My new book, I Saw Satan at the 7-Eleven, is among other things, a love letter to heavy metal. I am a lifelong music obsessive: a record collector, concertgoer, maker of mixtapes, sewer of patch jackets. When I’m not writing or reading I’m playing guitar with the amp turned all the way up. And I have the tinnitus to prove it. Some of the books on this list are about metal, others are simply imbued with its rebellious dionysian spirit. But every damn one of them goes to 11, I can assure you of that. Enjoy!
Chuck Eddy cartwheels onto the page like a stoned Bart Simpson with the complete works of Lester Bangs in his back pocket.
He sees “metal” as a broad church: not a genre but a mindset, an intent, an intensity level. As such, pop, rap, jazz, funk, experimental, blues, and contemporary classical albums rub shoulders with the rock, punk, and actual heavy metal you’d expect on such a list.
It’s a hilariously opinionated read, occasionally even perverse. He’s wrong on every page, but I’m with him that the 1974 Alice Cooper Greatest Hits album may be the single greatest slab of electric music ever pressed to wax.
If Hunter S. Thompson’s work is writing as rock ’n roll, early Mark Leyner is writing as thrash metal.
And like most practitioners of thrash, he mellowed out and slowed down as he got older. But his early shit? Look out! Faster than a bullet and harder than algebra. Whopping great gobs of language, slanguage, lexicon, and terminology gush up off the page.
Not only are there no brakes, there are seemingly no limits at all, his mind doesn’t wander, it careens and chugs and screeches and free falls… and if you follow you’ll be rewarded: with laughter, shock, awe, poignancy, and something akin to a deep, ecstatic numbness. Leyner’s words sharpen the senses and push the brain into the red, just like thrash metal does.
Welcome to Mark Leyner’s America, where you can order gallium arsenide sushi at a roadside diner, get loaded on a cocktail of growth hormones and anabolic steroids, and support your habit by appearing on TV game shows. Welcome to a wildly post-Einsteinian fictional universe where the locals include a speech pathologist with a waterbug fetish, a kamikaze airline pilot, and the lead singer for Brazil’s most notoriously nihilistic samba band.
A poppy, pulpy page-turner in the grand tradition of his father. In which an ageing rockstar obsessed with the morbid—think Ozzy or Alice Cooper—stumbles onto a newfangled website called “eBay” where one can seemingly buy anything one desires… and what does he buy? A human soul. And guess what? That ain’t good juju, so all heck breaks loose.
He bought it, in the shape of the dead man's suit, delivered in a heart-shaped box, because he wanted it: because his fans ate up that kind of story. It was perfect for his collection: the genuine skulls and the bones, the real honest-to-God snuff movie, the occult books and all the rest of the paraphanalia that goes along with his kind of hard/goth rock.
But the rest of his collection doesn't make the house feel cold. The bones don't make the dogs bark; the movie doesn't make Jude feel…
The cutest book I’ve ever read about being a fan. Warm and softhearted, Chuck’s writing is literary comfort food.
A music and sports journalist turned memoirist, this is his misty-eyed look back at childhood. Like an episode of The Wonder Years all about Hair Metal. You can substitute Hair Metal for anything chronically un-cool that you ever fell in love with.
It’s a gleeful defence of the dork inside, a reminder that taste is subjective, that fashions come and go, that when we poo-poo things we’re denying ourselves potential enjoyment. There’s no such thing as a guilty pleasure. Pleasure is pleasure, and there isn’t enough of it in this sorry world.
So, curl up with Klosterman and enjoy what you enjoy.
Powered by a sharp and wholly original voice, Chuck Klosterman delivers a real-life High Fidelity in this savvy, deliriously funny memoir of growing up a shameless heavy-metal devotee in 1980s North Dakota. The year is 1983, and Chuck Klosterman just wants to rock. But he's got problems. For one, he's in the fifth grade. For another, he's mired in rural North Dakota. Worst of all, his parents aren't exactly down with the long hairstyle which said rocking requires. Luckily, his brother saves the day when he brings home a bit of manna from metal heaven, Shout at the Devil, Motley…
If you don’t know Poppoff, you should. He’s a genial Canuck Youtuber who also happens to be the world’s most prolific music reviewer.
An inveterate headbanger with an unquenchable thirst for loudness. In this—the book for which he’ll surely be remembered—Poppoff turns his eye on the whole prehistory of heavy metal, breaking the music down into component parts, and tracing those components backwards through time.
From psychedelia to early rock n roll, blues, jazz, classical music, all the way back to the Vikings, the Ancient Greeks, and the Battle of Jericho in 1250 BC. If there’s a better researched, more thorough, or more sweeping book about loud music on the planet Earth, I ain’t aware of it.
It's one of the great debates in musicology and the answer is as complicated as it is hotly contested. Popoff's Who Invented Heavy Metal? provides the most detailed, well argued, reasonable, ridiculously complete, and most lively and readable telling of the early history of heavy metal yet, arming the argumentative headbanger with all the facts and figures one needs on hand to win those bar room bets around this provocative question. Ultimately, Who Invented Heavy Metal? aims to be a book that doesn't limit itself to heavy metal fans. The book provides wide instructional scope of teachable moments through unfolding,…
Fear and Loathing meets South Park in a screwball horror novella. Part romance, part buddy comedy, part body horror, I Saw Satan at the 7-Eleven is a dark-as-night tale from a phenomenal new name in literary fiction.
Two miles north of Hell, a nameless deadbeat narrator spots Satan buying soy milk at the 7-Eleven. Satan's a washed-up has-been, who’s totally lost his edge. That is until he falls in love with our narrator, and the two embark on a debauched misadventure, by turns slapstick, violent, whimsical, dreamlike, and tender.
Willem and Jurriaan have a miserable childhood thanks to their cruel, controlling mother—Louisa Veldkamp, a world-renowned pianist. Dad turns a blind eye. One day, Louisa vanishes without a trace during a family vacation.
Adoptee Anneliese Bakker survives a toxic childhood and leaves home, vowing never to return. While searching for her biological mother, she meets the adult Willem, and they fall in love. Pregnant and engaged, she moves into the family mansion, wanting nothing more than to create a loving family for her child. But the Veldkamps are cold and distant. And why is Louisa a taboo subject?
An expectant mother gets more than she bargained for when she marries into a seemingly perfect family in this gripping debut novel–a must read for fans of A. J. Finn and B. A. Paris.
After surviving a nightmarish childhood, Anneliese Bakker is on the mend and searching for her birth mother. But when she meets Willem, she falls madly in love and finally finds a safe place to land. Engaged and expecting her first child, she moves into the Veldkamp mansion on a stately, tree-lined avenue in Amsterdam. And yet, nothing about Willem’s family is as it seems. Instead of…
