It makes for a numbing cocktail.Īnd that's a bummer. We thought opportunities would always exist, that we would be fifteen forever") even as she works overtime to keep those of us who missed out on the era's cultural licentiousness drooling with jealousy. It suffers from one of the major failings of so many memoirs written by "'60s people," especially those who dug their little paws right into the sexual-freedom candy dish: Buell spends plenty of space justifying her behavior and apologizing for it ("I was from a generation that didn't think that far into the future.
But "Rebel Heart" is one of those tell-all memoirs that tells you much more about its author's insecurities than it does about her exploits - or even about the personalities of the fabulous men who swarmed around her. You could argue that the whole idea of groupiedom is steeped in retrograde sexual politics, and maybe you'd be right. "Todd would always be fucking these nondescript road tramps," she writes, "whereas I would be fucking major icons." In the early '70s, while she was living with her then-steady Rundgren (certainly no model of fidelity himself), she would drift into affairs with dashing rock stars partly to get back at him, but mostly because she was madly, and understandably, drawn to them.
In "Rebel Heart," her tedious, self-obsessed, almost shockingly joyless autobiography, Bebe Buell, a former model and Playboy centerfold who has been paramour to the likes of Mick Jagger, Jimmy Page, Todd Rundgren, Steven Tyler and Elvis Costello, asserts with obvious disdain that she has never been a groupie. Groupies - specifically, women who can't resist sleeping with rock stars - have a bad name, but I've always gotten the sense that it's mostly other women who have given it to them.
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