Performer and songwriter Sly Stone gets his turn to talk about his life and career in the entertainment industry in Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin). His pop-funk-rock band, Sly and the Family Stone, spawned a ton of hits in the 1960s and 1970s, many of which reflected his beliefs that everyone was part of the great whole. He integrated both men and women, family and friends, black and white, to become part of his band. Through the memoir, we learn how he became this music icon and his life after fame and fortune.

At first, I really enjoyed the book. You find out his origins in Northern California where early on in his life Sly gravitated towards music with his parents' support and through his church. He was musical, learning to play instruments and sing and had an ear for words that went well together. That sounds pretty simplistic, but even throughout the book, Sly uses puns and language that comes with more than one interpretation. His voice definitely comes through in the first part of the book.

I also love how he originally espoused his quest for all people to come together and just enjoy music. Many of his early hits like "Everybody is a Star" and "Stand" attempt to make the audience see that we're all the same and should all try to understand each other. And Sly was authentically himself, wearing what he wanted, saying what he wanted, and letting his personality shine through whatever he did.

After he loses some of his fame and prominence in the industry, that's where things fall apart. Not just with his relationships with his various wives and girlfriends, his children, and bandmembers but the book, too. It's almost impossible to keep track of his girlfriends and wives--I couldn't keep straight who Sly was with or not with and how long. The same goes for his kids. I think he had three? But they were not an outstanding part of the book. You'd think he had none for how many times they're mentioned.

During the time after his heyday, Sly gets caught up in several different legal entanglements. Those I couldn't keep straight either because there's no real delving into the details or laying them out chronologically. It was muddled and almost as if he didn't want to talk about it, which makes me wonder why even bring it up?

Sly also seems weighed down with drug problems. It almost seems as if he didn't really want to talk about that much either. He's in rehab, he's getting high on crack, and it seems like he's assuming that he's in control. I couldn't get a handle on that as well. Did he get sober because it didn't seem like that situation was cemented either way. Was there any type of redemption?

I think that I would have preferred to read a biography of Sly Stone instead of this book. This book meanders all over the place, so it's hard to get a sense of who Sly really is. There's no doubt that he had plenty of talent. He even started out as a DJ way before he appeared on stage, but, after a while, it goes off the rails and becomes way less coherent. Unfortunately, a tale of what could be redemption really goes nowhere.

I received this ARC from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

I was never a big fan of Sly's group, but being a teen in the 70s you knew his music. Enjoyable read, sounds like he was talking to a bunch of friends. Goes into some detail about escapades he had, but not into great detail. If you like reading memoirs about musicians, this one is worth reading!

A sprawling, inviting memoir from one of the most influential figures in modern music. This book was as kaleidoscopic as Stone's oeuvre, spanning a rich history of a life well lived.

For those who have been waiting to hear Sly Stone speak after decades of silence, 'Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) will likely satisfy some of their curiosity about his life, but not all. For those who feel that Sly Stone's brain has been addled by years of drug abuse, they too may feel that this book reinforces their view. The reality of Sly Stone is that as a musician he is an influential genius to many artists, in no small part, because he opened up lanes for collaboration that were not based on gender, race, background, etc. HIs music, while soulful, helped develop the rhythm of Funk music a much under-appreciated form.

Thank you to the publisher and NetGalley for the opportunity to read this book in return for an honest review.

Passed my high expectations. I'm amazed at how funny he is—Sly has a jazzy, witty tone that shines off the page, even when he's recollecting some pretty heinous incidents and horrendous stupors. As one would expect with Sly, music comes first, and fans won't be disappointed. Credit to Ben Greenman as well, who's proven himself a first-rate autobiography co-writer over several books.

Sly Stone has had a storied life, through being one of the best artists in the world to losing it all to being the influence of many new artists making music today. Now in his eightieth year, Sly has released his memoir that follows him from his early years as a DJ to his later years of watching television and staying clean. To tell the story about Sly Stone is to tell the story about genius that is dampened by drug use.

His music is incredible. His songs are in the soundtrack to the zeitgeist of the 60s and 70s, and even if you do not know the lyrics, you can recognize the melodies. From songs covered by Madonna, the Jackson 5, Joan Osborne, and Fishbone to songs samples by Arrested Development, The Beastie Boys, and Kanye West, it is hard to even consider the scope of the influence that Sly and the Family Stone had on the culture.

