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Late, Late at Night
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Late, Late at Night

3.8 154
by Rick Springfield

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Now in paperback—Grammy Award-winning icon Rick Springfield shares the startling story of his rise and fall and rise again in music, film, and television and his lifelong battle with depression.

In a searingly candid memoir which he authored himself, Grammy Award–winning pop icon Rick Springfield pulls back the curtain on his image as a bright, shiny,


Now in paperback—Grammy Award-winning icon Rick Springfield shares the startling story of his rise and fall and rise again in music, film, and television and his lifelong battle with depression.

In a searingly candid memoir which he authored himself, Grammy Award–winning pop icon Rick Springfield pulls back the curtain on his image as a bright, shiny, happy performer to share the startling story of his rise and fall and rise in music, film, and television and his lifelong battle with depression.

In the 1980s, singer-songwriter and actor Rick Springfield seemed to have it all: a megahit single in “Jessie’s Girl,” sold-out concert tours, follow-up hits that sold more than seventeen million albums and became the pop soundtrack for an entire generation, and twelve million daily viewers who avidly tuned in to General Hospital to swoon over his portrayal of the handsome Dr. Noah Drake. Yet lurking behind his success as a pop star and soap opera heartthrob and his unstoppable drive was a moody, somber, and dark soul, one filled with depression and insecurity.

In Late, Late at Night, the memoir his millions of fans have been waiting for, Rick takes readers inside the highs and lows of his extraordinary life. By turns winningly funny and heartbreakingly sad, every page resonates with Rick’s witty, wry, self-deprecating, brutally honest voice. On one level, he reveals the inside story of his ride to the top of the entertainment world. On a second, deeper level, he recounts with unsparing candor the forces that have driven his life, including his longtime battle with depression and thoughts of suicide, the shattering death of his father, and his decision to drop out at the absolute peak of fame. Having finally found a more stable equilibrium, Rick’s story is ultimately a positive one, deeply informed by his passion for creative expression through his music, a deep love of his wife of twenty-six years and their two sons, and his life-long quest for spiritual peace.

Editorial Reviews

The Rick Springfield of the eighties might be best described as a full-time heartthrob. Not only was he the plaintive voice behind "Jessie's Girl" and albums that sold more than 17 million copies; as physician Noah Drake, he was a prototypal Doctor McDreamy on soap opera's General Hospital. Behind that seductive persona though, this versatile Australian was a brooding, even suicidal bundle of nerves. Late, Late At Night, which Springfield wrote himself, describes the insecurities and concealed trauma behind his gleaming public image. Ultimately uplifting, this disarmingly candid memoir strikes deeper than any mere celebrity autobiography.

Product Details

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6.30(w) x 9.20(h) x 1.30(d)

Read an Excerpt

A Note From the Author

When I turned fifty, I wrote a song about my life so far, to see if I could

fit it into a three-minute pop tune.

I could.

My Depression

Born in the Southern Land where a man is a man

Don’t remember too much, warm mama, cold touch

Postwar baby boom, fifty kids in one room

All white future bright but living in a womb

Got a TV receiver Jerry Mathers as the Beaver

No blacks, no queers, no sex. Mouseketeers

Daddy kept moving round, I can’t settle down

Always the lost new kid in town

Mannlicher lock and loaded, JFK’s head exploded

Dark figure at the fence, end of my innocence

Hormones hit me, chew up, spit me

Get stoned, get plastered, always was a moody bastard

Guitar fool, kicked out of high school

Joined a band, Vietnam, Mama-san, killed a man

Daddy gets real sick it’s too intense I can’t stick it

Buy myself a ticket to the U.S.A.

Oh my God, it’s my life. What am I doing kicking at the foundation?

That’s right, my life. Better start thinking ’bout my destination

Hollywood sex-rat, been there, done that

Jaded afraid I’d never get a turn at bat

Last in a long line, finally hit the big time

Gold mine, feeding time, money/fame, I get mine

Use it, abuse it, Daddy dies, I lose it

Get a wife get a son, beget another one.

