Not to be read before operating heavy machinery, John Denver's autobiography is as devoid of real emotion as a Muzak version of "Rocky Mountain High." What might have been the moving story of a rootless boy's rise to music and movie stardom is stultified by Denver's dispassionate narrative voice.
Nor has Denver succeeded in capturing the fervent times that fueled his singing and fostered his social activism. The book also seems occasionally dishonest, especially when something as significant as his arrest for drunk driving (he was stopped a second time this summer) is dismissed with: "I feel that I was perfectly in control of my faculties, but that's another story." If he ever tells that other story, Denver should muster more feeling than is evident here. (Harmony, $22)