This is a book with no filler or footnote guff. It could be easily twice as thick. Moon was just that mad and managed to do so much. Most of it absolutely hilarious. There even is a section dedicated to the legend that he drove a Rolls Royce into a hotel Swimming Pool. It’s almost a moot point. He’s done so much it should almost be a footnote in a career of pranks, decadence and destruction.

Insights from assistants, band mates and family. He was a tricky, troubled and dark man. But legend has it, all the fun in your life, was a week of Moon’s life. This book basically attests to that in detail.

Rock probably never will have someone as complex, eccentric and plain hilarious as Mr Moon. Plenty will try and go mad doing so. But I recommend the safer option of reading this manifesto over plenty of drinks. An incredibly well written book. Which all started with the author’s boyhood contact with Moon. I’ll let you read that for yourself!

Yes Wyman was the bass player of the Rolling Stones. Which may explain why he wrote his book 20 years before anyone else. Considering he’s allegedly shagged more girls than physically possible and married a girl 40 years younger than him, he wasn’t lacking for subject matter. So why the hell does he keep telling you about office telegrams and bank balances? He has a fully journalised recollection of life on the road with the stones. But I

This book would be of interest of anyone that is a major Brian Jones fan. But that’s like saying crack is awesome if you aspire to being a homeless whore on borrowed time. He gives an interesting insight into Jones, who Keef had written off completely as an unreliable prima donna. However Brian had such affection for him that his book is almost entirely dedicated to the Jones era finishing around 1969. This was a bloke who was in the band until the early nineties(?). So clearly he tagged along for 20 years with clearly nil interest in the band. Makes you wonder.

If there was anything I got out of this book, it was don’t ever read anything written by a bass player – slight caveat for Lemmy or Nikki Sixx. They are accountants and gantt chart warriors, each and every one of them. Please I urge you, don’t bother. Leave it on the shelf. He’s a great bass player and accountant. That’s entirely the problem.

Like Lemmy Kilmister mentions, the Beatles were actually quite hard, and the Stones relatively posh art school twats from London. Despite this though, Mr Richards does talk about living in council flats in a dodgy part of Kent, in the south of England. A part that manifested nothing but fog and thievery. Mr Jagger lived up the road in posher digs. Nonetheless they from a very early age were kindred spirits and this book gives a dazzlingly clear insight into their early years. There are some great insights into London in the late sixties/early seventies. Like government supplied heroin and pharmaceutical cocaine.

What truly is amazing though Mr Richards really has lived Exile on Main St. Living in the poshest digs everywhere from France to Jamaica, or basically anywhere that would have them, before putting him up on trumped up drug charges. The book is a dazzling insight into what it’s like to be totally displaced by fame and drug addiction. Yes there were a few skint years, but the Stones took off in a few years, and in a big way. Clearly it’s all but impossible for a rock and roll band to do this now. By rock and roll I don’t mean Lady Gaga of Justin Beiber.

Oh yes and the drugs. There’s plenty of talk of that. But surprisingly Keith has been off the opiates for quite some time. Whole years spent in Morocco doing the finest hash, the obligatory smack here and there, you name it. In fact many rumours are quashed in this book. Some even verified! Perhaps it’s a deny 70% admit to 30% and you look OK kind of deal. Who knows. Throughout the drug addled experiences though Keith is cognizant in his writing as it gets. Almost reminds me of a Hunter S Thompson.

Perhaps most intriguing is the insight into why people take the smack. Keith reckoned it was to help him focus for days on end, getting a sound in the studio. Half his life was spent chasing it, running from it or getting in bed for it. Interesting. So too the stories about his band mates. Or quite often the lack of them. Thought he’d have a lot more to say about Charlie, Bill Wyman and Mick Taylor. But these stories are kept laconic to say the least. Most talked about are Mick and Brian Jones – who apparently was a mean bastard.

Worth mentioning too is that what makes the end of the book so land is that it’s talking about the breakdown of his relationship with Mick Jagger. I don’t read Hello Weekly and found all that to be horseshit, whiny minutia. The rest is absolutely brilliant though. Well worth checking out.

Quite literally Johnson have time-lined his life in cars. There’s plenty of highs and lows. From lights randomly popping out of his Lotus to the abject misery of owning anything made by British Leyland. There’s the odd insight into life on the road. Whether it’s bunking on the tour bus or being chauffeured around Europe in an executive limo in style. His band mates don’t make it out unscathed either and there’s plenty of falling in love on the road. Only with British convertibles and not slutty groupies.

It’s full of short, funny (some very funny) and punchy anecdotes. Via cars, he manages to leave no part of his life unscathed and that’s what’s truly miraculous and perhaps why Johnson decided to go this route for his biography – and it does work. There’s a sense that as a standard biography it would be too tight lipped and laconic. No question he has no problem opening up over some put banter about his cars though. But sadly it kind of lacks substance. Honestly I read this book cover to cover in three days. A decent reader could easily do it in a night. Not to Johnson’s detriment. This is a fantastic read. If only it could be longer.