I started listening to Sly and the Family Stone because I listened to countless hours of Red Hot Chili Peppers. I was in high school when their album Bloodsugarsexmajik came out. I listened to it countless times, sometimes three or four times a day. I decided to get another of their albums, and without any research, so I bought Freaky Styley. Produced by George Clinton, a very close friend of Sly Stone, their version of “If You Want Me to Stay” made me seek out the original, which led me to much of Sly and the Family Stone’s catalog.

I knew little about Sly outside of his music. This memoir Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) shines a light on the genius of Sly Stone, along with the message that he was trying express, and the drugs that muddied it all. When he started Sly and The Family Stone, he made hit after hit, not only for his band but writing songs for others. The more successful he became, the more drugs were readably available. His drugs of choice were cocaine and PCP (angel dust), and doing these separately makes a person unpredictable. Doing them together makes a person unbearable. It is shocking that his story did not end much earlier in tragic death. Many of those around him doing the same things did, like Jimi Hendrix (whom he knew well) and Janis Joplin (whom he did not know well). Unlike most of the artists that he worked with or wanted to work with, he is still alive. He has been sober for four years now, and to think someone was smoking crack and PCP for decades and is finally recovering is worth celebrating. This memoir does not feel like a victory lap for his sobriety as much as the beginning of a new, bright appreciation of someone who had disappeared from the limelight a long time ago.

The memoir moves fast, goes through some very good times and very tumultuous times, but there is no time when he gets caught up on the good or the bad. It is like he needs to move as quickly as possible through his story because that is how he lived his life. Some of the writing is clever like lyrics or song titles. It shows that his brain will always work in a certain, lyrical, clever way, and even in his later years, this sharpness has not changed. Hopefully this memoir will help Sly Stone come back into the spotlight, at least enough for his to get the recognition that he deserves.

I received this as an ARC from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

I was very excited to read this, but it's really just a thin chronology with only the most basic levels of insight and backstory, with his memory sharper based on the woman or women in his life at a given time, than his music, writing, or creative process. He confirms some legends and myths from earlier books and stories, denies others, and says he doesn't remember still others.

He doesn't shy away from drug talk, and speaks pretty bluntly about his use, but with a certain detachment, and rarely with any regret. He blames his spotty performance record on imperfect equipment, flawed handlers, and even phone calls he had to make or take during scheduled shows. It ends with no promise of more music, more performance, and seems to serve as a farewell, a disappointing finale after the last decade's hints and attempts at some type of return.

We still have that incredible catalog, though, and for that we must remain grateful.

There is a certain narcissism in every celebrity autobiography, but Sly Stone's is over the top even by celebrity biography standards. But who would expect less. The first part of the book, where he describes how he got started as a DJ and producer, and formed Sly & the Family Stone, was the most fascinating. Lots of anecdotes about gigs, other bands, Woodstock, and especially working on his groundbreaking music (I had his music playlist on repeat the entire time I was reading). Too much of the second half was about scoring drugs and getting laid, and generally acting like an asshole, over and over again. I suppose that was his life, or what he remembers of it, but it made that part of the book a boring read. Even so, I read this to learn more about Sly Stone and in that regard: mission accomplished. Strongly recommended for fans of Sly & the Family Stone.

Thank you to NetGalley and AUWA for an advanced reader copy.

My thanks to both NetGalley and the publisher Farrar, Straus and Giroux, for an advanced copy of this memoir by a trendsetter not only in music, but in fashion, ideas, and this odd ideas that people are people, be they everyday or everyway.

Sly Stone was a man ahead not of this world ut of the future. A person who had a gift for music, and ear to put things today and the brain to have that music go higher, and into places Sly was not afraid to tread. A man who understood the pain of growing up, looked down for his race, judged by his skin, and not his skills, Stone could look beyond simple issues male, female, Stone didn't care as long as you loved and as long as one could play. James Brown made funk, Sly Stone perfected it. However the world is a tough place, especially for one who is sensitive, and the best way sometimes to deal with an uncaring world, is to numb the caring right out. Drink, drugs, whatever was supplied cost Stone almost everything, and yet he is here today, memoir in hand, another piece of art for the world to learn from. Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin): A Memoir by Sly Stone with Ben Greenman, is a look at a life that had ups, a lot of uppers, downers, and everything in between, but one that finally has found an acceptance that seemed to be missing for so long.