Head said “God’s dead,” motorcycle body shred

Midlife crisis rears its ugly head

Prozac, lithium, could never get enough of ’em

Last wills, shrink’s bills, sleeping pills, sex kills

Edge of sanity, my infidelity

Looking in the mirror and thinking how it used to be

Don’t like the skin I’m in, caught in a tailspin

Honest-to-God vision, spiritual transmission

Climb aboard the life raft, looking back I have to laugh

Take a breath, don’t know if I’m ready for the second half

Oh my God, it’s my life. What am I doing kicking at the


That’s right, my life. Better start looking at my destination

My life, my depression, my sin, my confession,

my curse, my obsession, my school, my lesson.

For anyone with a short attention span, that should cover the major

details of my life, so you can put this book back on the bookstore shelf.

For those of you who want to hear the deeper cut, many thanks and

read on . . .


A Swingin' Teenager

So here I am, seventeen years of age, feeling as ugly as the ass end of

a female baboon at mating season, unloved, very much in need of a

good caressing by some attentive young woman and, right now, swinging

by my neck at the end of a very thick twine rope like some pathetic

B-Western movie bad guy. I’m thinking to myself as I lose consciousness,

“Wow, somehow I thought it would all end so differently.”

Thank God I haven’t succeeded at a lot of the things I’ve tried, like

this suicide attempt for instance. But thank God I have succeeded occasionally.

Because in a furious flash-forward, of the type that can only

happen in the movies or in this book, I am thirty-one years old and

standing onstage with a very expensive guitar strapped around my very

expensive suit, playing a rock-and-roll song that I wrote. The audience

of this sold-out show is clamoring for more. A bevy of young girls is

waiting backstage for me, and there’s a middle-aged bald guy standing

on the side of the stage, smiling at his healthy profit, ready to hand me a

big, fat check when I’m done.

Wait . . . Wait, wait, wait, wait! Just a second here . . . So if I’d succeeded

in offing myself back in my teenage years of staggering angst, I

would have missed all this? Evidence, I think, that when we are at our

lowest and ready to give in and go belly-up forever and for always, we

should take a step back and say, “Is this the absolute best move I can

make right now?” And then give ourselves an extra year or two or three.

I am walking, breathing, living proof that, considering how depressed

and full of self-loathing and self-pity I am right now, swinging

by my skinny, teenage neck three feet off the ground, thinking that I am

worthy of not much more than the gig of pre-chewing hay for a horse

with bad teeth, good things can still happen. It’s just the law of averages,

and the law is on our side, losers. Yay us! So to those who are at

the bottom of the emotional heap—and it’s crowded down here—there

is still reason for hope! Not that the teenage idiot I was (who is, by the

way, still swinging freely from a crossbeam and turning a lovely shade of

blue) would have believed that dopey, feel-good phrase anyway.

Although by nature I tend to gravitate toward the bleaker side of

things, I have been open to and have received signs throughout my life

that have given me hope when I’d thought there was none. A part of me

believes that these signs are directives from the gods. I’ve stayed surprisingly

receptive to them, even though part of me thinks I’m full of shit to

take them as any kind of actual, meaningful omens.

Another furious flash-forward—damn it, I wish there were cool

sound effects in this book . . . whooooosh!—it’s 1979. I’m living in

Glendale, California, with a girl named Diana. Playing guitar in a house

band at a local restaurant bar. This is not where I’d hoped to be in my

music career by the age of twenty-nine, but then again I also thought I’d

be dead by now, “strung up,” as it were, by the neck, so it’s just as well

that not all my expectations are met. One night there’s a party at someone’s

house in Glendale after my bar gig, and I go there by myself while

my girlfriend waits at home.

