UNREQUITED INFATUATIONS

The amiable musician delivers a suitably good-natured account of a long life in show business.

“Contrary to popular scientific rumor, the Big Bang that gave birth to the universe did not happen ten million years ago. It happened on February 9, 1964.” So writes Van Zandt, who, like so many other of his generation, picked up a guitar after the Beatles made their U.S. debut on the Ed Sullivan Show. He had been priming himself for the moment, after which he became a connoisseur of all the things that led him to switch religions from Christianity to “Rock and Roll Pagan.” That devotion brought him into the orbit of a tough kid named Bruce Springsteen, to whom he became a Sancho Panza, always on hand to deliver opinions that, the author admits, weren’t always spot-on. For example, he hated “Dancing in the Dark” and its “terrible video,” but he allows that it sparked a new superstar phase in Springsteen’s career that would “pay my rent for quite a while.” It’s not the only disagreement with Springsteen that he recounts, but it’s clear that while not always being in concord, the two are blood brothers. Of interest to fans of The Sopranos are Van Zandt’s behind-the-screen notes on how the series came about despite the long odds and, in particular, how he came to occupy the role of Silvio Dante, which he had written independently. Of the stereotypical Mafia tropes and the controversy surrounding them, the author is of the fuggedaboudit mold: “Other than the obvious jail-and-death part, I never really had a problem with Mob stuff.” Van Zandt seldom has an unkind word, and when he does, it’s usually about inflated rock-star egotism. Otherwise, his spry autobiography reveals him to be a politically committed music lover who can’t get enough of the British Invasion and the blues.

A pleasure for music fans and one of the best entertainment memoirs in recent years.