Sylvester Stewart was born in 1943, the second child of five, near Denton, Texas, but was raised in Vallejo, California. Stewart's parents were religious, and part of their faith was that the power of the Lord could be told in music. Soon Stewart and his brother and sisters, one didn't join, had a popular gospel group, and even had a few 78's released locally. Stewart was a musical prodigy, learning piano very young, and moving up to guitar, bass and drums by age 11. Stewart used to enter musical contests finding out what instruments music needed to be played on, learning the instrument and usually winning. This did not sit well with white people, Stewart's first brush with the crippling power that racial hatred could have on talent and people. Stewart joined more bands, playing with anyone, but his band the Viscaynes was a hit for the fact it was a mixed race band, and therefore an oddity and cool to people. DJing gave him his stage name, a mix of a nickname from youth and Stone cause it sounded cool. Producing gave him experience in music, and soon the idea of his own band, a mix of everything he knew, and every idea he ever had took shape. Success followed but like every Icarus, flying close to the sun, the heat of drugs, success, and band pressures caused everything to fall to earth.

A memoir about a music genius that never got the chance to really shine. There were successes of course, but so much lost time, time that even Stone will admit to, lost on addiction, feuds, courtrooms, and more bad decisions. The writing is good, as is Stone's story, the only problem I had was the hand of the co-writer might have been a little strong. There are some great moments, things going right, incidents where things went very wrong that seemed a tad flat. However the stories of Stone's addiction are quite harrowing, and make one feel quite deeply for the man. The idea of just learning a musical instrument and winning a music contest was one of my favorite moments in rock biographies, a casual statement by a guy who could play anything, and play it well.

Recommended for fans without a doubt, and for people who love the music of the 60s' and 70's Stone had such huge effect on music, one can see his influence everywhere. A book about music, and finding the power to change, even after many, many lost years. Reading this I hope that Sly Stone is finally happy, and aware completely of all the joy his music brought to the world, and the huge influence he has been.

An engaging look at the many lives of Sly Stone.
Throughout his life, he has laid down many grooves. From choir singer with his family, to DJ (when Sylvester Stewart became Sly Stone) to impresario, musical genius, recording artist, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist. He was (pardon the phrase) a mover and a shaker. He was progressive, fusing soul, psychedelia, R&B and funk and making some of the best music with his multi-racial, mixed gender line up (including his siblings). Although steadily positioned on the top of the charts, by the late 1960’s, the use of illegal drugs began to fracture the band. Sly, frequently carrying a violin case filled with drugs became irritable, erratic and unreliable. His genius stifled by his addictions and its residuals dampened his and the bands future. Frustrating concert goers, he would walk off the stage in the middle of a show or not show up to gigs.
Sly is quite candid. His love of music enveloped him until the addictions loomed larger spending time in rehab and in jail. His will or his sheer ability to survive it all, is remarkable.
Recommended. Thanks to NetGalley, the author and AUWA/MCD for an ARC in exchange for an honest review.

Sly's memoir, co-written with Ben Greenman and with a forward by Questlove, will be published October 17, 2023. Farrar, Straus and Giroux provided an early galley for review.

From its opening, I could instantly tell this was a story that Sly wanted to tell but only on his terms. It was going to be more than just a look at the music and the career of a music master. It was going to be a story about personal struggle and facing the demons. It was going to have some weight and power to it.

I like that Sly starts out talking about family and how they were raised. Family was clearly an important part of his music and a big contribution to the songs. The music is very much the framework here as the years begin to be marked by the albums as they came. We get background on making the songs and details about publicity appearances. Some things are clear as day, while others have a haze to them - likely the effects on memory due to so much drug usage. Still, when Sly is "on" he comes across as really insightful and with a mastery of phrase construction. Not too bad for a man in his eighties.

I am finding, both with this autobiography and so many others I've read in recent years, that it is often about (to use Sly's own song title) everyday people - people who just focused their talents and passions towards their goals and shared the results with others. That's pretty much the key that we all should strive for; some just share those with a much wider audience.

