Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung

by Lester Bangs, Greil Marcus (Editor)

Vintage presents the paperback edition of the wild and brilliant writings of Lester Bangs--the most outrageous and popular rock critic of the 1970s--edited and with an introduction by the reigning dean of rock critics, Greil Marcus. Advertising in Rolling Stone and other major publications.

Genres: Music, Nonfiction, Essays, Criticism, Journalism, Pop Culture, 20th Century

391 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1987

About the author

Leslie Conway "Lester" Bangs (December 14, 1948 – April 30, 1982) was an American music journalist, critic, author, and musician. He wrote for Creem and Rolling Stone magazines, and was known for his leading influence in rock music criticism. The music critic Jim DeRogatis called him "America's greatest rock critic".

Reviews

[East Bay J · Rating 5 out of 5]

Man, this was good! I had only read a few articles by Laster Bangs when I picked this up at my local. That’s library, not tavern. I am so completely blown away by how Bangs spoke about music. This man was a huge music fan. His writing stinks to high heaven of his love and respect for music, of how much music moved him. Maybe that’s why he’s able to write so well about music, to say so much in the space of a sentence or by his choice of words. Most critics’ writing, music or otherwise, is just the most banal, lifeless, arrogant, ignorant refuse but Bangs turns a review of a Van Morrison LP into an examination of the human condition. I wish he’d written a novel, y’know, because it would have been such a pleasure to read.

What strikes me most about this collection is that you can see Bangs sort of growing up as his writing goes on. He put so much of himself into his work that his articles act as testaments to where he was at when he wrote them. Some of this is the straightforward honesty he can’t seem to help but use in his writing. He pulls no punches but he takes punches like a pro.

I wish I could have met Lester Bangs. He’s joined the short list of no longer with us people I’d like to have met. Seems like he’d be a real kick in the pants to know. Thinking about the conversations you could have with this guy about music makes me giddy.

Calling Bangs a music critic is like calling Stradivarius a violin maker. Bangs is to music critics what Gary Oldman is to actors or Jimi Hendrix to guitarists. You find out more about yourself from his writing than you do about the subjects he writes about. He came from a long line of no talent hacks and inspired a long line of no talent hacks but his writing is right there, bold and beautiful, a shining example of how to do it right!

[Michael Finocchiaro · Rating 3 out of 5]

Lester Bangs was one of Rock-n-Roll's greatest chroniclers but I found this collection of writing a bit heavy and meandering. Probably good for hard core Bangs fans, I guess I just can't sign up for that club.

[Lewis Woolston · Rating 4 out of 5]

For those who don't know Lester Bangs was a music journalist back in the days when magazines like Rolling Stone really mattered. He was immensely good at what he did writing about music, bands and records like they really mattered and bringing life and wit to his subject.
He also had great instincts for where the real cultural tide was flowing and championed a lot of artists who weren't exactly mainstream at the time but are now recognised as ground breaking and important like Velvet Underground and The Stooges.
This is an incomplete collection of his writing for various magazines, mostly Rolling Stone and Creem, there are album reviews, concert reviews, various rants and raves about movies, television, the wider culture of America etc. You can skip the bits you're not interested in if you like.
Personally i loved his Quixotic championing of The Troggs, his slagging off of Elton John and his almost religious veneration of Iggy Pop.
If you're a music nerd with a sense of humour you'll love this.

[matt. singer. · Rating 4 out of 5]

Lester Bangs is the only rock critic whom musicians truly accepted as one of their own. It’s no wonder: He lived like them and he died like them, overdosing on pills at age 33. Most importantly, he wrote as they played. His wildly energetic prose reads unlike any other contemporary writer, much less a music critic: Words seemed to spill straight from his brain onto the page in the wonderful cacophony of an Ornette Coleman sax solo or a Captain Beefheart tune. He was, in some ways, a rock ’n’ roll Hunter Thompson, thrusting himself into the middle of every story. And he wasn’t above starting a concert review with a totally Gonzo introduction like, “I decided it would be a real fun idea to get fucked up on drugs and go see Tangerine Dream.” "Psychotic Reactions," compiled by “the Dean of Rock Journalism,” Greil Marcus, five years after Bangs’ death in 1982, collects arguably his best stuff, including a series of Creem articles detailing his bizarre love-hate relationship with his idol, Lou Reed. A highlight of the collection: “My Night of Ecstasy with the J. Geils Band,” from Psychotic Reactions, in which Bangs recounts with great enthusiasm the time he joined the titular group onstage and bashed away at the instrument on which he was a virtuoso — his typewriter.

