BOOK: “Hotter Than a Match Head: Life on the Run with the Lovin’ Spoonful” by Steve Boone
I feel like I should start this review off with a bit of an explanation/disclaimer. I consider myself a huge Lovin’ Spoonful fan, and have spent the past few years gathering what sparse tidbits, anecdotes, histories and accounts I can find of the band. Which is pretty difficult, when, unlike groups like the Beatles, there aren’t volumes of text about the Spoonful. In fact, one reason I even began collecting teen music magazines was in an effort to gather any Spoonful articles and photos I could find.
And yet, when the good people at ECW Press sent over a review copy of Spoonful bassist Steve Boone’s autobiography, Hotter Than a Match Head, it took me awhile to crack it open. The feeling of finally having answers to some of the Spoonful’s deepest mysteries, and reading a complete tome just about the band — well, it was a little overwhelming.
I’m not alone among rock writers and historians in thinking that the Spoonful never really got its due in music. Sure, Boone, along with John Sebastian, Zal Yanovsky and Joe Butler, are in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but how much does that really matter, anyway? Among their peers, the four Spoons were well-respected, liked, and counted people like the Beatles, Eric Clapton and even legendary jazz critic Ralph Gleason as fans. But, sadly, they still haven’t garnered the public respect or recognition they rightfully deserve.
For one, the band put seven consecutive singles in the Top 10 between 1965 and 1966, including the #1 smash, “Summer in the City” (1966). They pioneered the burgeoning “folk-rock” genre (even though that term is sometimes skeevy), melded together influences from Cambridge to the Delta, and created a brand-new pop sound using, of all things, an autoharp. Not to mention that some of their songs are the most cleverly written, inventive and soundly structured tunes of the ’60s. (As Boone points out, there was a concentrated effort to make each single significantly and sonically different than the last.)
But, at the same time, the Spoonful was also one of the most controversial groups of the decade. After a San Franciscan drug bust involving Boone and lead guitarist Yanovsky, the pair made a deal with cops to introduce a “friend from the music business” (aka, an undercover agent) around a party. After that, the band was largely blacklisted in with-it West Coast communities. There is speculation (from Boone himself) that the bust cast a shadow on the Spoonful’s legacy, and tarnished their hipster credibility, which is probably not entirely inaccurate.
The infamous bust is one of the tales that has always loomed large in the band’s legend — and one that was never really widely discussed prior to this book. Since Zal Yanovsky suddenly passed away in 2002, Boone has the last word on the events of that night, and spares no detail, no matter how painful. It’s obvious how wracked with guilt he was over the incident, especially since so much of it occurred in a less-than-ethical procession by both cops and lawyers.
Another oft-debated event in the Spoonful’s short run is Yanovsky’s departure — was he fired or did he quit? In the past, each 
member of the Spoonful has given a slightly different account of what happened that fateful day. Boone asserts that Yanovsky was fired after a group vote, and maintains that he, himself, was the sole dissenting voice against Sebastian and Butler. In the end, Yanovsky was out and Jerry Yester, former member of the Modern Folk Quartet and ubiquitous record producer, was in. He still is today, along with Butler, Boone, and a backing band, who tour as the Lovin’ Spoonful.
Boone’s life before and after stardom is anything but boring; while many rock bios try to pad the apex of a musician’s career with hyperbole, Boone’s stint as a pot-smuggler aboard the high seas alone makes a compelling read. Add to that his trials and triumphs in love; forays in owning his own studio in Baltimore (and later moving that studio onto a boat and watching it sink); and a seemingly endless parade of hot cars and subsequent wrecks. It’s safe to say from cover-to-cover, Hotter Than a Match Head is riveting (though a dictionary of nautical terms might come in handy).
Aside from scant factual errors and a few personal embellishments, which are to be expected whenever anyone writes a book about their favorite subject — themselves — Boone’s autobiography is comprehensive, mostly regarding the Spoonful. Though, at times, he does drop teasers about wild parties without specifics — we need details! — he doesn’t pull punches regarding fellow band mates, their wives, or some of the band’s associates.
A rather scathing letter regarding the reformed Spoonful from John Sebastian to the band’s lawyer is included, which is puzzling; if there aren’t legal statutes preventing the publishing of letters like that, surely there are ethical ones? A few pages later, Boone maintains that he and Sebastian are still buds, which I don’t doubt — but I know that I wouldn’t print private letters from my friends, especially if they were served to me through a lawyer.
Overall, Hotter Than a Match Head serves the Lovin’ Spoonful well. It balances Boone’s personal and professional histories, while reading like a novel. For us hardcore and longtime Spoonful fans, it’s refreshing to finally hold some sort of an official account in our hands. Now, we can only hope that more will follow.
(Cover photo from Teen Screen, April, 1966. Steve Boone portrait from the Lovin’ Spoonful’s 1966 tour program.)
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