An engaging and insightful look at Sly Stone, the highly talented composer and performer, authored by someone who already did a great job with George Clinton's memoir. It gives you a taste of the time, of the scene, and of what it means to be a musician but also an important and equally gripping look at why people don't want to engage with the industry anymore and how a practice that nourishes (creating music and performing it) can also be draining (all of the business shenanigans, especially in that era). As a fan of Sly's music, it was captivating and informative. For someone who is interested in what it means to walk away from something you thought you'd do forever, it would be equally compelling.

I grew up with several older siblings listening to Sly and the Family Stone on repeat. From Stand to Everyday People, those songs left an indelible mark on me. Reading the memoir of such an icon was icing on the cake. I've often wondered about Mr. Sly over the years as he has been very recluse. He lived quite an eventful life and I'm so glad that he is still with us....hopefully to make more music! I enjoyed this book. #netgalley #Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)

> I didn’t explain myself beyond that. No one asked me to do so.

Finally, Sly Stone uncovered: one of the front figures of funk releases his autobiography, and it's about as elusive as the man himself.

> What can I say to all of that? Yes, no, no? No, yes, no? Maybe I was standing on a chair instead of the top of the stairs when I came down to warn people about the other dealer’s stash. Maybe I asked Bubba to get me a lighter instead of a phone book, or maybe he was holding a newspaper instead of a gun. Maybe the girl was half-Japanese. The details in the stories people tell shift over time, in their minds and in mine, in part or in whole, each time they’re told. That’s what makes them stories. Telling stories about the past, about the way your life crosses into the lives of those around you, is what people do, what they have always done. Those people aren’t trying to hurt you. They’re trying to set the record straight. But a record’s not straight, especially when you’re not. It’s a circle with a spiral inside it. Every time a story is told it’s a test of memory and motive. Telling stories isn’t right and it isn’t wrong. It isn’t evil but it isn’t good. It’s the name of the game but a shame just the same.

Sly and the Family Stone became one of the most commercially successful and unique music acts in the world. For a time, they released easy-going funk that was as catchy as it was complex; Sly was, rightfully so, at times tagged as the Brian Wilson of funk; they both made music that seemed easy but was complicated. Well-crafted tunes, explosive stage shows, and a lot of groove and variation wasn't enough: at the peak of their powers, they released *There's A Riot Goin' On*, a seminal nail in the coffin of Uncle Sam, pretty much in the vain as what Marvin Gaye did when he released *What's Going On*; both were recorded around the same time, which says something about white oppression of Black America.

Sly Stone seemed enigmatic to the general public: he didn't always feel like he had to explain himself and didn't play into the hands of popular media. He started doing drugs, caught a reputation for cancelling gigs at the last minute, and stopped making hits. He nearly completely stopped doing interviews.

So, to paraphrase Marvin Gaye: what went on?

Sly Stone's autobiography is a chronological patchwork of thoughts and non-explanations that make up a book that isn't written to cater to anybody. Stone's tone is laid down from the start:

> Back in 1971, in a song called “Time,” I wrote about how time moved and grew. You can speed up time or slow it down but you can’t stop it. You can try to see through time but it thickens. “Are you dense?” I once asked a reporter. Time is. I think back through it all, through the parts of time I still hold and the parts that have slipped away. I can still hear a note bouncing out of an electric piano in 1966. I can still see the hem of a dress rising in 1970. I can still feel the lights on my face as I walked onstage in 1972. Other memories are harder to grasp. An afternoon at an airport in a city. I know that I once knew the name of the woman at the counter, because I said it to her in a way that made her laugh. But it’s gone. I’m not even sure of the city: St. Louis? Today I thought of a Bible verse I haven’t thought of in years, and it came to me completely, without a piece missing. John 3:1: “Now there was a man of the Pharisees named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews. He came to Jesus at night and said, ‘Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God. For no one could perform the signs you are doing if God were not with him.’” Why that verse? Can’t remember. Maybe it’ll come to me tomorrow, maybe the day after. There’s no hurry. I am taking my time. Have you taken yours? The sun comes up, goes down, comes up again. I’m not trying to stop the day. I know what makes me strong.

Stone paints a pretty psychedelic picture of his life, possibly without trying to act cool; he lets his music bring the cool.

