Daisy Jones & The Six by Taylor Jenkins Reid

Music has always been a huge part of my life, and it feels kind of corny to say, but I play guitar, piano, and I sing, it’s true, I do all that stuff. I’ve loved music and performing since I was, I want to say, eleven. I performed in school musicals, acapella, recitals, and my favorite stage, my bedroom. I loved it so much that I thought I might actually go to school for it. But as I prepped for audition after audition to get into performing arts colleges, I started to really f**ing hate singing. Not because I was bad, no, no, but because there were so many restrictions on what I could and couldn’t do, what I could and couldn’t sing. As soon as it started to feel like a job, I couldn’t stand it, I saw my passion morph into an obligation. Still, I was terrified of what people would say. But at the same time, I didn’t want to risk ruining the thing I loved most.

That being said, I love media that centers around music. My friends know this about me, but I LOVE the movie A Star Is Born, both the Gaga and Streisand versions. So when I’m scrolling through Amazon Prime looking for my next watch, I see Daisy Jones & The Six. That’s a book, I think to myself. But I want to watch it like right now, I also think to myself. Wait, aren’t books my whole schtick? I think to myself. In the end, I decided to be a good book person and read the book first.

And I’m glad I did.

I felt electric reading Daisy Jones & The Six. I think that partly has to do with my fixation on the ’70s and how badly I crave to be transported to the era of rock ’n’ roll and disco instead of today’s trendy viral music (which, hey, don’t get me wrong, I listen to it, but man, c’mon, where’s the grit and groove???!!!). I think it made me see how much indulgence came with fame back then, how it was everywhere, and inescapable. Growing up too fast, being exposed to too much at such a young age, I really felt for Daisy.

What I love about characters like Daisy is that they’re incredibly flawed, yet you still can’t help but want to be like them. The haphazardly messy hair that somehow falls perfectly into place, the hoop earrings and faded denim, the scent of California practically oozing off her, I mean she’s effortlessly fabulous. She also doesn’t take shit from anyone (I noticed that none of the female characters do). And she’s got her problems too: she’s seeking constant approval from people, she’s coping with loneliness (not in the best ways albeit), she’s always running from her potential, which are all things several of us can relate to. Her character felt so complex and authentic, like everyone has crossed paths with a Daisy Jones at some point.

I didn’t just have a soft spot for Daisy, I had one for the whole band. I’ve always wanted to be part of a band, and reading this made me so envious of their hunger to succeed, even of their struggles. I fell into this band head-on; every member was so unique, their interactions so real, their emotions so, so, so heavy.

It captures both the thrill and the heartbreak that comes with chasing something bigger than yourself.

I felt like the seventh member, I was part of it. I wanted to chime in and tell them what I thought would be best for the band, which is silly, but that’s just how compelling Reid’s writing is. We have amazing leads, Daisy, Billy, Camilla (I love Camilla), but I was also really drawn to how layered the secondary characters were, like Warren, Eddie, Simone, Graham (he kind of pissed me off, though), Teddy, and Rod. I’ve noticed that when I read, I often gravitate toward the secondary characters, and sometimes they don’t shine as brightly as the main ones. But that’s not the case here, each of them had their own moments that pulled me into their perspectives, whether they were telling the truth or not.

This book is ultimately about love and loss, and I loved how every member of the group experiences both in their own way. Billy’s story stood out to me, the way it shows how addiction can be so devastating and debilitating, yet also how recovery can bring light at the end of the tunnel. I imagine that’s especially powerful for readers who’ve faced similar struggles.

The same goes for Daisy; I really appreciated how the author pulls back the curtain on the glamorization of drugs and substance abuse during the rock ’n’ roll era. You can clearly tell how thoughtfully and carefully these topics were written about and it’s clear that Reid approached them with real care and intention.

Okay, nearing the end here, so stay with me. This whole read made me miss performing, the rush of being on stage and the connection that comes with it. Through its characters, it reminded me how deeply music shapes our lives, how it can make me feel powerful one moment and so small the next.

I’ll also say, this book has an excellent structure. It’s told through transcriptions, which I didn’t think I’d like at first, and it includes original lyrics that make you stop and think, maybe even cry. It captures both the thrill and the heartbreak that comes with chasing something bigger than yourself.

Daisy took me back to when I was auditioning for colleges, tired, drained, and unseen by so many people. I know she would’ve seen it through, but I also know she sticks to her guns once she’s made up her mind. In true Daisy fashion, I stopped caring about what others thought, and once that happened, my love for music grew louder and my shoulders felt lighter.

That’s the essence of rock ’n’ roll, I guess, living on your own terms, no matter what anyone else thinks. Daisy Jones & The Six made me feel everything that music makes me feel, and that’s why I absolutely loved it.