A tarot card reader is in attendance. I love these people. They let us

pretend to possible bright futures, even when we have none, and right

now, I have none. At least not any future I’d want to celebrate. So I pull

up a chair and shuffle her cards. Bad disco music is playing in the background

and I think to myself, “Is there good disco music?” She deals my

hand. The Emperor. The Two of Swords. The Hanged Man. The Star.

She looks up from the array of archaic cards and locks eyes with me

from across the table. She wants me. Wait . . . no, that’s not it.

“That’s the most incredible card spread I’ve ever seen,” she whispers


“Yeah?” That’s pretty much it from me.

“Something big is going to happen in your life . . . and soon,” she

answers as if definitively.

“Could you be more specific?” I ask. I want dates. Names. Exact

amounts of cash. Truly, you can never nail these people down.

“Something . . . really . . . amazing,” she replies.

It will have to do. And it does.

As a seeker of encouragement and affirmation all my young life, I’ve

become accustomed to positive if self-servingly vague prophesies from a

range of “experts”: numerologists, astrologers, phrenologists (I do have

a shitload of bumps on my head, so phrenologists have a party when I

show up for a reading), tasseographists (look it up), and just plain seers.

A year before the encounter with my disco tarot card reader, I’d gone to

see a young Romanian with a brain tumor. It was widely believed that

the unwelcome “visitor” in this man’s head had given him a special view

of the future. Everyone in my acting class had consulted this guy, desperate

to hear him say, “Yes, I see you in major motion pictures. You are

successful . . . wealthy . . . deeply, deeply loved . . . and your likeness is

being carved into Mount Rushmore along with those four old dead guys

because you are just so fucking special.”

Honestly, I think that we’re all—every one of us—constantly and

hungrily searching for signs that we are singular, unique, chosen. And

that an equally singular, unique, choice future awaits us. Actors are

the neediest bastards in this way; don’t ever let us pretend otherwise.

Maybe we artist-performers need this kind of affirmation more than

most, hence our career choice. I know that a strong, defining element

of my character is the five-year-old inside me jumping up and down,

demanding, “Hey, Poopypants, look at ME!!!” This need to be noticed

and thought of as “special” has, to a large degree, charted my unholy

course through adulthood. Dammit.

So when it’s finally my turn to see the brain tumor guy, this futureseeing

Romanian looks at me and says, “I see gold around you—here.”

He motions to my throat. I think, “Does he see bling? Am I going to be

a pimp?” But he continues, “It’s glowing, your voice. Are you a singer?”

“My mum thinks so,” I answer. But I am actually heartened by what

he apparently sees. Again, I put this “sign” in my back pocket against

the times when someone will look at me and say, “You? I don’t think

so, asshole.”

What is that sound? Whhhhooooossshh!!! Yes, if this were a movie

there would be amazing visual shit and music and sound effects and all.

Use your imagination . . . we are now going back in time. Don’t sue me

for your whiplash; I’m trying to keep this thing interesting.

Okay, I’m going to drop a name, watch your feet. There will be several

warnings throughout this book so you can protect your toes. Here’s

the first one: Elvis. But this is not the truly significant Elvis of my story.

The most important Elvis in my life has four legs and black-and-white

fur, barks, and is at the center of my heartache. No, this Elvis is the one

you guys all know. I’m on a plane from Los Angeles to Australia via

Hawaii in 1972, and Elvis (the two-legged, non-furry, singer version) is

onboard too. My manager at the time is Steve Binder. Steve directed the

Elvis comeback TV special in 1968, so I talk with him for a while about

our common link. He’s a sweet guy and signs an autograph for my thengirlfriend

in Australia, who’s a fan.