> Learning was looking. There was a guy in the church who played guitar. What he did with it was amazing, six strings and an infinity of things. I watched him like a hawk. He wasn’t a mentor. I don’t even know if I spoke to him. I just saw what he did and tried to figure out how to do the same and more. Guitar stayed with me, but I was always looking to whatever was next, taking up the bass, picking out songs on the piano. I felt incomplete without an instrument, or maybe it’s more to the point to say that I only felt complete with one. When I went out into the world, I was surprised to see people who weren’t carrying instruments. I wasn’t sure what they did instead.

In his early days, Stone started DJing and, turns out, he was really good at it; he got a fan club because of how catchy and unique he acted on the radio:

> At first my KSOL show played mostly R&B and soul, like the call letters said. But 1964 brought a sea change from across the sea. When the Beatles appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show in February 1964, they put everything in the rearview mirror. I didn’t see that show, but I saw how people talked about them after that. I couldn’t ignore them on the radio. I didn’t want to. Whatever was in the air went on my airwaves: not just the Beatles but the Stones, Bob Dylan, Mose Allison. Some KSOL listeners didn’t think a R&B station should be playing white acts. But that didn’t make sense to me. Music didn’t have a color. All I could see was notes, styles, and ideas. I tried to learn from it. I loved the Beatles for their melodies and their lyrics and their tight harmonies. And Bob Dylan, well, he was only one guy, working with just voice, guitar, and harmonica. It was so little to go on, or at least that’s what people thought, but they didn’t hear how dead serious he was about what he was doing, even when he was joking. He pushed his mind at you through his music. After I introduced a record, I would sit at the piano and play along with it. It was an exercise, and it strengthened me. You cover other songs in your mind and eventually you’ve got it covered. Sometimes I would even decide that the original act had taken the arrangement in the wrong direction, and correct course. As soon as the song ended, I was back at the microphone. I started to get known around San Francisco because of KSOL. I had a following and a fan club, the Magnificent Stoners. In on-air promos, a female voice read out a membership offer, which included an official card and a signed photo of me. She left a blank space for the station’s mailing address and I filled it in, using a high voice that didn’t quite match hers. “1111 Market,” I would say in that high voice, and then come back in as myself: “You’re gonna have to do something about your voice, Jo. It changes right in the middle of a sentence.”

Stone came from the kind of background that made it clear that success wouldn't come easily; not only did he work a lot in the studio but he worked his band:

> We worked hard from the start. We practiced hard to make perfect. I was clear about that with the group. If you were only going to get one shot—at a label signing you, at a hit record—you had to make sure that it found the bullseye. That’s what I was aiming for. The arrow was in the bow. I rehearsed the band every day, didn’t matter if it was Christmas or New Year’s or someone’s birthday. The rehearsals went on as long as needed. Bring a lunch, Freddie used to say. That was the only way to get better and getting better was the only way to get best. After a few months, the late weekend shows started to get a little extra shine on them. People came up from Los Angeles and sometimes even farther.

Stone's world view was so prolific and multi-coloured and allowed nearly any listener to understand that he only wanted to convey his message, regardless of what that message was. His music made it across every border and beyond. Stone knew his self-worth and why. This paragraph is typical in relation to how Stone often tells things in the book:

> What really made it clear to me was when David Kapralik gave me a Stellavox tape recorder, one of the best in the world. This is a nice motherfucker, I thought. Why would you give that to me? But I didn’t ask him. I asked myself. And then I answered myself: Because I kicked ass.

Parts of the book are simultaneously funny and insane:

> There were, as always, dogs. Everyone in and around the band had them: Jerry had a Great Pyrenees, Larry had a Russian wolfhound. At Coldwater, I had a bulldog named Max, a great dane named Stoner, and a schipperke named Shadow. At Bel Air I had my favorite dog, a pit bull named Gun. He was my best friend. He was crazy. He would chase his tail in circles, not for a minute or for an hour but forever. He couldn’t sleep. At first people thought he had been stung by a wasp but you don’t get stung by a wasp forever. When it became clear the problem was something larger some of those same people said he needed to be put down. Then a suggestion came in that we dock his tail so that he would have less to chase. That settled him down, not completely but enough. Gun was small when he was a puppy, like any dog, but when he was grown he was really grown. He must have weighed sixty pounds, and it was solid muscle. He and I ran the house. We would go through halls, him on a leash, me holding it, looking for people. It was a game of hide-and-seek, though the seeking happened before anyone could hide. Bobby Womack was afraid of Gun, so when he heard us coming he would go behind furniture or into closets. Once I went into a room and saw Bobby crouched up on a pool table. He put a finger to his lips to shush me up. I winked at him and walked out but I don’t know what he was thinking. Gun could have gotten up on top of that table no problem. I also had a baboon named Erfy, meaning earthy. I forget where I got him. Baboon store? Erfy used to tease Gun and then, just as Gun’s temper was spilling over, leap away, higher than a pool table. One day Erfy jumped away too slowly. Gun lunged and got a baboon foot in his jaw and then more than that. He didn’t just catch Erfy. He killed him. And he didn’t just kill him. He forced him to have sex after he was dead. I didn’t see it myself but I heard about it from everyone.

