It's no longer surprising for memoirs by music stars and celebrities to contain some major disclosures, be it Mariah Carey confessing to an extramarital affair with baseball great Derek Jeter or Carlos Santana revealing that he was subjected to sexual abuse as a child.
Native San Diego singer-songwriter Stephen Bishop also makes a major disclosure in his new autobiography, "On and Off," which takes its title from his lilting 1977 hit, "On and On."
But Bishop — whose songs have been recorded by Art Garfunkel, Barbra Streisand, The Four Tops, and dozens more — takes his time before dropping a sobering bombshell in his otherwise mostly breezy book.
Indeed, it is only in the one-page epilogue, titled "2020," that he lets the cat out of the bag. Or to be more precise, several cats.
Since March 2020, Bishop writes, he has undergone nearly a dozen health travails. They began with a late-night fall in his bathtub while sleepwalking, resulting in a hospital visit and 10 stitches in his head.
A few weeks later, a medication he was taking toxified in his system. Since then, Bishop continues: "I have been in the hospital 10 times for various things" over "a span of almost two years."
His longest stay was for more than one month early last year, and included two weeks in ICU, followed by two weeks of private in-patient physical therapy rehab. He lost 50 pounds, he writes, but is "healthy now and have no plans to return. The food was terrible."
Bishop does not elaborate on why he was hospitalized so often, although he counts himself fortunate to not have contracted COVID-19.
"I hope to return to touring someday," he writes. "In the meantime, I have finished this book, recorded a new album and have a new documentary about my career waiting in the wings."
A gifted troubadour
Had all gone as planned, Bishop's book and documentary would have come out in 2019, when a press release announced both were due later that year.
But "On and Off" was not completed until early 2020, just before the pandemic brought life as we know it to a sudden, shuddering halt around the world.
It was shortly thereafter that Bishop's health challenges began. But those readers desiring life-and-near-death introspection in "On and Off" will have to look elsewhere.
Now 70, Bishop is a gifted troubadour with a winning knack for crafting nuanced ballads. His best songs boast a gentle melodicism and a warm, conversational vocal delivery, along with lyrics that can be melancholic one moment, whimsical the next.
"On and Off" also has a warm, conversational tone, so much so that parts of it read like written transcriptions of recorded reminiscences.
That can be a good thing, given Bishop's endearing personality, sly sense of humor and ability to deftly turn a phrase.
"One of my paintings was so ugly," he writes, "that I called it 'Ugly Plus'..." If uttered on stage, this quip could be accompanied by a snare drum rim shot.
Recalling an early 1990s event that was also attended by former President Ronald Reagan, Bishop writes: "My first impression of Nancy Reagan was that she had a giant forehead. It made me think of the Ponderosa on 'Bonanza.' "
Anecdotes such as these are a part of "On and Off's" low-key charm. They are also one of the book's failings, since brief anecdotes dominate its 257 pages — there are 80 numbered anecdotes in all.
Some are memorable. Others are so general as to verge on the banal, including reminiscences about Patty Hearst ("a terrific person who has been through so much") and Jane Fonda ("she's always as sweet as can be.")
Musical salvation
These anecdotes dominate the parts of "On and Off" that are not devoted to ... take your pick: a list of artists who have recorded Bishop's songs (three pages); the titles of songs he has written (seven pages); his handwritten lyrics (nine pages); stand-alone photos (30 pages); and typed lyrics (51 pages).
That leaves barely more than 150 pages for Bishop to reflect and expound on his life. He includes some thoughtful, genuinely touching moments about growing up in San Diego, where he faced significant philosophical challenges as the not at all religiously inclined son of a devout Orthodox Christian Scientist mother and a not at all pleasant stepfather.
Music provided Bishop's salvation, although some key elements appear to have been omitted from "On and Off."
