The best books for headbangers

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. 

Debut novel by Stephen King’s kid.

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. 

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. 

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.