[Benoit Lelièvre · Rating 3 out of 5]

Reading Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung again after ten years feels like finding your old high school diary and realizing you were kind of a genius but also kind of unbearable. Lester Bangs, to his credit (and possibly his detriment), never stopped writing like that. The man was a brilliant gasbag, a chaos muppet with a typewriter, and he might’ve been the only critic who could make you care about The Yardbirds in 2025 without using the word “seminal.”

This time around, what stood out was how useful the book is as a cultural artifact. Lester tells you what bands actually mattered to the freaks in the moment, not the Rolling Stone cover darlings or whatever became canon after three decades of boomer revisionism. He loved The Yardbirds, and not in a "respect your elders" way but in a "these guys could melt your face off in a blues bar bathroom" kind of way. He also had an inexplicable boner for Van Morrison, whose mystic vagueness makes sense if you’re high and nursing a grudge against God, but that’s Lester. He got things wrong, but he got them wrong for the right reasons.

More importantly, he got The Stooges right. And Lou Reed’s Metal Machine Music, which, in retrospect, was basically a middle finger carved into vinyl. Lester saw through the consensus and wrote like the world needed saving from good taste. And maybe it still does.

That said, the book still feels like a solipsistic maze built by a speed-fueled librarian with a Jesus complex. If you don’t already care about Lester Bangs, a lot of it reads like the drunk guy at the end of the bar who just won’t shut up about how punk is dead and also how he invented it. Some of the stuff I liked more ten years ago, particularly the Village Voice essays, felt dry and overedited this time, like someone tried to wring out all the mess and ended up with nothing but sentence skeletons.

Still. There’s real magic in here. Lester Bangs might not matter as much as he thought he did, but he still matters more than most of us do. Maybe I’ll read this again in ten years and finally think it’s genius. Or maybe I’ll just like Van Morrison by then. God help me.

[Amy · Rating 4 out of 5]

Lester Bangs, like Howard Hampton and Luc Sante, takes reviews of media and injects humor, crass, honesty, and a glimpse into his personality. Bangs is likeable because he's a smart asshole, but there's no shortage of self-deprecation in his writing. I also like his writing style because it often contains the same sentiments as a first album: angsty, energetic, youthful (even when he's being curmudgeonly), and somewhat vulnerable. It helps that he loves the Stooges, Velvet Underground, and music that others write off as abrasive. I don't agree with all of his stances, but there's always enjoyment to be found in the essay. With all of this praise, there are a couple significant missteps: The excerpt from his "novel" (Maggie May, 1981) is atrocious and the essay about racism in the New Wave scene comes across as ignorant and self-congratulating (even though he puts his own racism on display). However, even these pieces have some merit is providing a comprehensive representation of Bangs' work, and you have to love how he always seems on the search for something meaningful.

[Terry Cornell · Rating 2 out of 5]

I first became aware of Lester Bangs when I saw the movie 'Almost Famous'. The movie was based on the exploits of a young Cameron Crowe when he was a writer for Rolling Stone magazine in the early 1970s. In college and until a few years ago, I was a Rolling Stone subscriber. Cameron Crowe was a bit before my readership started in the early 8os, but I love the music of that time period. (When Jann Wenner sold Rolling Stone its reinvention by the new owners destroyed an already declining magazine.)

In the movie, Cameron Crowe meets Lester Bangs (played by Philip Seymour Hoffman) who was a rock music critic that for a time wrote for Rolling Stone, but primarily was a writer for Creem. (Sad side-note--Hoffman died from a drug overdose at 46. Lester Bangs died of a overdose of medications supposedly while trying to treat a bad case of the flu at 33. However in his concert reviews he often talks of taking his beloved cough syrup with him to get high along with an assortment of just about any pill in existence.) I didn't know much about Creem, or Lester Bangs work, but I love the time period.

