The Brian Jones Trip
Author Nuttier Than Squirrel Poop!
Do you missJoel and the 'bots? We do! Diane was raised on the ‘Satellite of Love’, and hereis her MST3K treatment of a well meaning but pathetically uninformedreview by Mary Ishimoto Morris of Jeremy Reed’s perfectly idiotic book, TheLast Decadent. Anna Whositgets a damn good heckling as well, but this time her The Murder ofBrian Jones: the Secret Story etc. is only "the short".
From TheWashington Post -
(Morris' intro edited out here-HH.)
...Reed'sbook, "The Last Decadent," is an intelligent, lyrical exploration ofJones's complex psyche and persona (or shall we say, a load of complete and utter bullshit dumpedout in the most pretentious manner imaginable.) He builds a persuasive casefor considering Jones as an Oscar Wilde or Quentin Crisp for the turbulent'60s, (if you know fuck-all aboutBrian Jones. If you're going to cast anyone from the Stones as Oscar Wilde, gowith Mick. He picked the role himselfyears ago) pushing the boundaries of cross-gender expression andheightening bisexual consciousness, (yeah, and did you know the Pink Floyd were a Gay Lib band?) andcompares the reactionary social persecution those men suffered to Jones's own(he was the target of police harassment (an idea set forward by countless people since 1967).)
Reed cites a story fromNicholas Fitzgerald's book "The Inside Story of the Original RollingStone" (which is widelyconsidered a hoax by serious researchers into Jones' life) aboutFitzgerald's girlfriend squealing upon meeting Jones at an elegantparty. "Brian said, 'It's all right, I have that effect on women.' He gaveme a hot look, clearly implying, 'and men, too.' " Fitzgerald,
Reed's Jones is vain, extravagant,hedonistic, arrogant and misogynistic as well as insecure, delusionary, fragile
He alsogives us Jones himself, speaking insightfully on music, revealing his artisticsoul. Though decadence might not seem a fitting tribute to any man's life
And AnnaWohlin says she was attracted to Jones's combination of "elegance anddecadence." Her"Murder of Brian Jones" is a love story, sentimental and emotional.
Itsrelevance lies in Wohlin's disclosure of what she says she couldn't disclose in1969 because she was young (22 and an adult in the eyes of the law), foreign (Swedish), inshock, naive and afraid--information that, as she says in her prologue,"will help solve the mystery surrounding Brian's death." (Themystery is how she could get away with selling a book called The SecretStory when virtually every pertinent detail has been cut and pasted fromother people’s books.)
She tells ofa beam, installed by Thorogood's men, that fell from the kitchen ceiling,almost injuring her, (andif you can believe this part of the book, we have some Beatles reunion ticketsto sell you) and of the angry confrontation between the two men on June 30,1969, that culminated in Jones firing Thorogood.
Afterward, Jonesworried that he had gone too far and exhibited what Wohlin calls an"unrealistic desire for reconciliation"
At 10:15 the night ofJuly 2, Jones invited Thorogood to the house for a drink and a swim. Wohlintried to discourage Jones from teasing Thorogood--he had been taunting thecontractor as well as pulling him underwater--before she was called inside totake a phone call. Responding to cries for help from his girlfriend, who wasnear the pool, she passed Thorogood, in the kitchen shakily lighting acigarette, before finding Jones spread-eagled at the bottom of the pool. Later,when Thorogood and Wohlin went together to the police station for questioning,he warned her, "The only thing you need to tell them is that Brian hadbeen drinking and that his drowning was an accident. You don't have to tellthem anything else." "Frank lied during the interview," she nowsays. "And I concealed the truth." (Thus throwing the police off the track and protecting thecold-blooded killer of the man she loved. You understand how it was.)
ThoughWohlin's present account differs somewhat from Reed's,
For more than 30 years,then, Jones's name has been tainted by the slanderous conclusion,
(despite the fact she doesn't know what she's talking about)