David Hepworth BANTAM
More orange, black and white chin-stroking for your bookshelf.
This book, or one very like it, has been aching to be written for some time. A thoughtful rock’n’roll read that addresses the extensive recalibration the 70-year-old genre has undergone since both it, and its exponents, have entered their third age.
Fifties pioneers, 60s scene shapers and even rage-fuelled 70s iconoclasts have all inevitably, if reluctantly, taken leave of their vital, scream-deafened, physical media-funded flaming youth. They’ve survived difficult middle years (that arrived painfully prematurely in rock’s music-press-voiced youth-centric heyday, when a thirtieth birthday invariably coincided with an overnight crash into wrong-trousered irrelevance), only to find themselves embraced as venerable old campaigners, must-see living legends, in a post-internet zeitgeist where music, of whatever vintage, is judged primarily on…