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My current ‘book’ of choice is The Dirt, the Motley Crue biography, only out, what, about nine years now?
It’s hysterical, in the humorous sense, but also in what they do. If ever there were a book about excess that wasn’t written by Hunter S Thomson, then surely this is it. However, the more I read, the more I fear for my soul. There’s stories of guitar head insertion into willing females, self abuse and Satanism. None of that worries me in the slightest, it’s more the affect it may have on readers.
I’m not Tipper Gore, I like metal, I like rock and roll and as far as I’m concerned glorify what you want and do what you want, but that doesn’t stop me having a few moments of reflection after realising I’ve been tittering away about yet another hilarious anecdote where some woman’s been dehumanised and demeaned. But that’s rock and roll. Right? This here’s a strange/no place for a post feminist.

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