The Gilded Palace of Sin

You'll get no argument from me about Gram Parsons' role as the forefather of the "alt-country" movement, as well as an incredible influence on both country and rock music from the '70s through the present day. As an artist, Parsons' all-too-brief catalog has taken on a near-mythological status, the man himself deified with a fervor reserved for dead icons like Nick Drake and Tim Buckley that never achieved the fame and/or notoriety of a Hendrix or a Morrison.

As writer Bob Proehl shows in his excellent and insightful addition to Continuum's ongoing 33 1/3 series of books, as talented and visionary as Parsons was, he didn't do it all alone. Often overlooked as part of both Parsons' grand experiment in late-60s country-rock after he hijacked Roger McGuinn's Byrds, and as a founding member of the much-lauded Flying Burrito Brothers, without multi-instrumental talent Chris Hillman, neither the Sweetheart of the Rodeo (1968) or The Gilded Palace of Sin (1969) albums would have been the same, and indeed might not have existed without Hillman's invaluable contributions.

Proehl tackles The Gilded Palace of Sin album for the 33 1/3 series with an approach that is part historical and part critical. In truth, this is a difficult musical masterpiece to dissect…although the album's mix of rock, country, and classic R&B was undeniably unique, and it would take decades for it to be fully digested and spit back out by bands like Uncle Tupelo, it's an album of dichotomies, as well. The songs penned by Parsons and Hillman are among the best the two men would ever create, the tense chemistry between the two artists resulting in lyrics that were topical and timeless.

However talented the assembled musicians, however, much of the music on The Gilded Palace of Sin sounds tentative, weakly produced, and often times it is Parsons himself who fails to deliver in measure with the status he has since been accorded. Make no mistake – this is a classic album by any standards, but it is Hillman's voice that often soars in harmony with Parsons', and the impact of Sneaky Pete Kleinow's mournful steel guitar on the band's sound cannot be underestimated. In short, it was a true band effort, not just the GP show.

Proehl frames his book by quickly touching on Parsons' brief, but tumultuous membership in the Byrds, an artistic invasion if you will as Parson attempted to bring the vision of country music that he tried to create with his previous outfit, the International Submarine Band, to McGuinn's folk-rock hitmakers. Under Parsons' influence, Sweetheart of the Rodeo would become a different album than McGuinn originally envisioned, but in the end, one of the band's worst-selling albums would become, perhaps, its best-known based entirely on Parsons' meager presence on the final product.

Proehl offers up just enough biographical information on Parsons to explain his Southern heritage and country music inclinations, quickly plunging his protagonist into late-60s Southern California and the formation of the Flying Burrito Brothers with former Byrds bandmate Chris Hillman. Proehl divvies up each chapter according to Biblical sins, using "vanity," "envy," "sloth," "avarice," etc to frame the story of the band, and of key songs on The Gilded Palace of Sin album.

There's a lot drama here for Proehl to draw from…Parsons, a trust fund baby from a well-off Southern family had the money to ensure comfort and plenty of drugs to feed his growing habit, while the rest of the band struggled as the stereotypical "starving artists." A cross-country tour by train (Parsons was notoriously afraid of flying unless "doped up to his eyeballs") was a financial and artistic disaster, the barely-practiced band's performances outside of Los Angeles drawing meager audiences. The album, although receiving glowing endorsements from Rolling Stone magazine and counter-culture icon Bob Dylan, sold sluggishly and was mostly misunderstood by its target audience.

Proehl's descriptions of the culture, environment, and aspirations behind the album are lively, while his use of quotes from musicians and hangers-on alike helps put the story in proper context, fleshing out the story. Surprisingly, although Proehl included Hickory Wind, writer Ben Fong-Torres' biography of Parsons, in his research he seems to have neglected musician Sid Griffin's excellent biography of the artist, as well as John Einarson's acclaimed Hot Burritos book on the band, although he does include Einarson's Desperados: The Roots of Country Music in his bibliography.

In the end, the same creative and economic tensions that helped make The Gilded Palace of Sin a classic album also forced Hillman to fire Parsons shortly after the release of the band's sophomore effort, Burrito Deluxe. Hillman would later play musical matchmaker, pairing his former songwriting partner with singer EmmyLou Harris, thus providing the spark that would launch Parsons' widely acclaimed (and equally influential), albeit brief solo career. Proehl ends his telling of the tale with Parsons' tragic, but not entirely unforeseen death in 1973.

Proehl does a fine job of describing the musical dynamic in the band, Parsons' and Hillman's creative process, and both the triumphs and obstacles experienced by the Flying Burrito Brothers. Proehl's prose is entertaining and informative, providing the casual fan or newcomer to the Burritos' mythos an easy-to-use guide to the band's most important album, while still providing plenty of meat on the bone for longtime fans to gnaw upon.

More importantly, whether he set out to do so or not, Proehl places The Gilded Palace of Sin in its proper historical context, his emphasis on Hillman's role with the band in no way diminishing Parsons' importance. His work doesn't deflate the still-growing Parsons' mythology as much as it humanizes it and grounds Parsons' enormous musical contributions in reality, where they belong. (Continuum Books)

(Click on the book cover to buy The Gilded Palace of Sin from Amazon.com)

Big Star's Radio City Revisited

The cult band to end all cult bands, Memphis rock legends Big Star were but a brief, albeit blinding flash of white light during the early-70s, the band literally going supernova before disappearing into the darkness of obscurity. The 1978 unauthorized European release of the band's long-shelved third album (alternatively titled Third and/or Sister Lovers) would spark the flame that started the Big Star legend, while the power-pop movement of the late-70s/early-80s, which would help shape bands like the Replacements, the dB's, and R.E.M., would fuel the myth machine and make Big Star's accomplishments seem huge.

Big Star's second album, 1974's Radio City, is widely considered to be the band's magnum opus. A masterpiece of British Invasion-styled melodies, rich harmonies, jangly guitars and Southern soul, Radio City was easily a decade ahead of its time and remains one of the most influential and beloved recordings of the 1970s. Writer/musician Bruce Eaton has taken on the unenviable task of dissecting the album for Continuum's excellent 33 1/3 book series, and he delivers an admirable job of not only cementing the album's long-held status as a masterpiece, but also explaining the charms of Radio City to those who might be unfamiliar with the work.

Eaton takes a straight journalistic approach to Radio City, compiling interviews with the parties involved in the making of the album. As Eaton notes in his preface, the Big Star story is often told by people far outside of the band's personal sphere, and bandleader Alex Chilton typically remains mum, refusing to speak in interviews, when he does them, about the Big Star days that everybody is so interested in. Eaton not only speaks with Chilton – his friendship with the reluctant cult idol spurring some honest admissions – but also with fellow band members Jody Stephens and Andy Hummel, and producer John Fry, among others. In lieu of the late Chris Bell, Eaton gets a hint of the guitarist and songwriter's point of view courtesy of his brother David.

What makes Eaton's Radio City an entertaining as well as informative read, however, is his own engagement and personal relationship with the album. Not unlike a lot of the 33 1/3 series' writers, Eaton's fascination with the Radio City album borderlines on obsessive; unlike any of the other books in the series that I've read, Eaton has actually performed many of the album's songs live as a musician, playing alongside Chilton on more than one occasion. In my mind, this provides Eaton with an important edge, an insight into the creation of the album that others writing about it lack.

Eaton does a fine job of tracing the formation of Big Star in 1971, and the many influences that helped make the band what it was, including Chilton's time with the successful blue-eyed soul outfit the Boxtops during the late-60s. The opening of John Fry's Ardent Studios is discussed in length, the studio an important venue that not only helped shape the sound of Memphis rock and soul music well into the late-70s, but also providing a "hands on" learning experience for the Big Star band members who played around with the equipment and honed their instrumental and songwriting skills.

Most of all, Eaton captures the band chemistry and the emotions that went into the making of Radio City. Founding member Chris Bell had left Big Star before the album's recording in a disagreement over Chilton's growing dominance over the band, but Bell's fingerprints can be felt on songs like "September Gurls" and "Mod Lang" nonetheless. Chilton's raw vocals and fretwork are perfectly complimented by Hummel's bass and Stephen's imaginative percussion. A combination of factors went into creating the magic of Radio Star, and Eaton manages to squeeze a lot of narration about these factors out of the various players.

All in all, with 33 1/3's Radio City, Bruce Eaton captures that most elusive of qualities, "telling a stranger about rock & roll" with his loving literary account of the album, separating decades of myths and misrepresentations with the real story behind this classic band and its essential masterwork. (Continuum Books)

Want more Big Star goodness? Check out Bruce Eaton's Big Star book blog!

(Click on the book cover to buy Radio City from Amazon.com)

Decibel Magazine's Precious Metal

Nobody – not even Martin Popoff – likes heavy metal like the guys at Decibel magazine. America's premier metal rag, the Decibel gang brings an appropriately populist slant to their musical coverage that is missing in Terrorizer (U.K.) or Brave Words & Bloody Knuckles (Canada). Reading more like a well-written fanzine than a professional (boring) music magazine, Decibel's staff knows its stuff and they write about the music they love.

One of the Reverend's favorite features each month is the extreme music "Hall of Fame." The magazine's staff chooses (agrees on) a classic metal album, one that is at least five years old, and then they interview every band member involved in making said album for the monthly feature. Decibel's rules for induction to its honorary HOF are notoriously and unnecessarily strict – if they can't talk to all of the members that made an album, whether due to death or a refusal to speak – then the album doesn't get in the magazine. Thus, there will be no Pantera, no early Metallica or any Death albums in the Decibel HOF, regardless of their high quality, high-octane music or long-lasting influence on the genre.

