For those of you not in the know, Duff McKagan was the bassist in the original line-up of Guns N Roses. You know, the incarnation that brought you “Welcome to the Jungle” (<3) and “Sweet Child of Mine” and “Patience” and “I Used to Love Her”. The same band that graced the walls of my bedroom in many photos and posters in my high school years. And oh yeah, there’s his other huge success story: Velvet Revolver. Who gets two of those? And here’s a secret: I always like bassists the best. Well, except for that one guy. But most of the time, I like bassists the best.
On the other hand, rock stars are not known for being able to put a sentence together. Several factors contribute to this: a) they usually don’t finish high school b) they usually use enough drugs to kill most of their brain cells and c) grammar isn’t cool. This is why most rock star memoirs are co-written. So imagine my surprise (and, to be honest, a little self-satisfaction at always knowing the bassist was the best and smartest) to find that this autobiography is entirely credited to Mr. McKagan.
And, you know what? I was right. It’s very well done. It’s not told in that boring old linear fashion I was afraid of. But it doesn’t jump around so much you can’t keep up. There are little teasers to what’s coming, but nothing is really given away.
Bravo, Duff. It was a great story.