num foil. As mentioned, those who grewnup listening to Lennon and who were inntheir late 20’s and early 30’s at the timenof his death were then, presumably,nholding jobs. Some of those who hadnsuccumbed to that siren’s song (the gendernis, admittedly, incorrect, but theneffect isn’t) were upwardly mobile, professionalnpeople—^salesmen, accountnexecutives, teachers, journalists, etc.nTaste is an ever-changing thing. Thosenwho lived on Coca-Cola in their youthnoften end up loving demitassc; thosenwho once accepted steak only in an almostnburned condition sometimes laternrelish steak tartare. Similarly, some ofnthose flush money-makers who smokednmarijuana in their teens felt—and feel—na need for something rather more befittingntheir station in life-, cocaine. Cocainenis, of course, more worldly and urbanenthan “grass.” At cocktail parties lines ofnthe white powder can be snorted throu^nrolled-up JSIOO bills; marijuana cigarettesnare not only more messy, but it isnbecoming gauche to smoke anything innpublic. Time magazine, in an uncommonnbucking of the liberal social trendsnand lifestyle, recently exposed cocainenfor the killer that it is (April 11,1983).nRepeatedly, the article quotes users andnex-users who, given their ages, were undoubtedlyninfluenced by Lennon, and ifnnot by him specifically, then by the generalnenvironment of which he is representative.nTo wit: “Margaret, 30, a saleswomannfor a clothing manufacturer,”n”Rene, 29, a Western publishing executive,”n”Steve, 30, a Miami land salesman,”n”Chuck, 34, a San Francisco insurancenexecutive,” etc. The article shows—npainfully, realistically—^people financiallynand moraUy bankrupting themselves,ngroveling in filth and slime for ansnort or a shot of “Instant Karma.”nTen years ago, a book ehtitied RocknDreams appeared. The book comprisesn120 paintings by Belgian artist Guy Peellaertnthat are verbaUy supported by captionsnfrom rock critic Nik Cohn. It hasnbeen updated for a new edition with annintroduction by Michael Herr, who an­nnounces: “Rock Dreams are old-timer’sndreams.” Remember, as Abbie HoflBmannadvised, age 30 is the great divide; Margaret,nSteve, and Chuck are at or past it;nRene is almost there. It is a book fornthem. The illustrations show slices of lifenfirom the 50’s and 60’s that are essentiallynmanifest wishes of fens. Consider thencover: Mick Jagger, Bob Dylan, JohnnLennon, and Elvis Presley all sitting at ansoda fountain together. It’s better thannthe long-desired Beatles reunion; BobnDylan at George Harrison’s Concert fornBangladesh; the Beatles’ visit with Elvis;nand the little pictures of the Beatles thatncould be found on the cover of the RollingnStones’ For Their Satanic MajestiesnRequest album. Some of the paintingsnare, like the cover, ideal group shots.nOne that includes British crooner andnstar of Las Vegas Tom Jones with RickynNelson and, more remarkably, EddienCochran and Ritchie Valens, amongnothers, is, to be generous, curious.nAnnette Funicello is shown in her pre-nSkippy peanut butter days along withnFrankie Avalon, who then hadn’t evenndreamed of sailing on TVs Love BoatnOn the book goes, through the 60’s: thenBeatles in white tuxedos for MagicalnMystery Tour, the sloppy feast shot ofnthe Rolling Stones set up for Beggar’snBanquet These and others are redonenby Peellaert. A number are invented:nSimon and Garfiinkel riding on a subwayntrain, which almost combines “Soundsnof Silence” and “Homeward Bound.”nThere are ideal pictures: Bob Weir andnJerry Garcia of the Grateful Dead, GracenSlick and Paul Kantner of the JeffersonnAirplane, and Country Joe McDonaldn(all misidentified in the caption) all ridingnin the front seat of Ken Kesey’snPrankster bus. These are balanced bynsad ones: Jim Morrison in his Parisiannbathtub, drawing the water for his finalndip. The terms ideal and sad, of course,nare those that would be applied by thenideal reader. There are inexplicable pictures:nhow can Ray Charles drive a car?nThere are anachronistic ones: “Litde”nStevie Wonder wouldn’t have beggednoutside of the Apollo Theater when annnTemptations show was on because (A)nWonder grew up in Detroit, not NewnYork; (B) he would have been appearingnon the same Motown-organized bill,nas the record company was very protectivenof its acts. There are poorly illustratednones: has Jimmy Page ever resemblednan overweight Francis Ford Coppola.’nThere can be several approaches tonthis book. One is to take it as a documentnshowing the sordid, gruesome nature ofnrock culture (which would make it a bignhit for the before-mentioned teenagennecrophiliacs). However, among thenmost sordid-looking performers shownnis Jerry Lee Lewis (with his young bridenand as a drunk), vdio isn’t exacdy representativenof that culture: a few monthsnago, a televised awards show from Nashvillenhailed him. One of the most gruesomenillustrations is of Sam Cooke: deadnin a motel room. Cooke was a rhythmand-bluesnartist, not a rocker. All of thenrock stars—with the exception of JanisnJoplin, shown sleeping with the ubiquitousnSouthern Comfort bottie—are doingnthings that they did in photos shown innRolling Stone and Crawdaddy; all are, inntheir own peculiar way, vital. This bringsnup another approach to the book, onenthat is supported by Herr’s commentnand The New Republic article aboutnJohn Lennon. Rock Dreams is a coffeetablenbook for display at cocaine parties,na nostalgic text that can be used to generatenmemories of nights at the Fillmoren(East or West) and days at Woodstock—nor Altamont. Who cares if some of thenpaintings look like the black velvet canvasesnavailable on street comers and ifnothers look like the clip art Hyai NationalnEnquirer used to pass off as “real” shots?nAfter all, the pictures of Alice Coopernwhen he still wore fece paint and proudlynsang of his persona (on the Killer album)n”he’s sick, he’s obscene” and of a drunkennStewart when he was stiU “Rod the Mod”nmake up for any lapses. Such people maynhave been—or may be—sinners, butnRock Dreams shows saints: their halosnare crooked, bent, fragmented, shattered,nbut that’s what it’s all about. Dn^^41nJuly 1983n