Well, it's their game so they get to make the rules, and the truth is that Decibel has done an admirable job over the past half-decade in choosing a wide range and diverse batch of classic metal albums to cover. As of early 2009, as editor Albert Mudrian explains in his introduction to Precious Metal, the magazine had inducted some 50 albums into its HOF, which makes the chore of choosing just 25 albums to include in this book-length collection of interviews quite impressive.

Subtitled "Decibel presents the stories behind 25 Extreme Metal Masterpieces," Precious Metal offers up the magazine's original HOF induction articles and much more. Mudrian has edited and expanded each interview beyond its original form, in some cases doubling the size of the discussion. As any old music journalist could tell you, any artist interview results in a lot of unused content that won't fit into a print publication, so the Decibel crew dusted off their moldy micro-cassettes and found some more quotes to include in these interviews. Fans of the magazine will find that the chapters in Precious Metal provide a lot more insight and information into each album than was originally presented in the magazine.

More impressive, however, are the album choices made by Mudrian and his metal-lovin' staff. Music fans (and far too many critics) that don't know anything about heavy metal too readily dismiss the genre as a one-trick pony, nothing more than loud guitars and violent lyrics shouted by hirsute vocalists. Yeah, to be honest, there's some of that in heavy metal, as any fan of Norwegian death metal could tell you, but there's so much more as well. Heavy metal, like any musical genre, is made up of various sounds and textures, from Black Sabbath's riff-heavy drone and Slayer's brutal thrash to the desert-honed doom-metal of Kyuss and the impossibly fluid math-metal of Meshuggah.

All of the aforementioned folks and more are represented in the pages of Precious Metal, along with seminal albums from bands like Entombed, Paradise Lost, Monster Magnet, and Opeth, among many others. I was delightfully surprised by the informative and insightful nature of these interviews, the various band members sometimes using the occasion to grind old axes with their former friends, other times criticizing the record industry biases that often marginalize metal music. All of the interviews are interesting, and many are downright enlightening, and the Decibel staff – prolific writer J. Bennett in particular – do a uniformly good job at coaxing the story behind each album out of the musicians.

I was happy to find that I already owned about 1/3 of the albums included in Precious Metal, and the chapters on several others have motivated me to buy copies of those albums as well. At its heart, that is what the staff of Decibel has attempted to accomplish with Precious Metal….share their favorite heavy metal albums with thousands of like-minded readers. The enthusiasm and knowledge shown by the writers is infectious, as important as the albums themselves because if we don't honor and champion these albums, they will drop down into the rabbit hole of obscurity. If you're a fan of any form of heavy metal, you'll like Precious Metal. The Rev says "check it out!" (Da Capo Press)

(Click on the book cover to buy Precious Metal from Amazon.com)

Precious Metal's Hall of Fame Inductees

• Black Sabbath - Heaven and Hell
  
• Diamond Head - Lightning to the Nations
  
• Celtic Frost - Morbid Tales
• Slayer - Reign in Blood
• Napalm Death - Scum
• Repulsion - Horrified
• Morbid Angel - Altars of Madness
• Obituary - Cause of Death
• Entombed - Left Hand Path
• Paradise Lost - Gothic
• Carcass - Necroticism Descanting the Insalubrious
• Cannibal Corpse - Tomb of the Mutilated
• Eyehategod - Take as Needed for Pain
• Darkthrone - Transilvanian Hunger
• Kyuss - Welcome to Sky Valley
• Meshuggah - Destroy Erase Improve
• Monster Magnet - Dopes to Infinity
• At the Gates - Slaughter of the Soul
• Opeth - Orchid
• Down - NOLA
• Emperor - In the Nightside Eclipse
• Sleep - Jerusalem
• The Dillinger Escape Plan - Calculating Infinity
• Botch - We Are the Romans
• Converge - Jane Doe

Remaindering the Sixties: By the Time We Got to Woodstock

With the recent 40th anniversary celebration of the Woodstock Festival, all of the hype, hoopla, and myth of the era came bubbling back up in the public consciousness like a funky burrito at bedtime. The already heavily-marketed event has experienced the expected slew of revamped CD and DVD releases (and accompanying fawning reviews), while timely books try to put the "importance" of the festival in proper context. Plus, you Target shoppers will be able to pick up great deals on overstock Woodstock merch in the weeks to come….

Music journalist Bruce Pollock's latest tome is called By the Time We Got to Woodstock, subtitled "The Great Rock 'n' Roll Revolution of 1969." Music fans turning to Pollock for a little insight into the Woodstock phenomena will be sorely disappointed because, in truth, he spends very little time actually discussing the festival and a lot of pages doing, well…I'm not really sure what the hell he's doing, but he's doing something that he understandably felt was important enough to share with the rest of us.

The main thrust of Pollock's book-length treatise is that the year 1969 was an important turning point in the history of rock music, a radical changing of the guard that is represented by – but not restricted to – the Woodstock Music & Art Fair, held in the quaint upstate New York village of Bethel in mid-August '69. It's an interesting premise, and not totally unbelievable in its audacity. After all, the storied festival aside, a lot of great music was released during the year, including influential debut albums from the MC5 and the Stooges.

To make his point, Pollock has divided the book into two widely differing sections, the first being "No Easy Way Down," which attempts to portray the period from Nixon's election to the Presidency in November 1968 through the Kent State massacre in May 1970 as representing not only the literal and figurative "end of the '60s," but also the symbolic end of innocence as well. With the venal, paranoid, vindictive Nixon in office the counter-culture came into the gunsights of the administration, while other events, such as the Manson Family slayings and atrocities in Viet Nam, served to sour the milk-n-honey of the Flower Children into something approximating the pink-flavored medicine your mom used to pour down your throat.

The seven chapters that make up the book's first section, "No Easy Way Down," are, truthfully, marginally entertaining in a prurient way, even if Pollock's machinegun prose often seems to be the literary equivalent of the man-child Stewart on Mad TV exclaiming "look what I can do!" He drops a lot of names, throws out a few interesting ideas, fleshes out nothing, and provides little context or insight beyond outlining a loose chronological timeline of the decay of the Peace & Love Generation.

If the first half of By the Time We Got to Woodstock prompts the reader to continue with their ride, if only to see where Pollock, the conductor, is taking them, the second section of the book is the inevitable trainwreck at the hands of the drunken engineer. Titled "Opiates for the People," after the old Karl Marx canard "Die religion...ist das opium des volkes," music is the focus here…specifically the music of 1969. Or is it? With the first chapter in the section, "Three Minutes of Heaven," Pollock invests a lot of ink talking about songs from both 1968 and '70, bookending his intended target with a nearly non-stop barrage of song titles and artist's names that tax the strength of even the most fanatical among the pop/rock masses.

In attempting to explain that 1969 is the line in the sand where the three-minute, AM radio-friendly pop song lost its mojo while the ascension of FM radio and underground "album tracks" would alter the face of modern music, Pollock gets lost in the quicksand of his own making. His premise, on its face, is false – as a teen in suburban Nashville circa the early-70s, I remember quite vividly the still-thriving singles scene as played out daily on both the city's WJET and WLAC AM stations. A new generation of soul and R&B artists would replace the Motown-bred hitmakers of the '60s with fresh blood and chart-topping hits well into the end of the decade (and the dreaded rise of disco).

In fact, I would submit that the fondly-remembered 45rpm single, a staple of AM (and some FM) stations throughout the decade of the 1970s, wouldn't be dealt a fatal blow until the launch of MTV in 1981 and the subsequent alleged "mercy-killing" of vinyl by compact discs later in the decade, both phenomena dealing much more damage to the "singles" concept than FM radio ever did (and thus dismantling much of Pollock's argument).

The second chapter of section two, "The Joy of Segues," tackles the FM radio side of the musical equation (naturally), with the same scattershot lack of finesse as the AM radio chapter. A self-indulgent morass of band names and album titles and long-forgotten songs ("see what I can do!"), he breaks the argument down into several bite-size concepts such as "The Dylan Influence" and "The Guitar Invasion," in order to squeeze more mileage out of his premise which is…what? That AOR was the commercialization of free-form FM radio, when in reality the free-form wonderground that he describes barely existed outside of NYC/LA/San Fran and maybe a handful of other large metro areas. For most of us, it was AOR from Jump Street, and it only worsened from there.

The last chapter of By the Time We Got to Woodstock is "Sky Church," Jimi Hendrix's favored term for the outdoor concert performance experience. After mentioning the Woodstock Festival several times throughout the book, Pollock finally provides the reader with a little gristle-n-bone, if little actual meat, on the event. Overshadowing the alleged "peace and love" vibe on the weekend mudfest in Bethel, however, is the dark tragedy of Altamont, held a continent away in December 1969. During the Rolling Stones' performance at the free concert, several members of the Hell's Angels outlaw motorcycle "club" beat a gun-wielding young black man to death with pool cues.

To Pollock, the seemingly random violence of Altamont symbolized the end of the era, and the drawing of the final curtain on a generation that came of age during the tumultuous decade of the '60s. As one who grew up with, rode with, and drank with outlaw bikers since before I developed acne and high school awkwardness, I can state authoritatively that any violence committed by outlaw motorcycle enthusiasts is not "random," but rather part and parcel of the biker's lifestyle and self-image. When you're the biggest, baddest Cro-Mags riding the blacktop, violence finds you, and the hiring of Hell's Angels as security for the festival is proof that drugs had addled Jerry Garcia's brain.