Part of Stone's unique way in storytelling does slip over from songs written fifty years ago. He can deliver a story by not letting the negatives turn a drink acidic and instead ferment in your head:

> Everyone gets their hair done. I went to get mine done at a place named Huff’s Fashionette at Fillmore and Geary. Back then the neighborhood was still the real Fillmore, houses, clubs and bars, lots of black faces. Within a few years, it would be a site of urban redevelopment, which meant clearing our old buildings and replacing them with new expensive ones, clearing black faces and replacing them with whiter ones. A sad story but it hadn’t happened yet.

Stone does, at a few times, flesh out the live experience of playing music, and he tells it simply, in a way that interviewers haven't asked him to do. It'd be really interesting to interview Stone with open-ended and precise questions:

> We were building to “I Want to Take You Higher.” By now it was past four in the morning, still dark, but I could see more of the crowd in the predawn light. God damn. Even those I didn’t see I could sense, between the smoke and the sound. I was thinking what would happen if I said something and they all said it back. What would that sound like? What would it be like? So I tried it. I took the microphone and spoke to everyone. “What we would like to do is sing a song together. And you see what usually happens is you got a group of people that might sing and for some reasons that are not unknown anymore, they won’t do it. Most of us need approval. Most of us need to get approval from our neighbors before we can actually let it all hang down. But what is happening here is we’re going to try to do a singalong. Now a lot of people don’t like to do it. Because they feel that it might be old-fashioned. But you must dig that it is not a fashion in the first place. It is a feeling. And if it was good in the past, it’s still good. We would like to sing a song called ‘Higher.’ And if we could get everybody to join in, we’d appreciate it.” I sang, “I want to take you higher,” and they sang back the last word, “higher.” All of them. Damn. We kept it going. I kept it going. “Just say ‘higher’ and throw the peace sign up. It’ll do you no harm. Still again, some people feel that they shouldn’t because there are situations where you need approval to get in on something that could do you some good.” Want to take you higher went out. Higher came back. What the word meant widened. It wasn’t just keeping yourself up with a good mood or good drugs. It was defeating anything that could bring you down. It was an instruction how to go over your problems. It was a solution. “If you throw the peace sign up and say ‘higher,’ you get everybody to do it. There’s a whole lot of people here and a whole lot of people that might not want to do it, because if they can somehow get around it, they feel there are enough people to make up for it. On and on. Et cetera. Et cetera. We’re going to try higher again and get everybody to join in we’d appreciate it. It’ll do you no harm.” Want to take you higher / Higher. A wave crashing onto the shore of the stage. Way up on the hill … Want to take you higher! / Higher! Want to take you higher! / Higher! Want to take you higher! / Higher! The call, the response. It felt like church. By then the film crew was fully in place. The horns went up into the sky.

You make your own history in an autobiography, unless you do it like Beastie Boys, and allow others to add their stuff. On the other hand, even they controlled their story entirely and wouldn't publish something they weren't happy with. Having said that, it's kind of beautiful to see how Stone portrays his love for the fellow human:

> On the morning of September 11, 2001, someone from New York called to tell me to turn on the TV. I did. My first thought was what the fuck? It was my second thought too. I didn’t know what I was seeing. I thought it was a war. I wanted to be prepared, so I bought camouflage clothes, more guns, gas masks. The days afterward were quiet. All the planes were out of the sky. But the damage had been done. People applauded Bin Laden because they hated the United States. A few years later, people applauded the capture of Saddam Hussein because they hated Bin Laden. They weren’t the same people but they were doing the same thing. And if there was no applauding on your side, you could be sure that there was applauding on the other side. None of it made sense. Why did people feel such excitement at the idea that we weren’t all on the same side? I was never going to be at peace with that.

