If filmmaker Cameron Crowe’s career arc sounds like a Hollywood story, that’s because it is one. Crowe’s 2000 Oscar-winning film Almost Famous is based on his own teen years; he was 15 years old in 1973 when he became a music journalist, landing a backstage interview Gregg Allman. By age 16, he had written his first cover story for Rolling Stone. He’d go on to write about David Bowie, Jimmy Page and other rock stars.

Crowe credits much of his early success with his hometown of San Diego, which tended to come at the end of a band’s tour. By that time, he says, musicians were open to talking.

“Here’s a kid that comes to the door with a notebook full of questions based on the music that nobody was really asking them about,” Crowe says. “They’re like, ‘Get that kid in here. Come on, we’re bored. Let him ask us those questions.’”

In his new memoir, The Uncool, Crowe reflects on his adventures and misadventures as a teenage journalist. He also writes about what life was like in his family, and how he convinced his parents to allow him to go on the road before he’d even graduated high school.

The book is based in part on Crowe’s old interview tapes, which he saved. Listening back now, he says, those conversations informed his work as a Hollywood writer and director, whose credits include Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Say Anything … and Jerry Maguire.

“I transcribed all my interviews myself, so I knew that people don’t talk elegantly, but they can pour their heart out in half sentences,” he says. “So it was really one big magic carpet ride of learning about people. And it started early. I’m a lucky guy.”

Interview highlights

On interviewing musicians who were only a few years older than he was

I thought they were seasoned adults at the time. … They were 22, for example. And being 15, the distance between 15 and 22 is enormous. It’s like a generation. But really, we were all kind of young together, and rock was young. There wasn’t video assists and all the bells and whistles and dancers and stuff. It was really just a naked stage and people playing songs. And the power of the songs was the power of the concert. … But as a young guy, you’re kind of in this position where this person is allowing me to ask them whatever I want to about music that I love. And it was a blissful time and I still love writing about it.

On his mom’s reluctance to let him tour with rock bands

As a teacher and a counselor who had many great counselees who loved her so much, she always respected intellectualism. So if I could somehow pin it to intellectual success I had a way in. So to go on the road with Led Zeppelin at 15, I had to really sell Led Zeppelin to her as like music that’s based on Tolkien. And this is, like, lofty material that’s good for the soul. And ultimately, I think she said: Because we love the interviewer Dick Cavett in our family, go and take this journey, put on your magic shoes, call me every night, and don’t take drugs.” And that was my ticket out.

On being offered drugs

I learned early on, Terry, that like the best response is no. Because the person offering you the drugs generally then says, “Smart kid, more for me.” And that made me, I don’t know, it made people know that I wasn’t there to join the band, party with the band. I was there with a notebook full of questions based on loving music. And that really swung the door open in many ways.

On interviewing David Bowie in 1976

I asked him at one point, because his real name was David Jones, right? So I asked them at one point, “Am I meeting David Jones or am I meet David Bowie, the creation?” And he said, “You’re meeting David Jones who’s aggressively throwing David Bowie at you.” I asked at one time, I was like, “How do you think you’re gonna die? Do you think you’ll die on stage?” Because Ziggy Stardust, one of his characters, I think was based on somebody who had died on stage. And he said, “No, no no, I don’t think that’s going to happen to me.” I’m paraphrasing a little bit — but he said, “I think my death will be an event, something that I manage and produce and make my own statement.”

Crowe’s new memoir is based on interview tapes from the 1970s, which he saved.

Cameron Crowe/Simon & Schuster

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Cameron Crowe/Simon & Schuster

And that is exactly what happened. … He died of cancer at a young age and he knew he was dying. And what he did was didn’t tell anybody except a small group of collaborators. And he did this album, Black Star, which is his statement about the death that was coming. And it’s profound and it’s managed. And it is an opportunity that he did not throw away. He made a statement about his death.

On how the groupies would confide in him

All of the so-called “groupies,” or people that were hanging around the bands, women in particular, would, because I was so young, would confide in me. So I had no romantic potential or any of that. So they would actually be like magpies with me and just telling me all their stories and like, “I was really upset when he treated me like this” and “blah, blah, but you know what, you move on, you do this.” And I just I was like, wow. Nobody in high school ever talked to me like this. This is a glimpse of romantic bliss, minefields and all kinds of stuff.

On what he learned from Rolling Stone journalist Lester Bangs about being “uncool” — which was portrayed in a scene from Crowe’s semi-autobiographical film, Almost Famous

I was always trying to figure out what cool was, because my mom skipped me too many grades. I got my high school diploma in the mail, because I graduated as a junior. And the attempt to be cool … was never gonna pay off if you’re younger than everybody else. But what Lester was saying was … when you’re posturing, you’re never there. He said that they had done that to music. They had made music a lifestyle posture, not the thing that’s ripped from the soul. …

And I thought, wow, so many of the musicians and the writers and the people that I came to love were not cool. … It was like a lost pursuit, but they found each other through music. They found each through this thing that gave you that feeling of being understood. So I called the book The Uncool because it was the badge of honor that Lester put on me, you know? Don’t try and do it. Be whatever is real to you. And that might be cool.

Sam Briger and Anna Bauman produced and edited this interview for broadcast. Bridget Bentz, Molly Seavy-Nesper and Beth Novey adapted it for the web.