Truth is, from the deification of outlaw bikers by people intelligent enough to have known better, to the war in Viet Nam, to student protests and the inevitable crackdown on same, violence is woven throughout the decade. If one accepts that as a given, then the myth of the "peace & love" generation dwindles down to a few idealistic dreamers and an accompanying generation of Baby Boomers who have accepted the fable as a way to enrich and possibly stave off their own fast-approaching mortality.

From start to finish, By the Time We Got to Woodstock is a mess, talking a lot but saying very little…kind of like a Vanilla Ice song. I can't quibble with Pollock's taste in music – with his final chapter, "Hello/Goodbye" – he name checks artists as diverse as Springsteen, Kate Bush, Tom Petty, Patti Smith, Warren Zevon, XTC, and Motorhead, among many others, all of which are also personal faves of mine. But seldom has somebody taken so much time to say so little, and have it published for our reading enjoyment.

The 1960s were a period of change for popular music, 1969 maybe more so than most, but a similar argument could be made for a number of other years as well (such as 1977 and the British punk revolution, or again in 1981 with the MTV generation). As the decade wore on, it became apparent that there was real money to be made in rock music (by the artists and the record labels), and the gradual evolution of the genre from one largely created by a smallish but cliquish group of middle class musicians to one of working class balladry started with the British Invasion, took a foothold in the states with John Fogerty's Creedence Clearwater Revival, and by the early-1970s had exploded.

Rock music took an ugly left turn beginning in 1970 as a disgruntled rabble of barely-educated hellraisers largely took over the genre, resulting in the sins and delights of critically-reviled genres like arena rock, heavy metal, and punk. But you won't need Bruce Pollock to tell you about any of this…save the $20 you'd spend on a copy of By the Time We Got to Woodstock and instead buy a couple of CDs, like Spirit's Clear, Creedence Clearwater Revival's Green River, and/or the MC5's Kick Out The Jams. Any of these albums will give you a better idea of the year 1969 than will this book. (Backbeat Books)

(Click on the book cover to buy By the Time We Got to Woodstock if you really want it....)

Dimebag Darrell & the Black Tooth Grin

Black Tooth Grin, subtitled "The High Life, Good Times, And Tragic End of 'Dimebag' Darrell Abbott," is Dallas, Texas area journalist Zac Crain's "unauthorized" biography of the heavy metal guitarist, and seemingly Crain's first published book. Although Crain jumps into the project with great enthusiasm and passion, the result is a somewhat flawed and superficial work that places a lot of emphasis on the "music" and not enough on the "journalism" that would make for a great biography. As such, Black Tooth Grin has elements of the good, the bad, and the ugly within its 300+ pages.

The Good

When you boil it all down, Black Tooth Grin is really Crain's attempt to make some sort of sense out of the tragic and senseless death of "Dimebag" Darrell Abbott, which both begins and ends this story. Abbott, born and raised in Arlington, Texas, was a youthful six-string prodigy that, along with his drumming brother Vinnie, formed the influential '90s-era band Pantera.

Crain gets into the nuts-and-bolts of the Abbott brothers' early family life in Arlington, focusing on the teenaged "Diamond" Darrell Lance, as he was originally known, and his love of hard rock bands like Van Halen and Kiss. The book does a fine job of presenting the genesis of Abbott's lifelong infatuation with the guitar, covering the many regional contests that he won (to the point where he was banned from competing by the age of 15), as well as the formation of his earliest bands with brother Vinnie.

It is with the Pantera years – the bulk of the Abbott brothers' lives at the time, really – that Crain really shines in his narrative. From the band's earliest incarnation as a glam-metal "hair" band like Motley Crue or Poison during the 1980s, through its evolution into a lean, mean, metal-stomping machine behind vocalist Phil Anselmo during the '90s, Crain describes the many bumps in the road and the obstacles overcome by Pantera in becoming, perhaps, the best-known metal outfit during the alt-rock years, one that influenced an entire wave of metal bands during the last part of the decade.

Crain also delves into the pressures of the moderate fame and fortune enjoyed by the band, as well as vocalist Anselmo's drug addiction and subsequent alienation from the Abbott brothers, a schism that would eventually destroy Pantera. Of particular interest is the descriptions offered of Abbott by his many friends and associates. Regardless of the level of fame that the guitarist achieved, and the many accolades that were heaped upon his brilliant guitar virtuosity, Dimebag remained relatively nonplussed and admirably humble.

In the end, the Abbott brothers and Anselmo suffered through an acrimonious divorce that destroyed the band, with Darrell and Vinnie on one side of the split, vocalist Anselmo and the band's bassist, Rex "Rocker" Brown, on the other. The Abbotts would later form the band Damageplan and begin the long, slow slog through the club circuit all over again. Unlike many club bands, however, they scored a major label deal quite rapidly on the basis of their previous success, and released their lone album, New Found Power, just months before Abbott's death.

As many who are familiar with Dimebag Darrell already know, the good-hearted guitarist met his fate on stage at a club in Columbus, Ohio while performing with Damageplan on December 8, 2004. Abbott was shot to death during the band's first song by some deranged individual, a truly fucked-up wigger who, minutes after killing Abbott and three other people, was shot to death by police. We'll never know why the gun-toting former jarhead targeted Dimebag, but this seemingly random act of violence sent shockwaves throughout the heavy metal community at the time.

The Bad

Far too much of Black Tooth Grin reads like a Pantera fanzine. Several subjects are revisited over and over again to the point of absurdity. While Abbott's infamous Halloween parties deserve mentioning, maybe even the special "bonus" chapter they get, but Black Tooth Grin offers three lengthy passages on these events, as well as numerous mentions throughout the text. Throw in all of the other party descriptions, and the book (unfairly?) paints a rather two-dimensional portrait of Abbott.

Another cavil that I have is the repeated assertions that "genetics" had something to do with Abbott's talent and fame, which I find ridiculous. Crain repeats this inanity in describing Vinnie's drumming skills as well. Although Jerry Abbott, the brothers' father, was a songwriter with a few impressive credits, and a producer on the bottom rung of the country music industry, there is no real evidence that the elder Abbott's genetic contribution had much of anything to do with the brothers' musical talents.

Far more important to the brothers' development into world-class musicians – which, thankfully, Crain goes into in depth – is the support provided by Jerry and Carolyn Abbott for Darrell and Vinnie's musical endeavors. Whereas dad provided session time at the recording studio that he ran, managed the band in its early days and, in fact, drove the fledging covers-band that was Pantera to its initial gigs, mom provided a stable home environment and the sort of loving support necessary for a prodigy like Darrell to drop out of school and sit in his room playing guitar all day.

Although Black Tooth Grin is an "unauthorized biography," Crain gained access to many of Abbott's friends and associates, and uses published interviews with the guitarist, his brother, and other musicians to fill in the blanks. Too often, however, these various people have little or nothing to say of importance beyond remembering boozy days and nights spent with the guitar great.

There are exceptions, to be sure, such as longtime-friend Buddy "Blaze" Webster, or Larry English of Washburn Guitars, who deliver insightful remembrances of the man and his talents. Far too often, though, Crain fails to challenge his interview subjects to say something really interesting about their relationships with Abbott. I'm not looking for scandal or the sordid details of what was seemingly a life lived in public, just something more than "we got drunk together once," which leads us to…

…and the Ugly

Crain spends waaayyy too many pages and a bucket of ink fretting over Abbott's drinking habits, even including an entire chapter at the end of the book about such in a futile attempt to place Dimebag's prodigious hydration in proper context. Zac, buddy, we get it…Abbott drank a hell of a lot of hooch. Yes, he may have been a functional alcoholic, and it's obvious from the war stories told by various interviewees that booze played a major part in the guitarist's life.

But Abbott's drinking had absolutely no role in his tragic fate, and its effect on his music is questionable at best. That any rock star – much less a heavy metal guitarist – drinks to excess is not really surprising, and mostly irreverent to the narrative of Abbott's life. Give us a few more pages about what Dimebag thought about his music, or the creative process, or playing the guitar, or whatever and less about him serving up trays of shots to friends and sycophants.

Weighing all these factors together, I'd still have to recommend Black Tooth Grin to both fans of Dimebag Darrell/Pantera and to anybody even mildly interested in the work of this once-in-a-generation six-string talent. Although Crain too often comes across as the same sort of star-crossed fanboy that he frequently describes Abbott to be, instead of a serious biographer, he does a decent job of capturing the highs and lows of Dimebag's life nonetheless. Crain is an engaging writer, and Black Tooth Grin a quick, entertaining read that captures the essence of Dimebag Darrell Abbot…but it also could have done so much more. (Da Capo Press)

(Click on the book or CD cover to buy from Amazon.com)

Dave Thompson's Punk Rock Memories

British music journalist Dave Thompson is a veteran author of rock 'n' roll biographies, penning dozens of books on folks like Iggy Pop, Kiss, Nirvana's Kurt Cobain, and the Red Hot Chili Peppers, among many others over the past couple of decades. As frequently as he has turned his insight towards dissecting the life and art of others, however, this is the first time that Thompson has used his undeniable talent to look inward at his own life and experience.

Subtitled "True Adventures on the Front Lines of Punk 1976-1977," Thompson's excellent London's Burning is, as he calls it, a "memoir" without "too much me" included. Ostensibly the story of a year in the life of British punk rock, the teenage Thompson had a front seat to the birth and evolution of punk from a provincial underground phenomenon to a worldwide cultural revolution.

