In the pages of The Village Voice, Rolling Stone, Esquire, New York, Maxim, and GQ, Mark Jacobson has carried on in the tradition of such titans as Joe Mitchell, A. J. Liebling, Jimmy Breslin, and Pete Hamill as one of New York City's finest journalistic provocateurs. Now he collects the best of his years in Teenage Hipster in the Modern World. Jacobson has been witness to a decidedly different sort of history. His "beats" range far and wide, delving into the realms of politics, sports, and celebrity in pieces on such luminaries as Bob Dylan, Julius Erving, Chuck Berry, Pam Grier (in her Scream, Blacula, Scream days), Martin Scorsese, and many others. But for Jacobson, New York City has always been Topic Number One. Jacobson tells the story of the city in his classic essays on the beginnings of punk rock back in the times of "pregentrification" to the heart-wrenching days of 9/11. With a foreword from best-selling author Richard Price, Teenage Hipster in the Modern World is a hilarious and poignant snapshot of a city, a generation, and a man who wonders how he went from hanging out at CBGB to being an AARP card-holding father of three.
I don't know that I trust myself to review this book. It has become something like a bible for me. I crack it open for inspiration to write, or to see things from a new perspective. Like any retrospective, it judges the life work of a man, not just a brief moment of time. That said, Jacobson's writing is crisp and fresh throughout. It is hard to pinpoint when he is the best; because he is always the best. Each essay is perfect. Some scrape the edges of beyond perfection, where distinctions fall away and confusion sets in. Where one tries to process exactly how he recording all this brilliant information. This is the modern world I want to live in. Where gangsters, pimps, movie stars and holy men coexist. Where there is place for both the Dali Lama and Pam Grier. This is the world Jacobson lives in, and for a brief period of time, as you read this book, you live in it as well. Luckily, it isn't posthumous, so you can read his essays as they come out regularly. Maybe he is a journalist's journalist. Or a writer's writer. But he is my favorite journalist, and perhaps, my favorite writer. So lest I run from the realm of hero-worship into that of deification (and idol-worship) let me stop here. Read this book. You won't regret it.
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