Former Spin Magazine senior writer Marc Spitz shares his name with an iconic 1970’s Olympic swimmer but that is where the similarity ends. Spitz’s memoir “Poseur” chronicles the writer’s journey awash in the late 80’s and early 90’s music scene in New York City. Like most memoirs of late, it is filled with name-dropping, sexual escapades and rampant drug use.
On a personal level, I found the book a fascinating piece of history. Spitz is three years my junior and he represents a drastic change in generations. Those born even a few years earlier were still hanging on to bands in the seventies and while some of the “hip” kids began listening to punk and other styles of music, many people Spitz’s age were caught in a generational haze trying to forge their own identities.
While I didn’t live in New York City during the era Spitz writes about, I remember visiting it before it became the clean and giant commercial enterprise it is today. The dirty New York City was a haven for struggling artists and drug addicts, and cool magazines like Spin. By the time Spitz arrives at Spin the magazine has established itself and is no longer the bona fide hip alternative to Rolling Stone. Spitz comes in at the end of Spin’s run as a cool magazine and as New York City is beginning to get cleaned up as well.
I’ve never been a fan of the artist’s mentioned in “Poseur” so the name-dropping didn’t mean as much to me, but I could relate on some level to the excitement of meeting an artist I admired for an interview.
In the end, the book is more about the city than it is the writer or the famous musicians. The names could have been changed and the story would read the same, touching on the theme of change and maturation. It’s reflective, funny, thought-provoking and at times sophomoric in its use of dick humor, and it works.