To tell this tale, Thompson relies on his own memories, and those of the many musicians that he has interviewed through the years, as well as those he spoke with specifically for the book. Beginning with the death of the glam-rock era and the lingering descent of pub-rock into obsolescence, Thompson's personalized history of the first stirrings of punk is developed from his youthful vinyl obsession and eager attendance at dozens of shows by early versions of bands like the Sex Pistols, the Adverts, the Stranglers, and the Damned, as well as his friendships with many of the music-makers.

Thompson marks the flashpoint of British punk rock with the first performance of American rocker Patti Smith, her powerful, primal sound launching a hundred bands. Although the story touches upon many of the aforementioned and better-known punk outfits, Thompson takes great care to include obscure (but no less talented or fondly remembered) bands like the Arrows, Radio Stars, and Heavy Metal Kids in his exploration of the music. Sometimes his stories are funny, sometimes poignant, and sometimes even harrowing as Thompson describes the racism present in mid-to-late-70s England, as well as the violence that would come to be leveled against anybody perceived as being a "punk rocker."

Thompson is being only a little disingenuous when he calls London's Burning a memoir without too much "me" because, in truth, it is the presence of his younger self, and that experience that is central to the book's immense charm. In remembering his youthful love of the music, and unbridled enthusiasm for the changes wrought by punk's ascendance, Thompson also reminds us of why the "Class of '77" was so important in the overall evolution of rock music. The stories and memories of the assembled musicians are vital to the story here, but it is Thompson's interaction and role as a documentarian that drives the book.

British punk rock circa 1977-79 has been covered in abundance, almost to the point of absurdity, by dozens of books and hundreds, if not thousands of magazine articles and even compilation albums. Few have the firsthand knowledge and experience of Dave Thompson, though, and the talent to express it so succinctly and in an entertaining manner. Nobody has the stories that Thompson has accumulated, making London's Burning the final word in '70s British punk rock. If you're an old-school punk fan, you should definitely check this one out….(Chicago Review Press)

Related: The Reverend's review of Thompson's I Hate New Music in Blurt Magazine

(Click on the book cover to buy London's Burning from Amazon.com)

Double Nickels On The Dime

Although San Pedro's favorite sons the Minutemen are almost universally praised, they are too often overlooked in favor of lesser punk bands like the Misfits or the Germs. True, the band's landmark Double Nickels On The Dime album is typically named as one of the genre's standing classics, but methinks that, much like Rodney Dangerfield, the Minutemen never really get the respect they deserve. I'd be willing to bet that many young punk rockers these days are more familiar with Green Day, NoFX, Hot Water Music or even the Misfits than with the Minutemen.

This is an oversight that author/professor Michael T. Fournier is trying to correct with his 33 1/3 series book on the Minutemen's Double Nickels On The Dime album. A well-known music journalist that has been published by both online and print magazines like Pitchfork, Chunklet, and Perfect Sound Forever, Fournier also teaches students at Tufts University about the history of punk rock. Fournier often uses Double Nickels On The Dime in his classes, exposing a new generation of punk fans to this incredible album.

The Minutemen were originally formed as the Reactionaries in San Pedro in 1980 by guitarist/singer D. Boon, bassist Mike Watt and drummer Frank Tonche, along with a second guitarist. George Hurley would replace Tonche, the other guitarist would disappear, and the trio changed its name to the more familiar Minutemen – mostly because the bulk of the band's songs didn't extend beyond the 60-second mark. Signed to SST Records, the Minutemen released its Paranoid Time EP in 1981, following with a full-length album, The Punch Line, later that year.

The band built its reputation by touring anywhere somebody would book them, often travelling with Black Flag, and even playing with R.E.M. at one time. By the time that they recorded their fourth album, the two-record Double Nickels On The Dime, the Minutemen had created an eclectic trademark sound that mixed hardcore punk with free-form jazz and scraps of pop, folk, and rock music. Only one of the album's 44 songs comes within spitting distance of 3-minutes in length, most falling comfortably in the one-and-a-half to two minute range, each song a short, sharp shock like a poke from a high-voltage cattle prod.

Fournier dissects the album, side-by-side, song-by-song, supplementing his own substantial insight with comments and memories from the Minutemen's Mike Watt, fellow musicians like Black Flag's Chuck Dukowski, and other friends and followers of the band. Fournier tells how the album's sequencing came to be, diving deep into each song and exploring the creative energy behind every tune. By covering the album as he does, the writer also provides plenty of back story, band history, and an overall glimpse into the early-to-mid-80s west coast punk rock scene.

If Fournier's classes are anything like this book, they'd be a lot of fun to sit in on. Fournier writes with an easy-going tone, combining the enthusiasm of the unabashed fanboy with the everything-but-the-kitchen sink style of the modern music journalist. It makes for a complete story, to be sure, but also provides the reader with new insight into and newfound appreciation of the band's work.

Although I don't believe that the Minutemen get anywhere near the respect they deserve, the continued efforts of Mike Watt, combined with the support of fans like Michael T. Fournier, has kept the band's flame burning bright. If not for frontman D. Boon's tragic death in 1985, the Minutemen would certainly have made the jump to a major label and a larger audience along with friends like Husker Du and Sonic Youth. Still, the band's legacy and influence is enormous, largely fueled by the excellence of Double Nickels On The Dime. (Continuum Books)

(Click on the book or CD cover to buy from Amazon.com)

Slayer's Reign In Blood Revisited

Slayer's Reign In Blood album is, perhaps, the most brutal, chilling, and uncompromising heavy metal album in the history of the genre…and also one of the most influential. Released in 1986 to mixed reaction from the fledgling metal press and almost ignored by a mainstream music media that had its collective nose up in the air, Reign In Blood has withstood the test of time, emerging two decades later to stand as not only a landmark of all things metal, but also as an illustration of the limitless creativity possible in rock music.

In his excellent 33 1/3 series book on the album – part of Continuum's respected series that dissects one important album at a time – writer D.X. Ferris pulls off an admirable tightrope walk. As both a fan and a critic, Ferris manages to convey a sense of excitement about the album even as he pulls the reader headfirst into the world of Slayer. By talking to band members, other musicians, friends and other people around the band at the time, hardcore fans…even respected studio engineer Andy Wallace…Ferris pulls together as complete a picture of the making of Reign In Blood as you'll likely ever read.

After establishing the album's bona fides and importance, Ferris jumps into brief, albeit insightful, mini-bios of each of Slayer's band members. By outlining the distinct and disparate personalities of the players, Ferris brings greater weight to the band's chemistry and subsequent accomplishments. He discusses the band's initial flirtation with, and eventual signing by super-producer Rick Rubin to his Def Jam label. Rubin himself is also the subject of a fascinating profile by the writer.

With a true fan's enthusiasm, Ferris goes on to outline the creation of Reign In Blood, from the album's earliest writing stages through the final mix, and even the making of the cover art. In doing so, he takes the reader behind the scenes into the heart of Slayer's creative process, spotlights how Rubin works in the studio, and describes how the album's songs were developed. This might sound like it would be a dry, boring read, but Ferris tells the tale with humor and intelligence. The context that Ferris includes, combined with the comments and insider information provided by over four dozen interview subjects, together they paint a fascinating story.

Ferris delves into the aftermath of Reign In Blood's recording…CBS Records' refusal to release the album, controversy over the album's gruesome cover art, even questions over Slayer's alleged satanic leanings. Targeted by Tipper Gore's Parent's Music Resource Center (PMRC), Slayer shows were picketed by right-leaning Christian groups. Rubin subsequently moved his Def Jam Records from CBS to Geffen Records for distribution, kicking off a long and beneficial relationship for both labels (and Slayer).

Finally, Ferris breaks down the album song-by-song, a critical dissection that puts each performance under the microscope, lending every song the benefit of hindsight. It's one of the most interesting sections of the book, serving to dismiss some old controversies and, perhaps, ignite some new firestorms, blending observation with opinion (both those of Ferris and the folks he interviewed) to provide each song with deeper contextual roots. The book closes with the legacy left behind by Reign In Blood, the influence the album had on later generations of musicians, and its long-standing importance in the face of the temporary nature of pop music.

Ferris is a fine writer that brings a professional tone and journalistic approach to his fanboy appreciation for the band. His prose is easy and free-flowing, both engaging and informative. The best that could be said is that if you don't already own a copy of Slayer's Reign In Blood, this book will prompt you to go out and purchase the album. It is the perfect companion to Slayer's groundbreaking effort, one of those rare music books that compliments and enhances the art it covers. (Continuum Books)

(Click on the book or CD cover to buy from Amazon.com)

Dan Kennedy's Rock On

There is a moment described by author Dan Kennedy in his brilliant music biz memoir Rock On that reminds me of an almost-surreal experience from my own jaded past.

Back in the early-90s, before the worldwide web had become this endless string of billboards and rest stops on the much-vaunted “Information Superhighway,” and only freaks and geeks knew of its existence, the Reverend was asked by a friend to sit in on an important Music Row meeting. The guys behind IUMA – the Internet Underground Music Archive, an earnest early attempt at bringing music online – had come to Nashville to speak with recording industry movers-and-shakers about their grand idea.

The IUMA guy’s presentation was geared towards the person who was, at the time, the manager of the biggest country music star on the planet, although there were label folks and other industry types present. They attempted to explain the basic mechanics of the web 1.0, hyping the medium’s potential as a way for artists to take their music directly to the audience. Sadly, although the IUMA concept sparked this scribe’s imagination, it challenged the staid conservatism of Music Row’s old guard: the idea of the web as anything that that the country music industry needed to worry about was dismissed by some and endlessly ridiculed by others.

By the end of the ‘90s, the major record labels would see their dominance under assault by the new digital technology, as everything from the worldwide web and Napster to mp3 files and peer-to-peer networking would create cultural changes that would rock the industry from the top floors down to the foundation. In Rock On, Kennedy sadly describes the one great idea that he had during his brief but tumultuous tenure in the recording industry.