He writes about the profound impact The Beatles had on him as a kid, after he saw the game-changing English band perform on TV's "The Ed Sullivan Show" in 1964. But Bishop doesn't mention the Fab Four epiphany he had that same year here, an experience he enthusiastically recounted in a 1984 San Diego Union interview.
"The first time I ever heard The Beatles," he said in that interview, "I was selling newspapers on the corner of 70th and El Cajon Boulevard where Bert's 5 and 10 cent store used to be. I heard a blast from the radio of somebody's car — it was 'I Want to Hold Your Hand' — and I'll never forget the feeling that came over me. I felt like I'd heard something magical.
"Within the week, I'd bought their first album. I took it home and I couldn't stop playing it. I quickly became a solid Beatles nut. I traded Beatles cards, I got into the Beatles as people, I adopted an English accent for a while. I consider myself a staunch heterosexual, but I'd stare at pictures of Paul McCartney until my eyes dropped out. I became John Lennon for about three years as a kid."
San Diegans will enjoy the many local references Bishop makes in "On and Off," which include his attending John Muir Elementary School (he and his classmates called it 'John Manure") and Crawford High School.
What girls did he have crushes on? Bishop is happy to share their names and some specific details.
He also sets the record straight about the local urban legend that he had submitted his future hit song, "On and On," for inclusion on one of radio station KGB-FM's annual "Homegrown" album in the early 1970s.
"I did not want to give them this song," writes Bishop, and he didn't. He also stresses that he refused to change "On and On's" opening line from "Down in Jamaica" to "Down in La Jolla," as KGB implored him to do.
Then and now, Bishop's artistic forte has remained squarely, and proudly, in the middle-of-the-road — albeit a road with its share of twists and turns.
He acknowledged as much in a 1978 Rolling Stone interview with former San Diego writer Cameron Crowe, declaring: "There's a thin line between what's hip and what's unhip. I like to walk that line."
Lesser-known gems
Alas, Bishop doesn't delve nearly as much into his musical craft as some readers might like in his self-published, index-free book. He spends just three pages writing about five of his best-known songs but gives short shrift to such lesser-known gems as "Hall Light" and the jazz-tinged "My Clarinet."
When he writes at length (relatively speaking), such as in the book's four-page, anecdote-free opening chapter, or the four pages he later devotes to his songwriting craft, "On and Off" makes for compelling reading. But the format he uses, in which almost every other chapter is devoted entirely to numbered anecdotes, minimizes the kind of insightful reflection that would elevate "On and Off."
For those wanting a mostly light overview of Bishop's career, the book has enough bon mots to make for an enjoyable diversion. Those wanting a deeper dive will go wanting and crave more.
Why, for example, does he make no mention of his 20th anniversary Crawford High School reunion at SeaWorld?
He described it in a 1989 San Diego Union interview as "a really heavy experience. In fact, I was depressed for about two days. It made me look at my own life, and it was kind of scary."
Or why, to cite another example, was there a nine-year gap between Bishop's 1980 album, "Red Cab to Manhattan," and his follow-up, 1989's "Bowling in Paris"?
The answer might be revealing about how music-industry machinations and fickle tastes of fans can leave an artist who sold 15 million albums in limbo for such an extended period. But Bishop doesn't really address these issues, although — in a rare instance of pointing a finger — he does briefly voice frustration regarding one of his former managers.
He does write about earning Grammy and Oscar nominations, none of which resulted in a win. But he says nothing of being voted Best New Male Vocalist at the 1977 American Music Awards, where his memorable acceptance speech saw him name many of the record companies and executives who had declined to sign him to a contract. It was a memorable "neener neener" moment.
Bishop also makes a brief mention of starting therapy in the 1970s. But he devotes so little space to the subject, just one paragraph, that he needn't have bothered.
More contemplation would be welcome in "On and Off," a light read with some tasty treats sprinkled throughout. But what results makes a strong case for a more expansive book with more personal insights from Bishop.
Perhaps that will come later this summer when the audio version is scheduled for release. Here's hoping.