Richard Hammond book. Just avoid.

Er, frankly not what I expected. Here’s the breakdown:

• 2% about James May and the Jeremy Clarkson
• 5% childhood
• 5% getting to Top Gear
• 13% Top Gear pre-accident
• 75% ‘the accident’

Don’t get me wrong, of course I expected it to be about the accident. But much like the Walk the Line movie about Johnny Cash, I expected a big crescendo to his fame as a Top Gear host, then bang. Nothing. Instead he talked about how he shat himself on the way to the audition. More about him and the early days of Top Gear would’ve been very interesting. He does touch on how the idea of driving a jet car came about, but more or less in passing detail.

Unless you’re a nurse or involved in the health industry you too will probably have a feigning interest in this book. Don’t get me wrong, I owe Richard Hammond and the boys a tremendous debt of gratitude for doing Top Gear. But by crossing narratives from Richard to his wife Mindy as his hospital stay begins, every bane minute detail of Mindy’s doings is discussed in detail. Frankly it’s hideously boring.

Despite the bane minutia, there’s one interesting bit. The Hammond clan hire some ex special services lads smuggle them out to Scotland past the preying paparazzi for a well deserved vacation. It’s amazing to think that anyone would need such a crew to take a holiday!

This is more a book for the girls. It’s about love and empathy and Florence Nightingale dedication to the sick. It’s the kind of account your mum would write when her son goes to hospital to get his tonsils out. Now I want to invoice someone for the hours of my life this book has usurped and kill a hippie to feel normal again.

For those who came in late, Spector found himself on a murder wrap in 2001. The reclusive, oddball Hollywood identity with the world’s wierdest wig collection had a woman (Lana Clarkson) in his house for about 10 minutes and somehow she was murdered/suicided with a Colt pistol in her mouth. Stangely, despite no public interviews for at least a decade, Brown managed to interview Spector about a month before the incident occurred.

Brown traces Spector right back from his family origins. First he finds that he was the son of two first cousins and had a history of mental illness in the family. His father had committed suicide and he was subject to acts of humiliation at school because of his small height and features. This kind of thorough detective work makes for a long and sometimes arduous read, but Spector had lived a strange and complex life necessitating it.

Next Spector’s meteoric rise through the sixties music scene is painstakingly detailed. Things like Sonny Bono used to be his studio lacky, doing the rounds with local DJs to promote Spector’s records. At the time apparently Cher was a runaway sleeping on Sonny’s couch. By this stage Spector was nothing if not flambouyant, but eccentricities were beginning to emerge. And Brown captures almost every single one.

For Beatles fans, there’s several chapters on both Lennon and Harrison’s efforts as well as Spector’s work on Get Back covered off nicely. I was heavily dissapointed though as a Ramones fan that there was only a few pages, a chapter at best dedicated to them. Admitedly, they were only in the studio for 3 weeks but there are so many rumours that could’ve been quashed, e.g. Dee Dee Ramone allegedly being forced to record his bass parts at gun point, Johnny Ramone playing the opening chord to Rock and Roll High School 400 times etc.

What this book really dwells on is 20 years of bizarre eccentricity that saw Spector become a showboating, gun toting, raving alcoholic that bordered between straight up wired and plain psychotically dangerous. All culminating in one night when the worst possible case scenario had occurred and a woman paid with their life. There are repeated incidents over decades where Phil would intimidate women with guns, however he’s a free but basically broke man today. Phil is to music what OJ Simpson was to sports. This is one crazy, very highly detailed read.

If you were to quantify the themes of this book it would be:

• 10% his upbringing in a London council house
• 20% ongoing life on the road with the Stones
• 5% shits and giggles anecdotes with other band members
• 5% talking art
• 10% life with the Faces/Small Faces/Rod Stewart
• 50% life on the crack pipe told via bizarre, mafia tinged, paranoid drug stories

Given Ronnie is the affirmable ‘little brother’ of the Stones, you’d hate to hear Keith’s drug stories. But for a good 10 years Ronnie was heavily addicted to crack. There are some amazing stories of getting arrested in interesting and exotic locations from the Deep South in the Sixties to St Maarten in the 80s. Plenty of mafia henchman crossed his path and equally well dressed henchman as his managers that ripped him off.

Scarily, for most of his life in the Stones, Wood claims to have been living on a stypend of $200 a week, selling his art for grocery money. Because of his amazing lack of ability to put a crack pipe down and read a letter, he has been fabulously bankrupt for most of his life as millionaire rocker.

Rock stars that get an honourable mention in this book include Rod Stewart, Keith Moon and Slash. But they are passing footnotes in his life history. None that are really worth a mention.

Probably the most interesting part of the book is the first few chapters. Like the Keith Moon bio ‘Dear Boy’ this book says a lot about life in post war England and how rock and roll came to be for British rockers. If you’re a fan of history lessons, you will really enjoy this book, as Ronnie really paints a picture of what life was like as a teenager back in the day.