I get off the plane in Honolulu feeling oddly anointed by this small

audience with the King. And as I’m walking down a side street, taking in

the island’s frangipani-scented sights with Kohilo blowing gently across

my face, I walk by a young lady standing in a doorway who’s wearing

almost nothing and offers to tell my fortune. I say to her that I think

my fortune is to get laid for a nominal fee, but she assures me she is an

authentic seer and only wants to serve the Great Spirit she channels. She

takes my hand gently and assures me I will be “successful in my chosen

field.” Hahahahahaha. She adds that my “successful” future also includes

a “very successful happy ending” in the back room for an extra

$150. See, I was right! Honey, I’m twenty-two years old. Call me when

I’m seventy. I pass. But just like my chance meeting with Elvis, I take this

encounter as a sign that big things are afoot for me, career-wise. Always

such a positive boy. Except when famous rock-and-roll icons and skimpily

dressed fortune-tellers aren’t there to make me feel good.

Okay, another “Whhhhooooossshh.” It’s 1979 and we’re back in

Glendale, California, again. Just minutes before I’m to head to the party

and the tarot card mystic whose reading will presage a change in my life

and my world.

“Aren’t you Rick Springfield?” the pretty young girl holding a Long

Island iced tea is asking me at the bar. I smile a shit-eating grin. “I loved

‘Speak to the Sky,’” she continues, alluding to the hit song I’d had in 1972.

“What a trip you’re playing in a restaurant now,” she adds with a

smirk, and I take that one in the gut. Do I really need her to point out to

me that bugger-all has happened since then, it being 1979 now? I wonder

if, despite my loser status in her eyes, she’s up for a fucking, but she

disappears soon after and I am left to my dark feelings. Yes, I am a loser.

Yes, I had a shot in 1972. Yes, I blew it. Yes, I am playing cover songs

in a bar in Glendale. Yes, my life is about to change. Yes, I’m . . . wait.

What was that last thing? Amongst the litany of shit? Was there some

positive word? Hey, maybe all those oracles I’ve visited over the years,

seers whose “visions” gave me hope, were worth the price of admission

after all! Maybe thanks to them (as well as a serendipitous meeting with

an insurance guy—more on that later) I harbor some faith in myself yet.

Disco sucks ass! Other than the Bee Gees, disco is a wasteland and

in 1979 it is at its worst. Radio is ready for a change. The great and

almighty electric guitar is about to make a comeback, thank Christ.

AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell” is getting heavy radio play. Pat Benatar’s

“Heartbreaker” looks as though it could actually be a radio hit, and Elvis

Costello has just brought some serious, much-needed songwriting and

playing credibility to punk with his inaugural album, My Aim Is True.

I, on the other hand, am playing Top 40, instead of my own music,

in a bar and am making stained glass in my garage. But I am listening

to all this new music on my radio, and I have actually started writing

some solid songs again after a hiatus of almost two years. I’m excited

by the new movement in music and am getting the itch to take a chance

and start playing original songs again. I’ve spent the last seven years

drifting in and out of near-poverty and missed every time I’ve made a

grab for the brass ring. Mainly out of absolute boredom I’ve signed up

for this stained-glass class with the desperate and rather bizarre fantasy

of becoming a professional stained-glass master, such is the state of my

musical ambition after years of nothing but unfulfilled dreams. How

capricious and unexpected the fates are. And you never know where the

“nod” will come from.

I meet a couple at this glass class in the middle of nowhere in Pasadena.

The girl is petite, dark haired, and really interesting looking, and

she grabs my attention if not my loins. I write a song about the two of

them. “Gary’s Girl” doesn’t have enough of a rock-and-roll ring to it so

I rename him “Jessie,” misspelling the male version of the name because

of the Los Angeles Rams’ Ron Jessie T-shirt I’m wearing at the time. I

toss the finished song onto the heap with the rest of my unheard music.

My thirtieth birthday is fast approaching, and as far as the general

public is concerned, my music career—what there was of it—has come

and gone. I’ve had my shot: a Top 10 hit, some teen magazine coverage,

a famous girlfriend, and the whole pop-idol-for-fifteen-minutes thing. In

the eyes of the world (or at least those who even noticed), I’d shot for

the David Cassidy throne and missed.