In a big corporate meeting, Kennedy pitched the idea of a “digital only” artist contract, essentially the launching of an online label for developing artists that would allow their music to be heard at a significantly lower cost to the label than a traditional record deal. If enough of a buzz grew around an artist, along with the demand for a physical product (i.e. CD), the label retained the right to release an album through the usual distribution chain and retailers.

It was a fine idea that Kennedy had, brilliant really, and one that has since been built upon with varying levels of success by folks like Magnatune, and even experimented with by major labels like Universal. In Kennedy’s story, however, his idea suffers the slings-and-arrows of bureaucratic turf wars as pea-brained corporate managers defend their departments against a perceived increase in workload, but are too self-involved and insecure to allow anyone else in the organization to pick up the idea and run with it.

It is to Kennedy’s credit that he can write about such a magnificent, flaming defeat with humor instead of crawling into a corner in the fetal position with a bottle of Johnny Walker Red. So it goes throughout Rock On, Kennedy’s hilarious and all-too-sadly-familiar memoir of his experience in the recording industry. Hired as a marketing manager – “Director of Creative Development,” actually – for Atlantic Records, lifelong music lover Kennedy thought that he’d landed his rock-n-roll dream job. Instead, what he found was an insulated society that had its own language and its own style of office politics in an odd corporate culture where the achievements of decades past often allowed one to skate through the present with a corner office and (high) six-figure salary.

In short, Rock On is a document of the waning fortunes of the recording industry in the 21st century, Kennedy witnessing firsthand the dying throes of the entertainment giant that was the Warner Music Group. Hired by Atlantic Records on the basis of a single television commercial that he had put together for Motown, Kennedy had virtually no background in the music biz and little actual office experience to draw upon as he attempted to maneuver the corridors of power and intrigue. Throughout the carnival ride that was his eighteen months at Atlantic, Kennedy remembers humorous tales of his run-ins with artists like rapper Fat Joe, the Darkness and Duran Duran.

Along the way, Kennedy sweats his first corporate assignment – an ad campaign to promote 25 years of Phil Collins’ love songs – and later projects, such as a head-scratching cross-promotion by singer Jewel with a razor company that featured a song about not selling out. Hmmm… The events surrounding a Fat Joe commercial video shoot are a hoot, and Kennedy’s story about his creation of a radio public service announcement with the Donnas is priceless. Kennedy attends an Iggy & the Stooges performance and experiences a spiritual epiphany, and he chaperones a visiting Chinese student around town with wit and patience.

Kennedy keeps his chin up and his spirits high throughout these pages, even as he hides in his office and tries to figure out what he should be doing to earn his pay. The author’s self-effacing humor is the structure on which the stories in Rock On are built, Kennedy a talented writer with a gift for phrasing and a penchant for whimsy. Flights of fancy such as “My Six-Point System For Saving The Record Industry” or “A Field Guide To A Few Of The Species I’ve Spotted Here In The Office” are funny, yes, but also insightful and pointedly direct.

Rock On is a quick read, and entertaining as hell for anybody that loves music and wants a glimpse behind the curtain at the wild and wacky world of the recording industry. After sharing Dan Kennedy’s memories, you’ll recognize why the industry is in as bad a shape as it is…still, the spectacle makes for a fine book. (Algonquin Books)

(Click on the book cover to buy Rock On from Amazon.com)

Martin Popoff's Ye Olde Metal: 1973 To 1975

Yeah, yeah, all of you cretins and hopheads that read my previous review of rock critic Martin Popoff’s funtastic book Ye Olde Metal: 1968 To 1972 should know the drill by now. Popoff is heavy metal’s most intelligent voice; he’s reviewed literally thousands of albums, blah, blah, blah. As the editor of, and a contributor to metal bible Brave Words & Bloody Knuckles, Popoff has written about just about every hard rock hero and metalhead to blow across the tumbleweed wasteland over the past two decades or so.

Popoff has also penned scores of books – closing in on two dozen by my count – including the authoritative biographical tomes on pudstompers like Judas Priest, Black Sabbath and Ronnie James Dio, among many others. It’s his latest project, however, that might well be Martin’s most ambitious yet, even more “pie-in-the-sky” loony-tune than The Collectors Guide To Heavy Metal three-volume series that exhaustively reviews 30+ years of album releases and makes for great reading on the toilet. These books are essential for any collector obsessed with guitar-driven rock, obscure metal bands and rare heavy artifacts of a recorded nature.

Popoff’s latest series is titled Ye Olde Metal, and each book is available only from the author as a private stock, limited-edition of 1,000 signed and numbered copies (www.martinpopoff.com). Each volume in the proposed multi-book series will cover a specific time period and, through interviews with the people that created them, will tell the story of a number of classic metal albums. The second book is now available, and the Reverend shouldn’t have to hit each of you over the head with his trusty claw-hammer to convince you that Ye Olde Metal: 1973 To 1975 is a mandatory addition to your concrete-block-and-scrapwood bookshelves, wedged right in between Madonna’s Sex and my own Rock Talk book.

For Ye Olde Metal: 1973 To 1975, Popoff has put together a stellar line-up of talent, even more impressive than the 1971 Pittsburgh Pirates for sheer batting average and off-the-plate power. Some of the folks in this 230-page paperback collection are undeservingly obscure, bands like the Dictators, the New York Dolls and Buffalo largely discussed only in the pages of serious rock-rags like Creem, Circus or Beetle back in the day and never really moving all that many PVC party favors in their time.

Several of the British bands included in the book – classic rock combustibles like Status Quo, Budgie and Nazareth – were goodly stars in their homeland circa ’73, etc, while other “rock arteests” offered here, notably Alice Cooper, Uriah Heep and Deep Purple, were either at the top of their craft, or only slightly past their commercial peak at this particular point in time. Ye Olde Metal: 1973 To 1975 also includes crucial platters from personal faves like Bachman-Turner Overdrive, Montrose, Robin Trower, Foghat and ZZ Top – eighteen albums from fourteen bands, total, discussed in length with interesting factual tidbits and insightful anecdotes.

Interviews with Deep Purple’s David Coverdale and Glenn Hughes cover a lot of ground on two of the legendary band’s most misunderstood albums, Burn and Come Taste The Band, the conversations revealing some of the tensions that broke the early-70s Mark II version of Purple apart in the first place. Randy Bachman’s thoughts on the two BTO albums included here (II and Not Fragile) are every bit as down-to-earth and self-effacing as one might have expected from the blue-collar rocker, while Syl Sylvain’s take on the New York Dolls scorching self-titled debut album is priceless. The song-by-song recap provided every album and interview in the book illuminate each artist’s thoughts and the creative processes behind every recording.

There are only two bands carried over from the first book – Uriah Heep and Buffalo – but in the first case, any conversation with Heep’s Ken Hensley and Mick Box is always a lot of fun to read (and after spending a drunken evening with the band backstage at a Rush show in Nashville, I found that they’re also a lot of fun to talk with); and as for Australia’s underrated Buffalo, they were so obscure and off-the-American-cult-rock-radar that covering two albums from the band is probably still not enough (they rock folks, so check ‘em out!).

Others albums covered by Ye Olde Metal: 1973 To 1975, from Status Quo’s Piledriver and Nazareth’s Loud ‘N’ Proud to Montrose’s excellent self-titled debut and the Dictators’ Go Girl Crazy! are simply essential, and Popoff’s interviews with well-spoken musicians like Manny Charlton, Dan McCafferty, Andy Shernoff, Dennis Dunaway, Ronnie Montrose, Sammy Hagar and all the others help put these classic slabs in context. A lot of the stories told here you won’t find anywhere else, and I’m glad that Popoff has carved them in stone for posterity.

Popoff may be a borderline rock fanatic, but he’s also a realist, and he understands that this entire Ye Olde Metal concept will appeal only to a similar fanboy mentality…thus the limited addition nature of each volume. This is damn important music stuff being documented here; the kind of nuts-and-bolts tales-and-trivia that rock historians take to like kittens to catnip (or rockcrits to Wild Turkey). Although Popoff’s normal writing style is interesting, informative and humorous, in these pages he sits back and allows each interviewee the latitude to tell their story as they deem necessary.

If you’re crazy or just plain curious about this hardscrabble era of pre-metal rock music, Ye Olde Metal: 1973 To 1975 will provide more hours of fun-and-intellectual-frolic than almost anything that you’ll find on teevee these days. The rockers interviewed have lived life and lived to talk about it, their music-making and excesses infinitely more interesting to read about than anything members of Fall Out Boy or My Chemical Romance will ever have to say, now or in the future. Yeah, since the series is published out of Canada, the books are expensive…what with the dollar going down faster than a low-rent streetwalker at a Republican political convention…but they’re worth every penny for the dedicated follower of fashion. The Rev sez “check it out!” (Power Chord Press)

(Click on the book cover to buy Ye Olde Metal: 1973 To 1975 from Martin Popoff)

Link to review of Popoff's Ye Olde Metal: 1968 To 1972

Martin Popoff's Ye Olde Metal: 1968 To 1972

Writing about music is such a subjective thing that it often takes the perspective provided by at least a minimum of a dozen years to put a recording in its proper place. Given the ever-changing moods of the cultural zeitgeist, as well as the individual personal tastes of each reader, it’s a wonder that rock critics, the term itself an albatross of sorts – “music journalist” seems to be the preferred title these days, as if writing about music necessitated any real journalistic training – ahem, it’s a wonder that rock critics can agree on anything for much longer than lunch. Even the Reverend has listened to records that he raved about during, say, back in the ‘90s, and found them to be a shrill and bitter-tasting pill here in the new millennium.

