The raw material of this memoir is intriguing enough: written looking back at a year of her teenage diary, Kristin Hersh recounts being a college student from hippy parents in a band making its way in the local Rhode Island scene; the accident that left her hearing songs as distinct entities; the diagnosis of bipolarity; a move to Boston; the making of the band’s first record; having a baby. It’s far too good though to play out the usual plonking dramatic moments and life-was-never -the-same-again expository stuff that marks even the best autobiographies. There’s the odd flash of anger at people who are just taking and giving nothing, but it’s largely free of score-settling. Instead the drama is downplayed with a style that is at once matter-of-fact, dryly funny and more reminiscent of a novel than anything else. Handled differently her explanation of being merely a channel for songs which write themselves could sound terribly contrived. As it is, it’s not only convincing, but makes so much sense you’re left assuming that that’s how it must be for everyone that writes them. It probably isn’t though. At least you hope it isn’t, for their sakes.
For all that Hersh provides a strong centre: clever, sensible, creative and full of the contradictory confidence and uncertainty of youth, the lasting impression is of the people who surround her and the comfort and support they bring. There’s the rest of the Throwing Muses, whom she seems to feel that she’s protecting, but who return that in spades when they have to. They’re all frighteningly young (I never realised, but then they were a bit older than me at the time) but just as frighteningly good at dealing with what comes their way. There’s her college friend who turns out to be a faded Hollywood star (though it’s only her career that faded; as Hersh paints her, she’s vivid, alive and sparking with personality and energy), there‘s her friends and family, providing her with the encouragement and background which channel turmoil into music. There’s even (breaking with every precedent) tolerance, enthusiasm and downright wisdom from the medical profession and the record business.
It’s far from warts-and-all, but it doesn‘t flinch; it’s unsentimental but glowing with warmth and friendship; it’s laugh-out-loud funny in places. It’s really rather wonderful. And, God, they were so young…
This review is on extended loan from the stacks at soundsxp.com