floating opera wrote:so Bobby D. what was the impetus for you writing this book.
well......i don't rightly know WHY
i was gigging fulltime in Key West, 5 nites a week......but that's only 20 hours of "real" work. so i had a LOT of time off. and since i don't 'par-tay", i had to do SOMETHING.
key west is a VERY literary town. i was friends with the people who run the Hemingway House. so, i used to brew up a thermos of coffee, grab the laptop, and go hide out back in Hemingway's garden and write every morning.
the only thing i had written before this was a few feature articles for a statewide music magazine, my thesis for college, and a few songs
and while i was writing it, about 3 chapters in, i got called to do some studio sessions with a female vocalist. her husband happens to be Randy Wayne White, New York Times mega-bestseller author
the engineer told Randy that i was "writing a book", and he wanted to see it. i didn't want to show it to him, as i had worked at the major labels, and never pushed my stuff on industry people, as it usually goes in the TRASH.
but Randy persisted. he REALLY wanted to read it.
so, i went to Kinkos, printed out what i had, had them bind it and make it "pretty", and when he came to my gig, i handed it to him.
i did a TWO HOUR set. he never looked up the whole freaking set. just sat there reading.
so i was kinda nervous when i came up to him and asked him what he thought.
basically, he kinda became my "mentor" at that point, i have been to his house on sanibel, hung out with him, watched him work, and learned the "craft" of writing from him, as much as anyone CAN learn that. what i DID learn from Randy is that it's a LOT of fucking work to be successful writer, and he works his ASS off to maintain his success.
me? i'm a musician. i don't consider myself a professional writer, but i AM writing a novel right now that's been in the works for a while. why not?
and THIS book BURNED is really starting to grow legs. i have a very high powered NYC lit agent reading it now, and it MAY be signed with her agency SOON......fingers are crossed.
and my buddy Richie Vega just wrote me a nice foreword. for the print edition, when that happens, i am gonna add a 30-40 page epilogue that catches the reader up to the modern day, instead of leaving them "in media res"
It was the title of this book that first caught my eye. After all, I’ve lived through the
80’s and 90’s, and I would consider myself a “rock guitarist” of sorts, despite the
fact that I primarily play bass. Of course bass players are always infinitely cooler
than guitar players, so my curiosity was piqued when I saw that a “rock guitarist”
had written an entire book about his experience. Most of the “rock guitarists” that
I have known in my lifetime would have a difficult time filling out a job application
much less writing a short story, so I sat down expecting a mildly amusing, if not
somewhat drab tale.
I also enjoy a quick and easy read, as evidenced by the ever-growing stack of
books and Sweetwater music catalogs that constantly adorn my private
meditation chamber (the john, for those not in the know). Non-fiction is always
preferred, as our current reality is growing ever stranger and more fascinating.
And reality with a pinch of fantasy thrown in for good measure usually ensures
success.
A quick scan of the pages herein revealed that the contents of this book lie
somewhere between a Bukowski novel and the lyrics of Prince’s Little Red
Corvette. As I pressed onward, a small voice in my head got louder and louder
until I could no longer ignore the question. Why in the world would anyone want to read a story about Bobby Devito?
Sexual conquests and drug-a-logues notwithstanding, this is the tale of an
atypical wannabe rockstar in the 80’s. I say atypical because typical “rock
guitarists” do not generally write books nor attend colleges and have ‘A’
averages. The dichotomy of senor Devito is what separates him from the
mainstream. Forget about cookie-cutter American Idols. Back then, if you wanted
to be the best, you had to LIVE THE DREAM. The only way to “get there” was to
EARN it. Bobby Devito has paid his fair share of dues. Unfortunately, in this
economy there is only enough room at the top for a few. But to concentrate on
being the top dog is to miss the point of this book completely which is the
enjoyment of the ride itself. Not everyone who survived those days has remained
as unscathed as Devito, which leads to my next question:
If this book is true, how in the HELL does he remember all of this shit?
Maybe its because I grew up in the first “MTV” generation, but my memories of
the 70’s and 80’s always seem to appear juxtaposed as if in a string of music
videos, complete with the caption of artist, title, album and producer in the lower
left-hand corner. Each colorful episode in Devito’s book fits perfectly within this
mental scheme, and evokes dusty footage of big-haired icon Riki Rachtman
hosting Headbangers Ball whilst channel surfing for Madonna videos to provide a
much needed sexual outlet in the restricted cable access youth of the desolate
American south. But I digress.
For whatever reason, Devito has managed to recollect (or is it resurrect?) a
series of personal events that flow together like a collage of bandanas on the
mike stand of Steven Tyler. Endearing terminology like “pity blowjob” (where can
I get one of those!) and “strawberry shortcake on acid” leads me to believe that
although Devito was discharged from the navy, he was rapidly advancing ranks
within the KISS army.
Lastly, this book is about recovery. Recovery from what I’m not exactly sure, and
perhaps neither is Devito. But at least he has the generosity to share his tale with
the rest of us who may or may not be interested. There is a current trend in
polarization of religious and anti-religious zealots world-wide. Perhaps the
ghostly, grandfatherly intervention that spared his life from a near-fatal car wreck
simply reminds us that there is something out there beyond ourselves worth
investigating, and that things do happen for a divine purpose after all.
Not a bad concept for a “rock guitarist”.
-Richard Vega