So I take a hard look at where I am now in 1979. In many ways I

seem to be a happy man. I have a beautiful girlfriend, Diana, an ex-model

who is artistic and loving; we rent a quiet suburban home with a flock

of chickens (each individually named) in the backyard. We attend big

Sunday dinners at her parents’ house; her brother Doug is my best friend;

we share art projects and her very much loved dog, Sasha. You cannot be

far from a dog or life is meaningless. Our friends and every busybody

with a fucking opinion are sure Diana and I will marry. I assume we will.

I guess this is what marriage feels like. I don’t know. I’ve never done it before.

I love her dog, I know that much. Can I marry her dog? Is that legal?

My momentum is slowing. I’ve grown a beard and taken to wearing

suspenders and flannel shirts. I’m settling down. But inside my head, a

small, clear voice is rising. It is saying it’s time to save myself, my dream,

my life. It’s getting louder and more insistent as the days pass.

I know in my heart that it’s time to run.


Meet the Author

Rick Springfield is a Grammy Award–winning musician and actor, and the author of the New York Times bestselling memoir Late, Late Night, which Rolling Stone named one of the twenty-five greatest rock memoirs off all time. He lives in Malibu with his wife, Barbara. Visit him online at RickSpringfield.com or MagnificentVibration.com.

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Late, Late at Night 3.8 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 154 reviews.
Cristyo More than 1 year ago
Everyone that has ever listened to his songs, watched him on General Hospital knows how amazing Rick Springfield is. But this is a behind the "star" story about a real man, with real problems, and how he and his family dealt with the stardom and all that comes with it. I am a fan for life, and now knowing what he went through makes me know that he is a real person.
IamSharonG More than 1 year ago
I have been waiting for the 10/12 release date. What a wonderful book and how great of Rick to share so many of his life moments with all of us. All I can say is I am happy the rope broke Rick! I shared many of the same ups and downs in my own life. Thanks to Rick, his editor Stacy and S&S for bringing a honest and often humorous account of Rick's journey. Every person who has ever considered an early end should read this book. Yes, give it some time, life will change.
therxgal More than 1 year ago
I got my book in the mail and from the time it arrived, I could not put it down. I finished the book in 24 hours total. I laughed and I cried as his writing just swept me away. The unique approach to his writing allows the reader to crawl inside his head as he takes us from scene to scene of his extraordinary life to learn all the answers as if we lived through it with him. Learn the little "deeds" he did as a small boy and young man....learn the whole truth about Viet Nam, and his mistakes along the way as he struggles to make it big w/ his music career.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
He wrote this himself which impressed me because so many celebs can't tie tbeir owns shoes bot morezo becsuse he is a very good writer. Very funny and very sad at the same time. One of the best biographies I've ever read.
mum23girls More than 1 year ago
Rick Fan or not you will love it!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I was always curious about the 'behind-the-scenes' story of the man who has captivated my attention since the age of 9. This book gives you that ... and more! The book itself is very well written, the stories flow very well and tie nicely together. I may be bias, but this is the best book I have read in quite a while.
MHGibson More than 1 year ago
I purchased this book on my Nook and literally have a blister on my thumb from turning the pages so quickly. Like so many others, I have been an RS fan from as long as I can remember. I recall him on WONDER WOMAN, THE SIX MILLION DOLLAR MAN, and BATTLESTAR GALLACTICA. And I was an avid fan of GENERAL HOSPITAL in the summer of '81 when Luke and Laura were all the rage. But it was the man with hazel eyes, crinkly smile, and sexy voice that one me over. He can sing, too? When I made the connection between JESSIE'S GIRL and Dr. Noah Drake, I was forever hooked. I found LATE, LATE AT NIGHT to be an extremely entertaining read and was very impressed with Rick's writing. It is HIS voice you read on the pages as if he's sitting right there sharing the stories with you personally which he did. The sheer abandon for which he wrote about his rise to fame, fall from glory, struggles to stay on top, and the ever challenging daily battle with depression and sexual addiction my heart bled for this man whose words and lyrics have truly influenced my life. Any true fan who has stuck by RS through the "dark" years and paid attention to his