All readers hope for the book that will answer a felt need they didn’t know was there. For me, this was that book. As a near-contemporary, while interested in the subject and very familiar with the principals and the history (or so I thought), I was completely taken in by a life so wisely, wittily, and compassionately told. Jonathan Taplin has surpassed any simple ambition to create a mere memoir with this richly satisfying account of American culture in those decades of explosive creativity and innovation, beginning with his own youth in the ‘50s and most vibrantly at the heart center of our popular music in the ‘60s and ‘70s, and on to the charmed moment in Hollywood before the advent of the blockbuster and endless sequels. He sets the stage:
“...The story I tell here is about art, democracy, serendipity, and history. It’s about the messiness and chance that are essential to the development of culture, even when aspects of that process age better than others. But the daring messiness of the period from the early sixties to the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 contrasts strongly from the nihilistic cultural and political stagnation of the current moment…”
Motivated by what he sees as empty repetition and by recent political turmoil, the author presents his extraordinary life as evidence that it once was very different, original, and a break with all that came before, just as his rejection of the destiny his father envisioned for him in corporate law marked his turn toward what he calls “a rock-and-roll life.” Social justice is a major theme, one Taplin handles eloquently throughout. What it is not is a finger-wagging polemic asserting that today’s popular culture is inferior: rather, a call to independence, to learn from the artists he knew and appreciated not only as innovators but aficionados of the shared cultural past that shaped our world.
It's a question of taste: Taplin’s quiet and modest observations are grounded in a deep appreciation for artists and the process of creation. His taste is impeccable, eclectic, heartfelt. The way of seeing is cinematic; judgements unsparing and not sentimental. For example, Taplin does not see Woodstock as some seminal moment of grace but as a turning point towards commercialization of “Woodstock Nation.” The performances speak for themselves, but the mythology that took hold was and is ultimately destructive to the fragile vision of “peace and love,” as Altamont proved a mere months later. A skilled media power player - he even bested an enraged Harvey Weinstein in a telling anecdote late in the narrative - his commitment to art motivated this work rather than a late in life show-off effort. Hard to fathom how one life could have so many colorful principals and tall tales, but chapter after chapter, year after year, he was there and tells the story straight.
This week in late May, 2021, Bob Dylan turns 80; How to explain what he was then and is now? Superlatives abound, but it’s Taplin’s calm and resonant reflection of the life he lived as the tour manager for Dylan and The Band and in the legendary Big Pink I’ll remember. He finds a way to reveal the true personality, the scene: here is burly Albert Grossman, a legendary, ubiquitous figure in the music business, shown deeply saddened by the loss of favorite client Janis Joplin - there’s a warm and lovely photo of them laughing together. Levon Helm and Robbie Robertson, brothers and rivals. Martin Scorsese at his best and worst, with a wonderful cameo by Fellini. Wim Wenders, an important collaborator, appears as a prophet warning of the destructive power of technology via their 1989 film Until the End of the World: “The little screens become their addiction, and it’s not hard to guess how that’s mirrored in today’s culture. In 1989, however, we could not yet see the other danger of those little screens: social media.” Taplin offers a knowledgeable,astringent view of Facebook and Google’s threat to democracy that is somber and timely.
Memoir is often framed as a cautionary tale, and with good reason. But Taplin wants to teach, not preach. There’s so much pleasure here: a playlist at the conclusion that sums up his narrative; insights about the liberating hedonism that was not without casualties (drugs, relationships, careers - notably, Richard Manuel. The Band’s tumultuous history tells that sad story several times over). First a Bildungsroman; next, a chronicle of remarkable events and indelible personalities, The Magic Years takes stock of the present and offers hope despite the obstacles globalized capitalism present to independence and artistic freedom. Highly recommended.