah at being young enough to do shit like this. And, of course, they’re doing it “for the cause” -- in this case the American Library Association. (Another old chestnut of 80s excess is the accompanying Boomer guilt: every self-indulgent display must be done for some cause, which reminds me of the satirical opening of Randy Newman’s video “It’s Money That Matters,” when Newman deadpans, “Gotta keep workin’ for the cause…” as he rides off in his antique Buick Roadmaster convertible. In the case of this book, the "cause" is pretty much an afterthought.) To give you an idea of how dated this entire project is, the band was organized in 1991 via fax machine exchanges. But “dated” is probably the least of the problems here. In short, this book is boring, which is a surprising conclusion, considering it contains essays from Stephen King, Amy Tan, Dave Barry, Barbara Kingsolver, Greil Marcus, Matt Groening, and Dave Marsh -- all more-or-less at the height of their careers and popularity. And yet, this book is utterly, fantastically, overwhelmingly dull. How is that even possible? The whole point was to get a first-hand glimpse at wacky writers letting their hair down in a pastiche of rockstardom. They even had Al Kooper along for the ride. When I was growing up in the 90s, I loved all these writers and enjoyed the kind of music they played. I can remember as a teenager in the mid-90s devouring King’s work and reading Dave Barry’s syndicated columns religiously. That 13-year-old me would have torn through the this book while listening to the local oldies station in the background and thinking, “These writers are SO COOL.” Twenty-five years later, I chuckle at both myself and them. This nostalgic trip should probably have remained (pardon the pun) in the bargain bin.