Of course, a sort of consensus is eventually forged over much discussion, spilled blood-and-beer, and more tears than sweat, really, and thereby the coveted status of “Classic Album” is chiseled into stone for all time…or at least until some young jackass know-it-all comes around and states that so-and-so was really much better back in the day and takes a jackhammer to the whole mess. The safe bet, kiddies, is to steer clear of these rockcrit reindeer games and just listen to what you like…you know, like Dylan said, “don’t follow leaders, watch the parking meters,” or something equally obtuse. Really, the lifespan of the “Classic Album” in the media-overdrive Internet age seems to spin faster than the revolving door at a celebrity rehab center, so why try pinning the critter to the mat?

Rock critic – and I use the term as an honorific rather than an insult – Martin Popoff has been around long enough to have seen and heard as much or more than the Reverend, and yet still remains in the trenches, knocking out CD reviews and even books with an alarming regularity. Well-known among heavy metal and hard rock circles, Popoff is the editor of respected metal mag Brave Words & Bloody Knuckles. Popoff is one of the undisputed masters of writing on the genre, and his interests and knowledge both range wide and far. His three book series, The Collector’s Guide To Heavy Metal, are essential reading for the fan; taken together they are an encyclopedic resource that covers thousands of album releases with ratings and critiques and no little insight.

Popoff knows his stuff, and he knows his audience, which is why his latest book project – a series titled Ye Olde Metal – is available only from the author as a private stock, limited-edition of 1,000 signed and numbered copies only. Each volume in the series will cover a specific time period, and through artist interviews, will tell the story of a number of classic metal albums. In a nifty little bit of graphic design, the books will share cover and spine graphics, the entire set representing a veritable encyclopedia of hard rock and metal albums. Popoff knows that the market for these tomes is limited to hardcore fanboys such as the Reverend, thus the limited and collectible nature of each book.

Popoff recently made the first volume, Ye Olde Metal: 1968 To 1972, available through his web site (www.martinpopoff.com) and yours truly wasted no time grabbing up a copy. It’s well worth the money, for both the dedicated follower of fashion as well as the rabid collector. This first book covers the grandfathers and godfathers of hard rock and heavy metal, the obscure-yet-essential and highly influential bands that laid the foundation for decades of musicians to build upon. Among the bands covered in this first book are Blue Cheer, the MC5, Sir Lord Baltimore, Bloodrock, Warpig, Cactus, Mountain, Uriah Heep, Nitzinger, Dust, Humble Pie, Buffalo, Captain Beyond and Trapeze.

Each chapter of the book provides an in-depth overview of one important album from each band, the story told through interviews with the folks that made the music. Upon first glance, what impressed me the most about Ye Olde Metal: 1968 To 1972 is the line-up of bands and albums chosen by Popoff, which reads like a soundtrack to my high school years. Living in a rural suburb of Nashville during the latter-half of the period covered by the book, the Reverend’s musical tastes were usually out-of-step with those of my more mainstream-oriented classmates, and heavily informed by Creem magazine and writers like Dave Marsh, Lester Bangs and, later, Rick Johnson. The proto-metal, riff-happy sounds of bands like Uriah Heep, Cactus, Mountain and Dust made themselves at home on my cheap turntable, and of the fourteen bands/albums covered by Popoff, in 1972 I owned ten of them (and I own them all now after reading the book).

Popoff’s conversations with musicians like Mountain’s Leslie West and Corky Laing, the MC5’s Wayne Kramer, Jim McCarty and Carmine Appice of Cactus or John Nitzinger of, well, Nitzinger are informative in spite of years of familiarity with the artists and their work, each chapter revealing new aspects of the album discussed. For bands like Bloodrock, Sir Lord Baltimore or Dust that were listened to regularly, but for which little or no information existed in print at the time (long before the invention of the ‘net), the book often delivers lots of minor revelations. As for those artists that I didn’t even know existed until recently, like Warpig or Buffalo, the book provides a fitting introduction to their music (and prompted this reader to dig up copies of their albums).

Throughout Ye Olde Metal: 1968 To 1972, Popoff’s writing is clear, knowledgeable and friendly, providing great insight into the importance of these artists and their work. It also takes a back seat to the artist’s own accounts, Popoff allowing these long-neglected titans of rock their say, documenting the story of each album in the musician’s own words. Even at 232 pages, the book is a quick read and as entertaining as it is informative.

If you’re a fan of any of the aforementioned bands, curious about their work and legacy, or just a curious reader with a taste for hard rock cheap thrills, I’d heartily recommend that you check out Ye Old Metal: 1968 To 1972, this humble critic anointing the book with my highest honor…the Rev sez “check it out!” (Power Chord Press)

James Kochalka: American Elf, Book Two

Perhaps the best-known artist on the Top Shelf roster, James Kochalka is both a cult musician (“James Kochalka Superstar”) and TV cartoonist (Nickleodeon) as well as an amazingly prolific comic book artist (Monkey Vs. Robot, Super F*ckers). Perpetually on the verge of a mainstream breakthrough, his highly-personal work, unbearably cute artistic style and individual quirkiness seems to keep him forever one step away from grabbing the brass ring. However, Kochalka is undoubtedly talented, and his work displays a great deal of thought and insight that could take him to whatever level of success that he desires.

American Elf, Book Two is the second anthology of Kochalka’s daily “sketchbook diaries,” circa 2004 – 2005, an intimate and incredibly perceptive collection that reveals both the inner workings of the artist’s profession as well as his personal thoughts and emotions. The format is deceptively complex in its simplicity – one strip a day, one to four panels each – a miniscule space in which to convey an idea or throw out a punch line. But Kochalka has this medium down to a gleeful science.

With his wife and infant son, band members, friends and complete strangers all participating characters in his ongoing narrative, Kochalka pulls back the curtain to reveal a wonderful world where minor setbacks are offset by small triumphs, and even something as simple as son Eli’s Halloween outfit or traveling out-of-town to sign autographs at a comics convention is fodder for daily reflection.

American Elf works not only because Kochalka invests so much of himself and his world into his daily “sketchbook diary” but because he does so with such humor, innocence, honesty and insight. Kochalka’s talent is not necessarily as a storyteller, nor even as an artist (although his work certainly has its simple charm), but rather as a sharp-eyed observer of the human condition. Just as each day’s entry becomes a commentary on romance and relationships, sex and parenthood, the struggle for artistic recognition and the rigors of everyday life, so too does each daily strip work as a single frame in virtual documentary film of the artist’s life and work.

It’s not only a breathtaking concept, but a highly entertaining one as well, Kochalka matching his childlike glee with an often world-weary perspective that borderlines on cynicism. In the end, however, his love for his family and his overall sense of wonder inspire Kochalka to create an enduring work that is timeless, entertaining and universal in its ability to relate to the reader. American Elf is definitely not a child’s comic book, but rather a book for the child that exists in every one of us, demanding the opportunity to come out and play.... (Top Shelf Productions)

(Click on the book cover to buy American Elf from Amazon.com or buy direct from Top Shelf Comix)

Nicolas Mahler: Lone Racer

At some point, many years ago, Lone Racer was a champion on the track. Presumably he had it all – fame, fortune, and the perks that accompany being the best there is at your chosen sport. These days, however, he’s an answer to a trivia question, overshadowed by younger, faster and more aggressive racers that have stolen his thunder. His wife is in the hospital, he lives in a small apartment, and he drinks his nights away at Bar Juanjo with former driver “Rubber” and racetrack-mechanic-turned-cop “Irksome.” Along the way, as the story unfolds, Lone Racer is drawn into an aborted bank robbery, an odd romance and even odder conversations before rededicating himself to racing and hitting the track once again in pursuit of his dignity and self-respect.

Nicolas Mahler’s Lone Racer is a small graphic novel but a large, brilliant work of storytelling. Mahler’s narrative is compact and lean without a wasted motion or a meaningless word. Mahler’s minimalist drawing style is slightly surreal, with odd-shaped characters and unsightly, almost Dali-esque perspectives. It’s with this unique style, however, along with the Spartan coloration provided the panels, that Mahler makes his story of the down-and-out racecar driver resonate with truth and reality. In weaving a tale of loss and redemption, Mahler has struck a vital nerve at the heart of every reader, encouraging us all to react like Lone Racer and get back on track to chase our dreams.

Lone Racer is an entertaining, thought-provoking story, magically offbeat yet ambitious in scope and universal in its reach. Well-known in Europe, where his work has appeared in German, Swiss and Austrian newspapers and in French and Czech anthologies, Austrian artist Mahler is an intriguing, one-of-a-kind storyteller and artist, a talent well worth keeping an eye on.... (Top Shelf Productions)

(Click on the book cover to buy from Amazon.com or purchase direct from Top Shelf Comix)

Jeffrey Brown: Feeble Attempts

Jeffrey Brown reminds me of the underground cartoonists of the ‘60s and ‘70s, specifically Justin Green. He brings the same sort of personalized storytelling to his work, and his amateurish drawing style is both enchanting and brimming over with detail. Feeble Attempts is a collection drawn from Brown’s mini-comics and other strips, running the gamut, in terms of subject matter, from imaginative super hero romps to autobiographical material, political and cultural commentary, and thoughts on relationships and romance.

