Quick Take
- Narration: Guy Pratt narrates his own memoir with the timing and delivery of a natural comedian, and this is one of those rare cases where self-narration genuinely cannot be separated from the material.
- Themes: Rock-and-roll excess and survival, the working musician’s life, friendship and loyalty in the music industry
- Mood: Consistently hilarious with unexpected warmth, like a night at the pub with someone who has been everywhere
- Verdict: One of the funniest music memoirs available in audio, made definitive by Pratt’s self-narration and impossible to experience the same way in print.
I was already smiling somewhere in the second chapter when Pratt described being in The Smiths for a week, and by the time he got to the customs wheelchair story involving Jimmy Page I had stopped pretending to do anything else. This is the kind of music memoir that transcends the genre’s usual limitations: it is not primarily about status or name-dropping, even though there is substantial name-dropping, and it is not primarily about lessons learned from adversity, even though there is plenty of adversity. It is primarily about being genuinely funny about a genuinely extraordinary life, and Pratt brings off that combination with the ease of someone who has been entertaining rooms for a very long time.
Guy Pratt came of age as bass playing was becoming, in his own framing, sexy. His route from dallying with punk legend Sylvain Sylvain to supporting David Bowie with Icehouse is the kind of career trajectory that sounds impossible and turns out to be about timing, talent, and a willingness to say yes to things that might go catastrophically wrong. The memoir follows him from studio to bar to hotel to stadium Portakabin with a cast that includes Pink Floyd, Robert Palmer, Womack and Womack, Bryan Ferry, Madonna, Michael Jackson, and McFly, among many others. That breadth is not incidental to the book’s appeal; it is the whole point.
Why This Has to Be Audio
There are audiobooks where the narrator is competent but interchangeable with any other professional voice, and there are audiobooks where removing the narrator would fundamentally change what you are experiencing. Pratt’s memoir is the second kind. He narrates with the timing of a comedian, knowing precisely when to slow down for a punchline and when to accelerate through an anecdote that would lose its momentum if he paused to savor it. Reviewer Lotte Junger, recovering from cracked ribs, described laughing out loud until crying and the ribs screaming, which is both an extreme endorsement and an accurate description of the physical experience of listening to Pratt at his best.
Reviewer Ken Coffman called him a fabulous bass player and surely one of the luckiest men in the world, and then qualified that: lucky not only for surviving the debauchery and chemicals he ingested but for having opportunities and taking advantage of them. That distinction matters. This is not a passive memoir of a man who was simply in the right place. Pratt made choices, sometimes catastrophic ones, and the memoir is honest about the price of those choices without becoming a redemption narrative.
Pink Floyd and the Questions the Book Answers
For listeners who arrive at this memoir primarily as Pink Floyd fans, it does not disappoint. Reviewer Lotte Junger noted specifically that the Floyd sections do not disappoint, and while I will not detail the specific anecdotes here, the sections covering Pratt’s work with David Gilmour and his involvement with the band during and after The Division Bell era are among the most revealing in the book. He has a genuine relationship with those musicians and treats them with the kind of affectionate honesty that only someone who has toured with a band for years can credibly deploy.
The memoir is also unusually good on the actual craft of bass playing at the highest levels. Pratt’s relationship with his instrument, and the specific decisions he makes about how to serve a song rather than dominate it, surface throughout in ways that are genuinely illuminating for musicians. This is not a musician’s memoir that hides the music behind the gossip.
The Memoir’s Generosity
What distinguishes Pratt’s book from the more cynical end of rock memoir is its generosity toward almost everyone in it. The debauchery is documented without malice. The difficult figures, and there are several, are handled with a fairness that suggests someone who has had enough time and distance to see the full picture. Reviewer E. W. Cowan noted the irony that the headline is more about the other animals than the bass, which is accurate: Pratt is a natural ensemble player in writing as well as music. At nearly nine hours, the memoir never drags because Pratt understands instinctively when an anecdote has earned its length and when to move on.
Who Should Listen and Who Should Skip
Listen if you are a Pink Floyd fan, a rock biography enthusiast, a bass player, or simply someone who wants a music memoir that will make them laugh out loud in public. This is not niche listening; it is accessible to anyone who has a passing interest in the period and a tolerance for rock-and-roll excess described without apology. Skip only if explicit content and frank descriptions of drug use are genuine dealbreakers for you.
Frequently Asked Questions
How much of the book is specifically about Pink Floyd versus other artists?
The Floyd sections are present and, according to multiple reviewers, substantial and satisfying, but Pratt’s career spans so many other major artists that Pink Floyd is one thread among many. Listeners who want exclusively Floyd content should adjust expectations accordingly.
Does Guy Pratt discuss his ongoing work with David Gilmour?
Yes, his relationship with Gilmour is covered, including the period during and after The Division Bell era. Pratt has continued to work with Gilmour into the 2000s and beyond, and the memoir reflects the depth and longevity of that musical partnership.
Is this appropriate for younger listeners or does the content require a mature audience?
This memoir contains frank descriptions of drug use, alcohol excess, and the general debauchery of touring life at the highest levels of rock music. It is clearly intended for adult listeners. The humor is adult throughout.
Does the memoir cover technical bass playing or is it primarily personal anecdotes?
Both. Pratt is candid about his approach to the instrument and the specific decisions that define his playing style. The technical observations are woven into the personal narrative rather than isolated in separate sections, which makes them feel organic rather than instructional.
