The Ox, a John Entwistle Bio

Fair warning, as a recovered addict, current memoirist, and former partner of a similar alcoholic/coke-addicted rock star, I have a few issues with it.

As someone who knew and partied with John Entwistle and Lisa Pritchett-Johnson (his girlfriend through the late 80s, 90s, and until his death in 2002), my first thought upon reading THE OX was yikes, someone’s really got an ax to grind with Lisa. My next instinct was to re-read the book jacket, remember it was an authorized biography and then surmise the author wrote the exact type of hit piece its subject’s son wanted (Christopher Entwistle) in order to secure the necessary access that would score the author a book deal in the first place. Reading on, it became exceedingly apparent Christopher was desperate to blame anyone but John himself for the self-destructive life his father chose to live.

I find it appalling that Hachette would publish so many unsourced accounts, opinions, anecdotes, and second and thirdhand accusations, most of them straight from John’s very clearly bitter & resentful son (who also inexplicably and laughably blames Lisa for his own marital troubles and eventual divorce). In one unwitnessed incident, he claims he “was told” that Lisa smeared feces around a hotel room, which again, as someone who knew her and partied with her in those very same years, is not only beyond absurd but relayed in a way that can only be called unethical journalism. The only three accounts about Lisa & John’s relationship that rang true to me were from Pete Townsend [page 300-301], Joe Walsh [page 310], and especially Bill Curbishley [page 296], and thank God for them.

Lisa was an out-of-control addict. She was also a delight to be around and genuinely nice person, an assessment that literally everyone I knew back then who spent time with her agreed upon. As she is dead and unable to defend herself, not only are these blatant smears unfair they’re bad for the genre of biography & memoir. Another example: Christopher’s claim that “without a doubt” Lisa was having an affair with the town vicar, for which he has zero proof or witnesses. While it’s certainly believable, it’s also just as believable they grew close when she leaned on him after John’s death, as Lisa claimed (yet was not mentioned in the book). Regardless, the vicar’s own account (easily found online) is nowhere in the book either, and since the affair can't be proven it should have been presented as such by the author.

Few claims against Lisa are investigated at all, as the author seems to take at face value every disparaging remark Christopher can dish out, who states very clearly (and absurdly) he doesn’t think his father was responsible for his own addictive behaviors but that Lisa, an addict herself, was wholly responsible for hers AND John’s. Here’s the truth: Lisa knew without a doubt she would lose John if she got sober and he didn’t. Here’s another: John didn’t want to get sober, but he DID know that if he got sober she would to. And if they both got sober he WOULDN'T lose her but in fact probably save her life. And as a man with unlimited resources and every reason and opportunity to get sober John chose not to. He never once investigated recovery seriously, not once. And yet Lisa is to blame for his death?!

I was there. Lisa and I were friendly but not “friends” per se. I’m not writing this out of some misguided compulsion to protect her reputation, merely to right a wrong made by unscrupulous people in advantageous positions. Also, I liked John a lot, but he made his choices. Lisa was a lovely woman with a terrible crack addiction that John enabled with his lifestyle and money. If anyone is to blame for the other’s addiction and eventual death, perhaps it’s worth considering that that shoe is on the other foot.

Lastly, among the many other inaccuracies I found in THE OX, I’ll point out just a few glaring ones: Lisa’s affair with John began in the late-80s, not 1990. “The Best” tour in Japan went on for well more than 2 dates (I recall 5, I think, with a 6^th gig in Hawaii, on our way home). And it takes :03 seconds to Google the spelling of Eagles’ producer Bill Szymczyk’s name, so both the author and his editor should be straight-up ashamed for failing such a simple, respectful (and professionally required) task.