Brown is a clever humorist and his short, one-and-two-page strips hold up well to repeated readings, revealing a little something extra each time. I particularly liked the truth about human nature revealed by Brown’s “My Conspiracy To Not Sell You The New ‘Garden State’ DVD,” while his comparison of the Iraq War and reality television is simply brilliant. In a nod, perhaps, to Green’s work with “Binky Brown,” you have “My Jesus Is An Awesome Jesus,” and the drawing of the robotic construct shown on the back cover of Feeble Attempts is just awesome (and would make a great poster).

Nothing here is going to shake up the world of comics greatly, but Feeble Attempts does provide a thoughtful, entertaining read; Brown’s distinctive style and unique voice is a refreshing change from the many far-too-serious recent attempts at creating “art” in the comics’ world. This is nothing more than 48-pages of fun between two covers – too subtle to be called “mindless,” too thoughtful to be easily dismissed. (Top Shelf Productions)

Jeff Lemire: Tales From The Farm

I was unfamiliar with cartoonist Jeff Lemire before receiving this graphic novel from Top Shelf, but I have to count myself among his most ardent fans after reading Essex County Vol. 1: Tales From The Farm. The first in a proposed three-part series, this is the story of Lester, a ten-year-old boy whose mother recently died from cancer. Lester has never known his father and, with no other family, ends up going to live with his Uncle Ken on his farm in Essex County, Ontario Canada. Isolated, confused and probably more than a little angry, Lester finds a friend in Jimmy Lebeuf, the town’s simple-minded gas station owner and a former pro hockey player.

Tension grows between Lester and his bachelor uncle, due to their individual personalities and attempts to emotionally deal with the death of Lester’s mother and Ken’s sister. Lester prefers to be alone with his thoughts, losing himself in the world of comic books and super heroes. Uncle Ken is trying to understand the boy but, being somewhat of a loner himself (like most small farmers working long hours in the field), struggles to connect with Lester on any meaningful level. Only hockey brings the two together, albeit briefly. Meanwhile, Lester has found a kindred spirit in the childlike Lebeuf, as the two play pond hockey and fend off an imaginative alien invasion.

Lemire is a natural storyteller, able to convey a great deal of emotion and thought with a simple line or facial expression. His distinctive art style is unlike any that I’ve seen and, to his credit, he clearly isn’t trying to look like any other artist. Bold black lines intersect with stark white backgrounds, blackness envelopes some panels, and Lemire’s use of perspective and panel arrangement sit easily within both the flow of the story and in his graphic narration. Lemire’s art is elegant in its simplicity, deceptively hiding the depth and beauty of the story.

Jeff Lemire’s Essex County Vol. 1: Tales From The Farm presents a charming, entertaining story and is a fine example of what can be done with the graphic novel format by an artist and writer working outside of the admittedly more popular super-hero comics genre. I eagerly await future volumes in the series; kudos to both Lemire and to Top Shelf for their dedication to excellence. (Top Shelf Productions)

(Click on the book cover to buy from Amazon.com or buy directly from Top Shelf)

Rick Johnson's 'Tin Cans, Squeems & Thudpies'

Hmmm…where to start, where to start? How do you sum up the tragically short career of a rock critic, that most ephemeral of literary pursuits? After all, only a few bona fide, truly insightful rockcrits have ever made the jump from the fleeting, yellowing page of the periodical to a culturally-significant- and-acceptable placement between the covers of a book. Dave Marsh has always done it well, Greil Marcus, Meltzer, Christgau…heck, the almost-famous Lester Bangs had to wait until he died to earn his own ISBN number. Of the current crop of music writers – most of whom lack the passion and reckless temerity of the aforementioned first-gen giants – only Jim DeRogatis is worth reading. Weaned on ever-evolving musical trends and “bloato hype,” today’s rockcrits aren’t fit to hold Lester’s stash, so why should we trust their opinions?

So where do you start when talking about Rick Johnson? Well, he was this guy, you know…“Ranger Reek,” a writer and critic…beloved by a smallish legion of fanboys and serious music geeks that troll eBay to this day looking for dog-eared copies of Creem to purchase. Ostensibly a “FOL” (Friend Of Lester) at the same time that Cameron Crowe was ditching his junior prom to write for Rolling Stone, Johnson was my reviews editor at Sunrise, a small mid-70s politics-and-culture publication that today would be called a “zine.” Through his friendship with Bangs, “Reek” – as he was known to his readers – made connections at Creem that would later come in handy. In fact, Reek left Illinois in 1980 or so to live in the Detroit area and work at the Creem offices as a writer and editor. In between, he followed friend and editor Bill Knight from Sunrise, after its demise, to write for Prairie Sun, a record store-sponsored tab that carried on the great Midwest rock tradition.

Johnson’s brief writing career extended from around 1972 until 1984, when the ownership of Creem gave up on Michigan winters and moved lock, stock and barrel to L.A. As best as I can tell, the vast bulk of Reek’s writing was done for three publications – Sunrise, Prairie Sun and Creem – with a few pieces published by ‘70s-era cultural rag Fusion, skin-mag Oui and a handful of other print forums. After leaving Detroit, Johnson went back to Macomb, Illinois, where he had previously attended college. Sadly, he published few pieces afterwards; even more tragically, he died last year, at the still-young age of 55, an obscure writer whose passing was noted only by friends and a handful of colleagues in the music journalist community.

So where do you start when talking about Rick Johnson? First, and foremost, he was deserving of a much larger audience than he ever received. If the magazine publishing world hadn’t become the namby-pamby, corporate-drone-filled haven for safe-as-milk scribes that it is today, some editor somewhere might have recognized Johnson’s literary brilliance and offered him a place for his words. But it did, and they didn’t, and Reek’s voice was silenced by small minds with no vision, and obviously no sense of humor; uptight assholes more worried about not upsetting the reader and keeping their own gigs than in publishing something insightful and entertaining and the least but edgy.

Not that Johnson was a controversial writer…on the contrary, he was a unique product of his day and age. Unlike his obvious influences – writers like Bangs or Meltzer, whose cultural perspective was formed by Beatnik poets like Ginsberg and Kerouac, and by Elvis and Chuck, Bob and the Beatles – Johnson’s creativity was shaped and molded by ‘60s garage-rock, baseball, television, and mass market advertising. His best and lasting role was that of the cultural commentator, and his overt influences typically spilled over into his reviews. Unlike some writers, Johnson never tried to stir things up; but when you start with the intellectual ammunition that he had at his disposal, and hurl your words-and-phrases rapid-fire at your readers like molten slag from the barrel of a critical Gatling gun, you’re likely to upset somebody’s tender vittles.

Johnson was, above all else, a highly entertaining writer. Erudite and well-read, he was one of the few members of the rockcrit literati that could mix classical literary references with bits-and-pieces of TV sitcom humor and contemporary events to make some obscure point seem important and relevant. Reek’s work was (and is) always fun to read; as a writer, he was a clever wordsmith, quick with a phrase and inventive in his use of language, witty to the point of absurdity. Whereas Bangs might wander off aimlessly in search of an expression or reference worth quoting in his reviews, Johnson typically cut to the heart of his subject; even when he was being purposely surreal, he usually managed to tie it into the review in the end.

After his death, many of Reek’s friends and admirers in the world of music journalism lamented the fact that no collection of his work existed outside the bounds of over-priced copies of Creem. Bill Knight, Johnson’s editor at Sunrise and Prairie Sun and a professor of journalism at Western Illinois University, took on the task of editing Reek one more time. Knight got the “old gang” back together during the summer of 2006, two dozen former writers (including yours truly) who volunteered to type up Johnson’s old reviews and articles for use in a collection that was published this year as the Rick Johnson Reader: ‘Tin Cans, Squeems & Thudpies’.

The material chosen by Knight to represent Johnson’s writing legacy includes some of his best, brightest and funniest work. From album reviews, which provide the bulk of the book’s content, and television commentary to baseball forecasting and book and videogame reviews (a form of criticism that Reek pioneered), ‘Tin Cans, Squeems & Thudpies’ illustrates Johnson’s unique and original writing style, his absurdist sense of humor and, most of all, his ability to stay critically detached – it’s only rock & roll, ya know! The book features a lot of material from Sunrise and Prairie Sun, which is where Reek published an abundance of great writing, and which are nearly impossible to find these days compared to the early-80s issues of Creem that his words appeared in.

All other considerations aside, the album review was Johnson’s true forte, and he brought no little insight and a great deal of joy to his work in this area. Reek was never beholden to the label hype machine, and he had great fun poking holes in sacred cows. He was never afraid to write about a little-known band like the Gizmos or MX-80 Sound, and was not reserved about fragging the overblown work of a behemoth like Jefferson Starship or the Eagles. He had his favorites…as do all critics…typically straight-ahead rockers like Thin Lizzy or the New York Dolls, but he would also hold their feet to the fire if so required. Johnson wrote an impressive number of reviews during his all-to-brief career and, after reading this book twice, I can honestly say that his work is never dull and always entertaining.

The Rick Johnson Reader: ‘Tin Cans, Squeems & Thudpies’ should be required reading for every hopeful rock critic, and most current so-called writers, the book providing an example of how good music writing can be. The best compliment that I can give Reek is that, after reading several of his reviews, I either bought the albums or put them on my “want” list for future purchase. Music lovers should rejoice in the collection, as it offers a snapshot of a decade in pop culture. Bill Knight and his crew have provided a valuable service by preserving Rick Johnson’s words for posterity.

As a young rock critic, Rick Johnson was my first editor when I was published in Sunrise. Our brief friendship, which began around 1975 and lasted into the early-80s, launched me on the dubious career path of the rock critic. I don’t know if I should thank Reek or curse him, but mostly because of him, I’ve had a hell of a ride. Deserving of space on your bookshelf, ‘Tin Cans, Squeems & Thudpies’ is an essential collection and a fine memorial to Johnson’s work. Buy or die, buckaroos!