Today, Stone lives a slow life, having cemented most of modern-day funk. His work should inspire gratitude in a *lot* of artists, in music and beyond.

The book works and doesn't. It's not a vehicle like other biographies. If you read this, expecting 'Family Affair', you'll probably get surprised by getting the rest of *There's A Riot Goin' On*; as rock documentaries go, this isn't *The Dirt* written by Neil Strauss. In other words: this isn't a regular book, even though it is chronological.

I wish we'd gotten a bit more of Stone's inner mind. I wish some paragraphs would have gone on for even longer; it all leaves me thinking Stone is a guarded person, even though he might not be. It might just not be because anyone asked him to explain shit.

Let's leave with a final quote from the book, where Stone mentions part of his gig at the Coachella music festival in 2010. This might say a lot more about Stone than he intended:

> I sang along with a song called “If I Didn’t Love You” which sketched out a bad relationship. Another one, maybe not finished, opened with a scene of a young soldier terrified in the bushes, trained in patriotism and warfare but not courage or conscience. I was on the edge of the stage on my back, then on my feet with my back to the crowd. The band didn’t know what to do or how to do it. They tried to follow me but I hadn’t led them to any of it. Fuck rehearsal.

I did not have specific expectations when beginning to read Thank You. What I knew was that Sly is an integral part of music and I was interested in learning more about his journey.

Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin) does an excellent job of weaving the story of Sly's life with his experiences in the music industry.

What I enjoyed most is how authentically the book is written. Not just the stories but the phrasing, in several places it read as if he was in the room telling you the story directly.

The book covers his early days including upbringing in the Church of God in Christ to his decision to pursue music instead of his initial desired profession. There is honest conversation about difficulties, not only in his personal life but how the issues of the world such as segregation impacted him. This continued when he discussed why he did not like to do interviews later in life. He gave an exceptional example of a Spin Magazine interview that depicted him poorly despite the comments that he shared with the interviewer.

Sly was intent on making music that was impactful and meaningful not just songs. I found myself writing several quotes that were impactful:

"Everyone had to be free all the time or no one was free at all."
"There's nothing wrong with feeling religious out of church."
"Divisions were subtractions."
"A good idea should travel around the world."

There were a few moments that made me uncomfortable because of the personal nature and the others involved but that is the beauty and pain of shared experiences, everyone is free to share their portion of the experience.

Overall, it was a beautifully honest view of how all of his experiences pulled together to create his world. I would recommend to anyone with interest in the music industry, but also to those interested in learning more about the life and experiences of others in general.

A must read for any music fan! It really traces the story from his gospel routes to superstardom and his pitfalls and stops along the way. I enjoyed the peek at the music business during that era--i don;t know if much has changed!

I would like to thank Farrar, Strauss and Giroux as well as Net Galley for the opportunity to read this book as an ARC.I am always interested in autobiographies of musicians from the 60's and 70's. It was a turbulent, creative , exciting time, and we will never be able to read the autobiographies of too many who were lost to us , much to young. This is a fascinating, if a bit disjointed story of Sylvester Stewart, leader of Sly and the Family Stone. It is unvarnished, and unapologetic. He lived quite a life- money, music, women, drugs and fame. He talks about all of the ups and downs. Some of it is hard to read and understand, you want to reach out and ask- "Why did you keep using the drugs Sly?" But his musical talent and the talent to reach people is evident throughout. It is parts funny, sad, mixed up and brilliant- just like the writer.

Much anticipated but inevitably an odd reading experience. While not a 'drug memoir' it tells of a life lived through drugs where music sometimes struggled to get out. Worth reading though,

I love Sly Stone’s music and I had heard so many rumors about his drug use that I really wanted to read his memoir. It was really interesting—from Sly’s roots in gospel in Northern California to the huge hits in his prime to his incredible drug use to his rehabilitation and life in old age. It’s a cautionary tale by a survivor and a look at he music business and one of the most influential musicians of his era. The only negative is that his drug use clearly made it difficult to remember what happened at times. But read it—you’ll enjoy.