Read Midnight Lightning not because I am interested in Jimi Hendrix’s life, but because I dig Greg Tate’s writing. He sure is one fine critic I have mad respect for. Tate describes Hendrix as “[T]he electric guitar’s Einstein if not its Edison.” And he isn’t ashamed to admit that he felt in love with Hendrix the “dreamfucker” as he analyzes Hendrix’s lyrics, “I make love to you in your sleep and yet you feel no pain because I’m a million miles away and at the same time right here in your picture frame.” Speaking of Hendrix’s sex life, Tates invited Michaela Angela Davis, a fashion and beauty editor for a major African American women’s magazine, to compliment on Hendrix’s pimp juice and for “how liquid and languid he was, and how drippy that made him always seem. Like he was surrounded by a lot of water and could still set shit on fire—literally! He was also drippy without seeming soft or gay and that was because he was not afraid to embrace his inner pimp… I’ve never wished I could have fucked him, but I have wanted to fuck that feeling he was having when he played… watching Hendrix fuck those amps was some of the best sex I’ve ever seen.” Tate also featured a portion of the book to a number of people who were close to Hendrix to speak about him. While these chapters are informative, they could not carry the engaging level Tate could.