The size of a house brick, this book was a labour of love in the reading and, no doubt, in the writing. I'm no major fan of Creation, nor of the majority of its bands, but I lap up music history and have been an admirer of David Cavanagh's writing since his days on Sounds. So I burdened Postie and ordered a copy. And had a job putting it down. This is a chronological account of the label's genesis-to-demise, veering off willfully on tangents to present back-stories. It's packed with anecdote - who knew that the House of Love's Guy Chadwick had a thing for getting naked at parties? - and interview, with band members, Creation staff and interested parties, while maintaining an authoritative air. Incredibly, given its near 800 pages, it's not exhaustive. Tim Vass, for instance, who is quoted often as having been an early mover on the scene, formed a band, Razorcuts, who were signed to Creation - who fail to get a mention. A lesser author would have slavishly documented each and every act in writing *The* Creation Records Story. My Magpie Eyes... is more of a soap opera, played out for real. Neither is the book sensationalist - whatever that appallingly designed cover might suggest - the heavy cocaine use being documented rather than drooled over, with Oasis appearing only two-thirds in. (Neither Noel nor Liam provided original quotes and you wonder why.) Forensic in its detail, vibrant in its colour, featuring a cast of trailblazers and madmen, this is a must-read for any budding music historian.