Description
This book is the sequel to Robyn Hitchcock’s first memoir, 1967: Vacations in the Past. While I have read that one, and I’m not a huge fan of his music, I do find him to be an interesting cultural figure, so I looked forward to reviewing this second memoir in what—allegedly—will be a series of twelve.
I’m of the humble opinion that will be 11 books too many.
There are some great lines in this and some killer descriptions of how songs get written, but the hallucinations that permeate the book took me out of the world more than I liked. Still, as an artifact of the London music scene circa 1968-78, it’s worth a read.
Prepare yourself, though, to not really understand what Hitchcock is saying at several turns, but don’t fear: he makes it pretty clear he isn’t sure either.




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