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A review by ericfheiman
Sticky Fingers: The Life and Times of Jann Wenner and Rolling Stone Magazine by Joe Hagan
3.0
Rolling Stone was pretty much the only music magazine I could get my hands on growing up in 1970s and 80s rural western Pennsylvania. If the magazine was hopelessly mainstream and square by urban hipster standards at this point, it was just about my only accessible guide to decent music outside of the AM/FM radio wasteland I lived in. (And especially before MTV.) That has to be some measure of success, right?
Little did I know then the rather sordid story of Rolling Stone’s rise, never mind the monomaniacal narcissist who founded it. I can almost begrudgingly admire Jann Wenner’s chutzpah and eventual success that came from it, but, man, what a dick. It’s a testimony to Hagan’s work here that Sticky Fingers is so compulsively readable despite the repeated atrociousness of its main players—Wenner, his wife Jane Wenner, Hunter Thompson, Annie Leibovitz, and on down.
I also stuck with it because it provides, first, a microcosm snapshot of the 1960s Boomer generation, warts and all. But mostly warts. Did the 1960s change our culture? Absolutely. In mostly good ways, though? The jury is still out. If this book is evidence of anything, it’s that the 1960s also wrought an age of solipsistic selfishness leading to the Yuppie culture of the Gordon Gekko go-go 1980s that we’re still reeling from today, whatever outdated and repressive cultural mores were necessarily upended in the process. I sympathize with (and cheer on) every Millennial and Gen Z-er “OK, Boomer” post on social media. This book is their evidence and motivation to do so.
Sticky Fingers also highlights the age-old question of what it takes to actually create something of value and significance. How much of an asshole does one need to be? How many people does one need to fuck over to do it? Do the often-despicable means always justify the so-called worthy ends? I still don’t have a clear answer and nor does this book. But, damn, if it doesn’t make you at least ask the question...
Little did I know then the rather sordid story of Rolling Stone’s rise, never mind the monomaniacal narcissist who founded it. I can almost begrudgingly admire Jann Wenner’s chutzpah and eventual success that came from it, but, man, what a dick. It’s a testimony to Hagan’s work here that Sticky Fingers is so compulsively readable despite the repeated atrociousness of its main players—Wenner, his wife Jane Wenner, Hunter Thompson, Annie Leibovitz, and on down.
I also stuck with it because it provides, first, a microcosm snapshot of the 1960s Boomer generation, warts and all. But mostly warts. Did the 1960s change our culture? Absolutely. In mostly good ways, though? The jury is still out. If this book is evidence of anything, it’s that the 1960s also wrought an age of solipsistic selfishness leading to the Yuppie culture of the Gordon Gekko go-go 1980s that we’re still reeling from today, whatever outdated and repressive cultural mores were necessarily upended in the process. I sympathize with (and cheer on) every Millennial and Gen Z-er “OK, Boomer” post on social media. This book is their evidence and motivation to do so.
Sticky Fingers also highlights the age-old question of what it takes to actually create something of value and significance. How much of an asshole does one need to be? How many people does one need to fuck over to do it? Do the often-despicable means always justify the so-called worthy ends? I still don’t have a clear answer and nor does this book. But, damn, if it doesn’t make you at least ask the question...