words, lyrics, and music knew there was a lot in this man's head. A lot that he had to work through, work out, and deal with. The naked honesty he uesed in the book to tell the good, bad, and the ugly was moving...touching...emotional. I laughed. I cried. My heart broke over his loss of pets. I understand how a person's life can be shaped by having or losing a pet. I appreciate RS's honestly and being forthright about the hay-day of the 80's when he was atop the chart and feeling like a special person for the first time in his life. Depression is a nasty beast and we (readers/fan) have no right to stand in judgment of him and his life. However, he DID put this out there for us to read and I will agree that through all of the infidelity, forgiveness, fessing up, therapy, medication, I was extremely disappointed in the "hero" of our book for his tryst with the 21 year old in Las Vegas. I felt that our hero just could NOT be saved from the Darkness...and perhaps, deep down didn't want to be. But it's not my marriage and RS and B worked it out that was best for them which is the most important issue. I knew the first time that I listened to SHOCK, DENIAL, ANGER, ACCEPTANCE that he was exorcising some major demons from his life. And that's just it...it's HIS life. He has merely shared it with us, his fans and public perhaps to help others from falling down the same path or encouraging them to get help for depression and/or other issues from the get-go. It was an exceptional read and I feel closer to my own Hank B. Marvin. Thank you, Rick, for sharing your story and adventures, your pain and suffering, your triumphs and joys. Your words and music have been a comforting friend for thirty years, through the stupidity of high school, to first loves, feeling unpopular, unwanted, and unneeded to helping me survive cancer at fifteen. Please know that you ARE a special person and you ARE a blessing to your fans. You may have fought and struggled and wondered who you are and where your place is in this world for a long time...it was your destiny to share your words, your music and your talents to a wanting fan base. Thank you for the rawness in this book...the humor...the love and appreciation of your fans. (I do with the book had been named GIRLS, GUITARS, AND GLORY...but that's just the author in me! Rock on!
amb1 More than 1 year ago
I always enjoyed his music, but since reading this honest memoir, I am a fan of his writing also. I was enthralled from the beginning of this book and found it hard to put down. Even if you aren't familiar with his music or acting, this book will capture you.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
As a person who often battled depression, it feels good to read a book that reminded me that I was not alone. Often we hear about celebrities and their trials and tribulations, but very few took such an honest look. Rick Springfield is a great man to do this. For anyone who feels bound by a similar past filled with hurt, guilt and anger, I'd also like to suggest that you buy "When God Stopped Keeping Score," an intimate look at the power of forgiveness and yet, it's about so much more. I loved every minute of it. Given the chance, it could change your life.
javagirl63 More than 1 year ago
I admire Rick's candor in opening up to his fans about these difficult issues.I also think he is a great writer as well as a great musician. He's an encouragement to others demonstrating that the darkness can be defeated. His stories are funny, sad, and inspirational. I couldn't put it down.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Some people say that they want to write a book about their lives, this book is one of those books that deserve to be written. It is a book truly meant for anybody that is at their breaking point. After you read it, you will understand why I feel God undid that knot in the rope. I highly recommend this book. I'd also recommend that you buy "When God Stopped Keeping Score," an intimate look at the power of forgiveness, that given the chance, it too could change your life.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I just finished Rick Springfields book and I must say it was good. Its honest, to the point. I was surprised at his frankness. I saw him in concert back in the early 80's and liked him ever since. I never knew that a person could go through so much in ones lifetime, losing all those people, and is still going strong. Everyone makes mistakes in their lifetime, but if you learn from then, then you don't repete them. He has come a long way. I give alot of credit to his wife, B, for staying with him. That must of been hard. I also give RS alot of credit for changing his life and coming out on the positive end.
Juryduty More than 1 year ago
