Jeff Weiss’s Britney Spears book is based on a true story (allegedly)

It wouldn’t be a reach to say that Jeff Weiss is the best music writer alive. Taking inspiration from the likes of pulp author Raymond Chandler and the Beat-affiliated poet Diane di Prima, Jeff’s developed a surreal writing style that’s not in any danger of being upstaged by Chat GPT. Haven’t read any of his stuff yet? Try his chaotic Tyler, The Creator cover story for THE FACE (still one of my favourite pieces we’ve published), one of his legendarily scathing Coachella reports, or his end-of-year blurb for Not Like Us, where he references Greek mythology to describe Drake’s downfall.

Alongside running the PoW music blog as well as its associated record label, Jeff somehow found time to write a book, Waiting for Britney Spears, which you can and should pre-order here. The book is described as an ​“allegedly true” recollection of Jeff’s years roaming around LA’s sleazy underbelly as a tabloid journo. I’m not sure I get it, but I know I want to read it.

Hi, Jeff. What on earth inspired you to write a book about the rise and fall of Britney Spears?
By the time that I graduated college, the slow motion slaughter of journalism had already begun. The digital threshing machine was actively devaluing the written word. My dreams of making a living as a novelist seemed as antiquated as working on the Pony Express. In a vain search for employment, I fired off resumes to every book store, record shop, museum, newspaper and magazine that might give me a chance. None of them even responded, let alone granted me an interview. After a few desperate months, I discovered a Craigslist ad for a nameless ​“entertainment magazine” seeking a celebrity reporter who was ​“PASSIONATE about celebrity and pop culture, particularly film and television actors, pop stars, RICH HUNKS and GLAMOROUS CELEBUTANTES!!!!” Using my full imagination, I wrote a patently absurd cover letter claiming that I was a Princeling of Young Hollywood keeping a low profile because of my sixth sense about the ravages of fame. A week later, they called me into their office. I wore an undersized hand-me-down suit, the only one in my closet. Somehow, they hired me on the spot. For the next half-decade, I navigated the nightclubs, private house parties, and red carpets consecrated by Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, and everyone you ever saw in the pages of a supermarket tabloid. Quite often, I found myself literally and existentially waiting for Britney Spears. Inadvertently, I stumbled into a front row seat as the paparazzi attempted to destroy ​“the American Dream since [she] was 17.” I took careful notes, aware that one day I would write about all of it. Eventually, I understood that the death of the millennial dream was symbolically intertwined with what happened to Britney – who became the avatar and martyr of our ravenous desire for entertainment at all costs.

Right. So is Waiting for Britney Spears fiction, non-fiction, neither, or both?
It’s a one-person referendum on the impossibility of knowing the exact truth about anything – especially anything refracted and distorted through the lens of electronic media. The labels of fiction and non-fiction have long been ill-suited to process the post-reality drain swirl of modern life. The novels of the Beat Generation would have been considered memoir two generations later, and then auto-fiction a decade after that. Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas can be found in the non-fiction aisle, but if you attempt to square the exact specifics of history with what wound up on the page, you’d be better off taking a few powerful blasts of ether. Hunter S. Thompson once wrote that there is ​“not much evidence in history of God or justice. The best we can hope for is truth.” But the truth and the facts aren’t always congruent. Let’s just say that it’s 100 per cent honest.

What was the first Britney Spears song, or moment, which captured your heart? She had me at the first ​“oh bay-bee, bay-bee.”

What’s an overlooked Britney classic, and why? Why Should I Be So Sad. It may be the final classic Neptunes beat, and it’s the skeleton key to Tyler, The Creator’s entire production aesthetic.

What’s the most absurd tabloid headline you read about Britney during your research?
In 2007, Star presented a ​“front-page exposé” of ​“Britney’s sex dungeon: a ​“fantasy room” bedroom on the second floor of her Mediterranean villa off Mulholland Drive. An ​“insider” claimed that there were ​“heavy, dark curtains covering the windows… the only light comes from bordello-red bulbs, which barely illuminate the pink and black colour scheme and the large bed with black satin sheets.” The story alleged that the fantasy room was filled with ​“sex toys, from ticklers, whips and chains to fur-trimmed handcuffs hanging from the metal bedframe…to spanking paddles — displayed in a glass jar.” There were supposed to be mirrors on the ceiling and a ​“closet stuffed with erotic outfits.” RIP David Lynch.

Did you manage to avoid going insane while writing Waiting for Britney Spears? If so, how?
I don’t believe in giving one-size-fits-all advice, but it would be impossible to trust any writer who doesn’t crack while working on a book. As far as how insane, you’d have to ask my cat. She holds all the secrets.

You also run a record label. What are three PoW Recordings releases you’d like our readers to check out?
This is a choose your favourite child type question because without qualification, I love everything that we’ve ever released. And running an independent label in 2025 is certainly not a financially lucrative endeavor (if you want to support, please buy the albums on Bandcamp). If I had to choose at gunpoint, I’d say Chester Watson’s A Japanese Horror Film, which is a mystic odyssey through time, space, and spiritual dimensions. A rap album as psychedelic séance, it also features a guest spot from Kent Loon, Chester’s partner in Nü Age, who is a POW artist and is one of the hottest rappers in South Florida right now.

Last year, we dropped Phiik and Lungs’ Carrot Season. To me, they’re rightful heirs to the abstract, raw, and fun-crushing lyricism of Rawkus-era Company Flow and the canonical artists on Def Jux. To some, they’re divisive; to me, they’re the instantiation of that old adage: all profoundly original art looks ugly at first. Lastly, I’d select Gabe Nandez’s H.T. III. Gabe raps in four languages, grew up on four continents, and remains a beacon of artistic integrity, creativity, and sheer virtuosity. In a world riven with greed and compromise, Gabe adheres to a code of honour and timeless virtue. He is determined to become a life-long master of the rap tradition, and in my eyes, he’s already there. But also, shout out Archibald Slim, Fatboi Sharif x Roper Williams, Crystal Sting, Pioneer 11, Ness Nite, Bryson the Alien, Wifigawd, Rhys Langston, Zilla Rocca, The Outfit TX, Vince Ash, Tramaine, Natia, Ty Harris, and everyone else who has ever dropped on POW. You can listen to a full playlist of my favorite POW songs here.

Which North American city has the hottest rap scene right now? If I don’t say Los Angeles, I will probably be dangled from the top of the Watts Towers by a replicant that looks suspiciously like Suge Knight. And as a lifelong townie, all bias is inherent. But at the moment, my two favourite new rappers are Skrilla from Philadelphia and Banditdamack from Hemet, a small city two hours east of LA.

What do you love and hate about LA?
I hate the fact that it has become financially untenable for working people and artists, which has resulted in a far less vibrant and creative landscape. I hate the history of corruption and sadism that has long infected local policing. And yes, the cliché is accurate: I hate the traffic. But I love too much to coherently list. However, a few things beyond friends and family are the chicken parm and whiskey sour’s at Dan Tana’s, the first show of the summer at the Hollywood Bowl, drinking at the Dresden (RIP Marty), the moment that the jacarandas bloom in the springtime, the cosmic fate of the Lakers that allows them to somehow keep bumbling into dynasties, the fact that I can go for long pleasant walks around my neighbourhood 347 days a year, and the fact that if fate smiles upon you, you still might be able to glimpse Angelyne prowling around in her pink corvette.