Finally you wouldn’t have to be a fan of the Stones to really get into this book. But it helps. If you like a bit of fear and loathing on the rock and roll circuit, check it out. 3.5 out of 5.

According to the Wikipedia, this book was compiled from something like 12,000 pages of notes from the Roth man himself. If that’s the case, the co author can take a bow. Because this book is a bit dated (1997) but it’s one of the best reads in rock history. In fact with the recent reunion, a re write would be interesting!

For shear entertainment value it’s hard to beat. David takes you from his humble origins in deepest, darkest, anti semetic 1950s Indiana, right up through the glory days of Van Halen. There’s plenty of crazy road crew stories, how me met the Van Halen brothers and shenanigans galore.

What’s most impressive about it though is his insight into the rock business. He talks a lot about riding his bike while on tour around towns in the wee hours of the morning. Pretty much because it’s the only time he got to see the sights on the road. Also intriguing is how involved Diamond Dave got himself in the business. From renting out the PA to the Van Halens (a sure fire way to get in the band) to producing his own records, even the touring merchandise.

There’s also some scathing insights into the world of rock management and getting royaly shafted as big acts often do. With lots of useful advice for would be musicians. What really makes the book remarkable though is Roth’s passion for adventure. He’s taken his love of old school adventure books like Huckleberry Finn to the extreme with stories of rock climbing, exploring the Amazon jungle, even Mount Everest!

Admitedly, this all sounds like ‘Geez Dave must be a top bloke!’ and you have to be a bit objective. He tries not to pick on any former band mates too harshly, although in doing so glorifies himself a bit. But until Van Halen or a few particular session musos retort, meh this is all the testimonial we have. And while those guys are virtuosos, Dave is a true show man with more than a few surprises up his sleeve. Their books wouldn’t be anywhere near as amazing as this.

A definite must read for fans of rock books. Five out of five.

This book can be summarised in a few quick points: Axl Rose is a twat and never let a junkie tell you about his heroin habit. Don’t get me wrong. The Gunners truly the were the soundtrack to my adolescence and I think Slash rocks. Only I had no idea how big a smacker the guy with the top hat was/is.

It breaks down like this. The book is roughly 30% his (and other band mates) self pitying bullshit to do with heroin, 10% about Axl’s prima donna, delusional bullshit, 20% his youth, 45% about the Gunners getting together. The remaining 5% the kind of anecdotal cool stuff about other bands and rockers you actually want to hear about. Of that 5%, he talks about other bands like Faster Pussycat, Sebastian Bach, Motley Crue, Alice Cooper and a bit about Ronny Wood from the Rolling Stones.

Unlike Lemmy’s biography White Line Fever, where he only remembers operational and managerial aspects of his band (put it down to the masses of speed he takes), Slash somehow only remembers all the self pitying dope stuff. It gets a bit hard to read after a while. It would be cheaper to buy a hippie a drink (no doubt they wont offer you one). Don’t get me wrong, it’s punctuated with some interesting glam rock anecdotes, but there’s nowhere near enough.

One of the chuckles you get out of the book is that there’s the odd reference to David Lee Roth as some kind litmus test for glam rockers. For example, he talks about being concerned about AIDS in ‘85, then mentions that since David Lee Roth didn’t get it, he kept fooling around! Without ruining too much, at another point he says “so I did the only thing that made sense: I hung out with David Lee Roth all night”. So it’s not completely cut and dry.

On the subject of Axl, it would be good to hear his reprisal, but clearly he is a twat. No one takes ten years to get an album out, while sacking everyone in his original band, which makes everything said about him by Slash quite plausible, and he’s quite diplomatic about the whole thing. Surely, Axl’s bio would be encyclapedic. Who needs it.

Anyway on a more positive note, the first few chapters about his childhood are quite interesting, as his mum Ola went out with Bowie and worked with a bunch of musos. His dad also designed album covers, his mum stage costumes. So he was well and truly born into the biz. He was even more of a kleptomaniac than Steve Jones! There’s also a bit about getting Velvet Revolver together.

Closing up, I’m not quite sure if I can completely recommend this book. It’s all about how much damage you can do to yourself rather than drinking stories or on tour debauchery. Not really my think. 2 out of 5.

May’s quirky style means each rant, or chapter, is no longer than 5 pages [edit: not being in the UK, I didn't know these are reprints of his various newspaper columns]. While I find him hilarious on Top Gear, I only got about two giggles out of this book. What really irritated me was not the lack of consistency between topics, but the continuity. Some ramblings were written 2 years ago and others 2 days ago. So one minute he’s talking about a Top Gear episode in 2004 he mentions is soon to be airing, the next something that hasn’t aired yet. Surely a good editor could have smoothed out these bumps?

If you like short, witty ramblings, you may (no pun intended) enjoy it. If not, you may as well spend your $20 down the pub. At least you’ll get a drink out of your hard earned.