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A watered-down American Psycho for teenyboppers
on 4 March 2001
As a non-gay, young male teenage fan of the Rollers (back in the 70s), I was quite intrigued to read this book - especially in light of recent press about Courtney Love purchasing the rights to this for film (and reports of Ewan McGregor playing BCR singer Les McKeown, despite McKeown's protestations that it should be Keanu Reeves - I won't say who they wanted to play Woody or your hair would stand up in a perfect "tuftie"). What I found was a mildly entertaining story of obsession - but obsession with what? Clearly it really wasn't the Bay City Rollers. What emerges is a rather negative and downer read, based mostly on teen rivalry, boredom and fanaticism, with the Rollers themselves (and their music) as a non-essential peripheral excuse for the whole shang-a-lang. Actually, this so-called 'fan' makes continued slams on the band themselves, mostly their music. She offers very little in the way of information about the group, other than what everyone already knows from numerous press releases and stories already on the net. Aye, a wee number of personal observations, of course, but these are peppered with less-than-accurate negative critiques of their music, looks, style, decisions, etc. This book is more the tale of a loser with nothing better to do than compete with other losers for 'stalking rights' for a band she cares almost nothing about musically...which begs the question 'what is the point'? This book, actually, could have ANY teenie band substituted for the Rollers (i.e Westlife, Boyzone, Osmonds, etc.) It reads a tad like American Psycho, but instead of murder, it very blandly tells of endless waits in hotel corridors, and the occasional angry spat if one of the band members was seen walking with another girl. Jeesh. One wonders how on earth a film could be squeezed out of these boring pages...I had hoped for a true memory of those days (I didn't necessarily need an apologetic and nostalgic look at Rollermania, but this is a completely dull opposite), but what we get is a rather pathetic portrait of life as an American school leaver obsessed with a band she didn't actually care for, and, from these pages, a band with an image, music, musicianship, style, etc. she actually disliked. What's the point? Rollermaniacs, or those interested in the whole subject: avoid - this really offers nothing; not even a glimmer of the fun and excitement we all felt back when we had acne and funny tartan clothes.