Top critical review
I've read worse....
on 22 July 2017
I've read a worse book, but only one. This comes a close second to the worst book I've ever read. (And I've read a lot of books).
On one hand, the book does what you might expect: it trots out a series of tales about being wasted and smashing things up and shagging, tales I am sure the author has been dining out on since the 70s until he realised he could make himself more money by putting them into print. However the writing is terrible. I mean, really super terrible. The same stock phrases are repeated over and over "Keith got it into his head.... of course nothing would do but (we had to execute his idea)". In a world where all women are "bints" gay men are "pooves" and the worthiness of each new character is based on whether or not he will buy a round of drinks, it becomes beyond tedious, instead it gets embarrassing, cringeworthy. Unfortunately, I made it to the bitter end, where the author describes Keith Moon begging then crying like a baby because the author was leaving him for another job (carefully and deliberately describing how the conversation took place in a sound proofed car so no one, including the driver can verify this ever happened). It leaves no dignity to the memory of Keith Moon, nor indeed to the author, the guy who claims he was Moon's only real pal. You can't help but come away feeling that he was bitter about being- let's face it- not a true friend, not a member of the band, but just a paid hanger on.