As others have wrote I am a huge fan a little on the obsessed side. My whole office is Rick Springfield. I love this book I would like to thank Rick for letting us go inside what seems to be a very painful part of his life. This book makes you feel like you are there. I am glad that his wife has stuck by him. I have laughed and cried through this book. I can say I was shocked at first at how much pain he has gone through. I wish him his wife and kids much happiness. He writes in the book of him meeting his idol and how much it meant I met him in 2005 and I was in awwww. I am getting ready to take the cruise this year 2010 and can not wait to see him again. Thanks again Rick and hope you write another book. I will buy it.
HappyHaoleHulaGirl More than 1 year ago
As many will write, I have been a fan for years...and this book is astonishing at making you feel like you are with him for a moment in time as he sits on the edge of a stage, in front of you, as you listen to him speak about his "ups and downs" in life...and what a ride it has been. I laughed, smiled, shockingly shook my head and re-read parts along with getting teary-eyed and crying...all the while hearing snip-its of songs play in my head when stories connected with the albums mentioned. To Rick, if you end up reading this someday....thank you! While I am sure it was a long and bumpy journey to put it all down in black and white, you have done well in sharing your story...and I am honored to "stand" by your side and proudly be a fan! See you in Sacramento...
cnalum92 More than 1 year ago
This book is like having a conversation with Rick Springfield. He holds nothing back; he is a gifted storyteller, and is quite funny. The book is well-written and honest. It is interesting and informative for any reader; GREAT for older teens who may be dealing with difficult self-image, and/or for aspiring musicians. A must for Rick Springfield fans! Be aware - the book is full of very colorful language.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
I enjoyed as an old Rick Springfield fan to read of his life and his honesty in telling it. As someone that experienced depression, I could relate to some of his darkness. I didn't follow his career very much after the 80's and it was nice to catch up and learn how he got to where he is now. I thought though that the sexual episodes, although true, were overkill at some point. I found myself thinking how lucky he was to just get some STD's he could clear up and that no one (he menioned) got pregnant. I realize though if he glossed over that part of his life, the editors would have thought that less readers would be interested. I think unless I missed it, he didn't think about the effects this might have on his wifes health, but that was part of his problem at that time. I hope his sons learn from his mistakes as they forge their paths in life. He came out a much better person but many don't. I think he showed great resiliency and I hope others that are down, know that there is always hope and to get help. Thanks for trip down memory lane, I just wish it was better for you.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Always was a fan of RS, but after reading this book I am much less of one. The book tells a lot of stories about where his songs come from, so was interesting from that perspective. It seems to be some kind of therapy session going on here. Specifically the affair in Vegas and writing a whole set of songs around another woman much less PUBLISHING them. omg how crass and disrespectful to his wife (imo). I'm sorry I bought that CD anyway. As for the book, not poorly written, but after the first half of the book, it was harder to care what happens.
Ginger-Garys-Ex-from-NY More than 1 year ago
Rick Springfield has been Rockin' since long before he met Jessie's Girl! If you want to be in the know YOU MUST READ THIS BOOK. His story is riveting, hilarious, tragic, honest, and open. It is a gift to have him share his life, (particularly the darker parts), with his fans. I respect his trials and tribulations and revere his wife and family for holding it together along with him! His life has not been a typical existence...so neither is his STORY! A must read! This man is multi-talented...and writing is no exception!!!!
KSDB More than 1 year ago
Loved this book. I've always been a huge RS fan, and this was well-written and very interesting.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Know what i like?
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Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Really, really good book and read.  Don't crucify the guy.  Women throw themselves at musicians.   Doesn't even matter if their significant other is standing right there.  I know, they've done it in front of me.  Just to let Everyone know, they're just people.  They don't sing or write a song to take out the garbage.   Thanks for explaining the demons in full.  Now I can understand a little better.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Would read again