As the motor-mouthed, elastic-bodied frontman of the J. Geils Band (and later solo career), Peter Wolf was a ball of energy. And as a former DJ, the “Woofa with the Goofa” often told stories to audiences over the airwaves, at shows, and in countless backstage and hotel encounters.

A born raconteur, Wolf has put down a unique twist on his life story in Waiting On the Moon—Artists, Poets, Drifters, Grifters, and Goddesses: A Memoir (352 pp., $30, Little, Brown and Company).

Eschewing a normal straight biography, Wolf instead tells his tale in a series of dozens of vignettes of interactions populated with both insanely famous and completely unknown. And in each story, the reader learns a little more about Peter Wolf and who he is.

You want variety? Like Woody Allen’s Zelig (and closer to six degrees than Kevin Bacon), with Wolf there seems to be two degrees of separation between himself and everybody.

His musical encounters are pure Gold. Growing up near Greenwich Village, a teenage Wolf become fascinated and then tags along to a young singer just arrived in town—Bob Dylan—who treats Wolf alternately with welcomeness and wariness.

When the two are both at a Village bar and Dylan keeps putting down his half glass of red wine to engage in animated conversation with others, a thirsty Wolf quietly swipes the glass, empties it, and returns it unnoticed. Even after several of these incidents, Dylan can’t seem to understand what’s going on.

Wolf was also obsessed with the blues, seeing many of the greats in small New York clubs. He becomes such a presence that soon Muddy Waters, Howlin’ Wolf, and members of their band decide to hang out at Wolf’s small apartment to drink scotch and gin, play records, shoot the shit, and show the young white kid some musical pointers.

Waters in particular becomes a friend, calling Peter “Little Wolf.” But when he takes a picture with the Big Wolf—Howlin’ himself—and someone makes a joke about the “two wolves sitting together,” Howlin’ growls in his distinctive, scratchy voice “There’s only one Wolf in this room.”

Peter Wolf’s wanderlust might mean he hitchhikes across the country on a whim, crashing with friends with varying degrees of welcomeness, always carrying his art supplies and paintings (his initial artistic pursuit). He manages to sit in on scores of art classes at various colleges without actually ever being enrolled.

A chance encounter at a bulletin board even led Wolf to spend a brief time as the college roommate of future visionary director David Lynch. Lynch’s fastidiousness in dress, speech, and behavior at wild odds with Wolf’s disheveled, chaotic approach to all those areas. Eventually, Lynch would toss Wolf out (and change the locks) for non-payment of rent.

Years later, when Wolf sent Lynch a gift book to celebrate the director’s breakthrough success with Blue Velvet, Lynch sends back a letter of thanks—and a reminder that the singer still owed him $33.40.

But it’s not just the famous who Wolf makes come alive on these pages. We also learn about his artistic, Bohemian, and politically-active parents—for whom parenting was sometimes an afterthought, as well as early girlfriend and soulmate Edie, whose life is tragically cut short.

The encounters are so varied. A benevolent Eleanor Roosevelt, tense Andy Warhol, open John Lee Hooker, moody and liquored up Van Morrison, and a sober Alfred Hitchcock —who really wanted to drink with Wolf. Thinking it would be improper, Wolf declined despite many asks from the director. Only later did he find out that Hitchcock’s wife would only allow him to drink during the day if he was entertaining guests.

Celebrities seem to drop from the sky at every page. Wolf has a drink with a disheveled guy near a recording studio. Who turns out to be Harry Nilsson. Who then takes Wolf in to meet John Lennon. Drinks ensue.

At a later session with the pair, Paul Simon, Art Garfunkel, and Diane Keaton walk in. He gets a whip cracked at him by an out-of-his gourd Sly Stone. He passes (passes!) on smoking dope with Willie Nelson, Ray Price, and Merle Haggard on their tour bus. But Wolf does drain a lot of glasses in these pages.

What encounters! A chapter on insane parties with the Rolling Stones dissolves into one about attending a wine tasting at Julia Child’s house to one sitting next to Tennessee Williams at staging of the playwrights A Streetcar Named Desire starring Wolf’s then-wife, Faye Dunaway.

Ah yes, Faye Dunaway. The actress here is far more free-spirited, music-loving, and party driven then her somewhat icy screen persona would seem (Wolf notes she also struggled with substances).

Still, when she and Chinatown co-star Jack Nicholson disappeared in his bedroom for hours, leaving Wolf fuming and waiting downstairs, Wolf got the last laugh: dumping a coffee table’s worth of books and cocaine and then furniture in Nicholson’s pool. Their relationship would be rocky at times.

There are two issues with the book. Those looking for really anything about the J. Geils Band, its members, or records will find almost nothing I these pages. He mentions some gigs occasionally. But the band itself gets one, short, bitter chapter. They did part ways over musical direction, after 15 years. He does not remember the various “reunions” fondly either. Nothing at all here about “Centerfold,” “Freeze Frame,” “Musta Got Lost,” or “Love Stinks.”

Likewise, Wolf’s chapters are dialogue and quotes-driven—which he even admits he’s only recreating to the best of his memories, albeit decades later. And while the veracity of the words come into question, it all flows well.

This article originally appeared at HoustonPress.com