Book Review: I’m With The Band by Pamela Des Barres. Reviewed by Evie Arnaude

I remember purchasing this book in high school shortly after its release, hiding it in a special spot in my bedroom so my mother wouldn’t find it. I read it once and then started all over from the beginning. The cracked spine and weathered cover reflect the battered tell-tale signs of a really good read.

And, oh…it truly is.

Sure, there have been books about escapades of women sleeping with famous men written before and since, but every little thing about Pamela Des Barre was different. So many of these books tell stories of consequence, sad stories that are also important to tell. For Pamela Ann Miller, there’s a distinct, refreshing lack of “drama” from her upbringing that launches this tale. You get the impression that she’s a normal, Southern Cali girl from a loving home who fell down the rabbit hole and had a lot of fun there.

Pamela lived an unconventional life in an unconventional time for everyone, but especially women. Her sexual discoveries are relatable for anyone who’s ever been a young adult. Moreover, she’s ready to squash any preconceived notions you might have about women who are “with the band.” And that’s not the entirely of her story. For starters, she wasn’t simply a groupie who, over the course of a decade, made “friends” with the likes of Mick Jagger, Keith Moon, Jimmy Page, Jim Morrison—and so many more. But few have and have had the full scope of experience living through a time in music that will never, ever be recreated: the ‘60s and ‘70s. Pamela was there—on the inside—when now classic rock was invented. With a groupie career launched by none other than Frank Zappa, she saw the rise of Jimi Page (and talks about his penis plaster cast), watched all the best bands play by the side stage, and, in the end, married one of them, rocker Michael Des Barre.

If you’ve read other books that fall within the same genre, you’ll know: No one talks about her escapades quite like Miss Pamela does. She has approached this story without romanticism, but a genuine hippie-hindsight love for the era and the people she met there. We know she must have seen a lot, it can’t all have been so rosy. No matter, that’s not the story she’s telling here. Hers is one of a time gone but not forgotten, full of endless possibility, music and sex. Lots and lots of sex.

Most importantly, there’s a sun-shiny view of just about everything from a woman who’s embodying the best of the California-girl hippie movement. No doubt she was looking for love in all the wrong places, but you really do get the sense that, in her own way, she’s leading a feminist crusade here. In her story—distinctly hers, not claiming it’s anyone else’s—there’s a lack of call to action, need for pity, but rather a quest for community.

And sex. Lots and lots of sex.

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