This sort of Albert Goldman-esque-kick-him-since-he's-gone putdown verifies Frank's perfect description of rock journalists which the author even quotes. Too much of this book is cheaply judgmental and ineptly critical. One can easily imagine Frank's cynical reaction to this deflated synopsis of his life's work. At one point, Miles states that Zappa was in great awe of the phony New York Art scene and was rather a big fish in a small pond by continuing to dwell in Los Angeles while deeply desiring to be an accepted member of this New York crowd. As his referenced stature as a much more noticed world class artist clearly refutes this, such silly confabulations are pointless and demonstrate the author's odd lack of appreciation for his subject.