(Click on the book cover to buy the Rick Johnson Reader from Amazon.com)

The Who Sell Out

The Who Sell Out is, undeniably, one of the legendary rock band’s most adventuresome yet lighthearted of albums. A tribute to the notorious pirate radio stations that operated off the coast of England during the mid-60s, The Who Sell Out mixes Pete Townshend’s uncanny ear for melody (songs like “Glittering Girl” and the Top Ten hit “I Can See For Miles”) with made-up jingles and fake radio commercials that echo the sounds then being heard by UK teens from stations like Radio London.

Author John Dougan attempts to dissect and analyze this classic album with his book The Who Sell Out, part of Continuum’s rightfully acclaimed 33 1/3 series of books. The result of Dougan’s efforts is a delightful trip in the wayback machine to the swinging sixties of London and a British music scene dominated by the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Kinks and the Who. Dougan sets the stage for the story with a personal recollection, talking about the differences between him and his father, not only in their musical preferences, but also in their relative degree of musical fanaticism. Whereas family and obligation caused his father to put aside music as an adult, the younger Dougan – not unlike many of us children of the ‘50s – became hopelessly addicted to rock & roll, an affliction that the author has obviously carried to the present day.

It was his unquenchable thirst for new music…a trait also shared by many collectors and critics…that led Dougan to discover the British Invasion and, subsequently, the Who. In a strange twist of fate, however, it wasn’t until he was in his 20s that this hardcore Who fan finally added a copy of The Who Sell Out to his personal library. Such are the fortunes of the music fan, and when Dougan describes living in a “cultural backwater” in Massachusetts, many of us can identify. I remember living in a rural suburb of Nashville, my lifeline to the outside world consisting of copies of Creem magazine, dog-eared by constant reading, and the irregular packages of promo albums sent for review by my editor Rick Johnson at Sunrise.

Dougan lays the groundwork for the recording of The Who Sell Out by going into the history of the UK pirate radio scene with some detail. I find this aspect quite fascinating, the thought that a handful of illegal offshore stations like Radio London and Radio Caroline could have such a cultural impact is mind-boggling. There was nothing like this phenomenon in the United States – pirate stations stateside were erratic, disappearing frequently, and were greatly limited by America’s size and geography. Dougan provides interesting details on the history of England’s state-sponsored media, the BBC’s reluctance to embrace rock & roll an important deciding factor in the creation and popularity of the UK pirates.

Dougan’s discussion of ‘60s-era art and art theory is equally fascinating, his exploration of the influence of these factors on Pete Townshend’s work ties together disparate snapshots previously provided by the band’s biographers like Dave Marsh and Richard Barnes. No artist lives in a vacuum, and Townshend was certainly no exception, and the opportunities to immerse one’s self in radical and thought-provoking cultural scenes during the era were seemingly endless. There was an almost unbelievable co-mingling of art and commerce in those days, unthinkable by today’s “alternative” mindset, but much of what we think of as classic works from the ‘60s were fresh, original and unabashedly commercial.

It was from this miasma of art and commerce that Pete Townshend conceived of The Who Sell Out. Townshend’s aim was not, as the album’s title implies, to actually “sell out” but rather to offer listeners, as Dougan describes it, “a celebration of the zeitgeist, a joyous reaffirmation of the discrete cultural elements that had defined British postwar popular culture and the Who as a pop art musical experience.” Townshend correctly found British pop culture to be less cynical and more positively-oriented than that of America, and it’s true that the British have, and continue to embrace a much wider range and diversity of cultural media.

Dougan recounts the creative and technical obstacles that were overcome during the making of The Who Sell Out and, sadly, tells of the album’s immediate commercial failure. A bit too cerebral, perhaps, for mainstream audiences, the album’s fortunes waned after the last chords of “I Can See For Miles” disappeared from the charts. Undaunted, the Who would go onto greater triumphs and tragedies but, strangely enough, The Who Sell Out continues to hang around, 40 years after its initial release. An intriguing and many-layered work of art, the album continues to win converts and influence people long after its “sell by” date has expired. Just as importantly, Dougan outlines how the album was a vital work, aiding the Who’s transformation from a chart-topping pop band into a legendary rock band.

The Who Sell Out is a worthy addition to the 33 1/3 series. Dougan’s prose is lively and informative, his insights well-considered and crafted by spending most of a lifetime living with and considering this often overlooked album. His account of the cultural forces that helped shape Townshend’s work is immensely important in a historical context, and I can see myself referring back to this tome in the future. Unlike many of the well-written books in the 33 1/3 series, Dougan’s The Who Sell Out provides a textural framework that actually enhances the listening experience rather than merely supporting an album’s critical credentials. Dougan’s efforts made a fellow Who fanatic listen to The Who Sell Out with fresh ears, and for that I thank him! (Continuum Books)

(Click on the covers to buy The Who Sell Out book or CD from Amazon.com)

Da Capo Best Music Writing 2006

Daphne Carr & Mary Gaitskill, editors
DA CAPO BEST MUSIC WRITING 2006
(Da Capo Press)

Okay, here’s how it works. Every twelve months, give or take, some poor schlub of an editor has to sift through hundreds of articles, essays, interviews and reviews to come up with a few dozen nominees as the “best music writing” of the year. Then said editor – this year it’s music journalist Daphne Carr shouldering this thankless task – hands off the stack of material to a guest editor; it’s novelist Mary Gaitskill this time around, but in the past this post has been manned by folks like the Grateful Dead’s Mickey Hart, cartoonist Matt Groening and enigmatic author J.T. Leroy.

Finally, the guest editor chooses two-to-three-dozen of the best pieces as being “better than the rest,” the winners are shipped off to the typesetter and hocus pocus, Da Capo Best Music Writing 2006 has been created! This year’s edition, the seventh in the series, is larger than 2005’s slim volume, but the quality has not suffered from the inflated page count, and there are some real gems among the book’s nearly-three-dozen pieces. It seems that the more literary-minded the guest editor – as opposed to musicians or pop culture icons – the more they tend to go with the high-falutin’ articles, and Gaitskill’s high-brow editorial choices for this year’s book provide no argument against this theory.

In Gaitskill’s defense, some of the loftiest material chosen for Da Capo Best Music Writing 2006 is also some of the best. Alex Ross’ excellent “Doctor Atomic Countdown,” from The New Yorker, is an entertaining glimpse behind the scenes of the creation of an opera. John Jeremiah Sullivan’s “Upon This Rock,” taken from GQ Magazine, is an insightful and introspective piece on Christian music and the Creation Festival, a subject that ordinarily would hold no interest for this reader. “Stories Of A Bad Song,” by rock criticism’s tenured “professor,” Greil Marcus, traces the history of Dylan’s classic “Masters Of War,” dissecting the song’s power and putting it in context with today’s youth and the War In Iraq.

Much of the rest of Da Capo Best Music Writing 2006 is equally engaging. Bill Friskics-Warren’s wonderful piece on Bettye LaVette illustrates the singer’s tireless spirit; Robert Wheaton’s fascinating look at the short, tumultuous life of British singer M.I.A. provides a contextual frame for the artist’s work; and Nick Weidenfeld’s “Dying In The Al Gore Suite,” about Silver Jews founder David Berman’s attempted suicide, is a sometimes-horrifying look into the psyche of a brilliant musician. Robert Christgau, always eminently readable and always a safe choice for any sort of compilation, discusses the magic of Billie Holiday’s voice, while Wayne Marshall’s look at reggaeton is a fine introduction to a genre of music little-known in the U.S. even while sweeping the rest of the world.

There are a handful of music-related, non-critical pieces in this year’s volume that should also grab your attention. Elizabeth Mendez Berry’s chilling expose of misogyny and domestic abuse in the hip-hop world shreds the veneer of machismo that fuels rap music while Katy St. Clair’s lighthearted piece on the special relationship between Huey Lewis and a coterie of mentally retarded fans sheds a sympathetic light on one of the brighter stars of the long-lost ‘80s. Ann Powers points out the double-standard of judging mentally unstable male artists like Daniel Johnston or Syd Barrett as misunderstood “geniuses” while female artists with mental problems are typically dismissed and marginalized.

You’ll find some hip-hop in this year’s book (Peter Relic’s “The Return,” an interview with the notorious Bushwick Bill, is a scream), some heavy metal (Monica Kendrick’s “Bang The Head Slowly,” on the band Earth) and some indie rock (J. Edward Keyes’ entertaining piece on the band Bloc Party). Mike McGuirk’s one-paragraph record reviews, nearly a dozen sprinkled throughout the book, are witty, concise and usually right on target. In this volume, like those in the past, there are some articles that should never have been chosen – the piece on metal band High On Fire (I won’t embarrass the writer by naming them) wouldn’t pass muster in a high school newspaper while the piece on avant-garde noisemaker Merzbow leaves one scratching their head at its inclusion; obscurity for obscurity’s sake, perhaps?

Overall, Da Capo Best Music Writing 2006 lives up to other entries in the series and provides hours of intelligent reading for the curious music lover. There is no other series that has run as long, or has even remotely archived the wealth and breadth of music writing that Da Capo’s annual volume does. There is always something between the covers to entertain the reader and, best of all, each book opens the door to a world of music that even the best-informed of us is unfamiliar with. For these reasons alone, Da Capo Best Music Writing 2006 deserves a place on your bookshelf.

(Click on the book cover to buy Da Capo Best Music Writing 2006 at Amazon.com)