Greil Marcus who selected and edited the book is another well known writer and music critic. I know partly why Marcus selected the writings he did was to show Bangs diversity as a writer--which I think he accomplished. Some of the pieces were unpublished notes--while interesting perhaps there were too many of these.

On to my criticisms. I don't know if Bangs didn't use a period in his writing, or the publisher was neglectful. Periods were rare find in the 377 pages of manuscript. Thankfully the practice of using capital letters to begin a sentence was still followed, otherwise much would have been incomprehensible. In any case this certainly made reading more difficult and time consuming.

Content was another disappointment. Much of the music criticism revolved around Lou Reed, The Velvet Underground, Iggy and the Stooges, and punk music before it became popular in the 80s. I consider my music tastes to be fairly eclectic, but I have very little interest in this genre. Some of Bangs pieces would start out sensible enough, but digress in what seems like a drug addled, sex obsessed, gibberish rant by the end. Did I mention Lou Reed?

There were a couple of nuggets. One was a book review of Peter Guralnick's 'Lost Highway: Journeys & Arrivals of American Musicians'. A profile of twenty-one influential musicians including Elvis, Merle Haggard, Bobby Bland, Howlin' Wolf, Ernest Tubb, and Hank Williams. I added this book to my reading list, and realized I have other Guralnick books on their as well. A creative piece was a short-story style take on the backstory of Rod Stewart's song 'Maggie May'.

Overall, I'm glad I read the book, but disappointed in the content. If the early punk scene, Lou Reed, CBGBs, and the like is your thing, you'll probably enjoy this book. Oh, did I mention Lou Reed?

[Solistas · Rating 4 out of 5]

Πέρασα σχεδόν όλη τη χρονιά με αυτή τη συλλογή άρθρων/σκέψεων του διασημότερου κ πιο επιδραστικού μουσικογραφιά όλων των εποχών, όχι γιατί με κούραζε ή γιατί περίπου τα μισά κομμάτια της συλλογής τα είχα διαβάσει αποσμαματικά τις δύο τελευταίες δεκαετίες, αλλά γιατί εξαρχής το είχα ξεκινήσει ως επαναλαμβανόμενο διάλειμμα απ'την λογοτεχνία που είναι η κύρια ενασχόλησή μου τις βραδινές ώρες.

Ο Bangs ήταν ένας αρκετά διαβασμένος τύπος, με αδυναμία στους μπητνικς, ίσως γιατί μοιραζόταν μαζί τους τον πεσιμισμό που επικρατούσε στη ζωή του, κ είχε εξαρχής μια σαφέστατη κριτική σκέψη γύρω απ'τη μουσική, γεγονός που τον οδήγησε από πολύ νωρίς στα σωστά μονοπάτια των μουσικών 70s, της πιθανότατα σημαντικότερης περιόδου της σύγχρονης μουσικής. Η σχέση του με τον Lou Reed, η εβδομάδα με τους Clash, το απίθανο θέμα για τον Bowie, το ξεκαρδιστικό παραλήρημα για τον Elvis αλλά κ για διάφορα συγκροτήματα που δεν υπήρχαν παρά μόνο στην φαντασία του, είναι μερικά απ΄τα highlights της πορείας του Bangs.

Σχεδόν ολόκληρη η μουσική δημοσιογραφία των 80s αντέγραφε το δικό του τρόπο προσέγγισης της μουσικής, αλλά πλέον μπορεί κανείς να αμφιβάλλει ότι ο αυτοαναφορικός κ ωμός του τρόπος θα μπορούσε να περάσει σήμερα στα έντυπα που πνέουν τα λοίσθια, παράλληλα βέβαια με τη μουσική που αγάπησε ο Bangs όσο λίγοι. Ακόμα κι αν δεν είμαι σίγουρος τι είναι προτι��ότερο, η συγκεκριμένη συλλογή είναι χαρακτηριστικό δείγμα της δουλειάς του κι όχι οδηγός για επίδοξους μουσικογραφιάδες, άσε που ζήτημα να υπάρχουν πια 5-6 τέτοιοι στον κόσμο που μπορούν να δηλώνουν ��υτό για επάγγελμα χωρίς να κοροϊδεύουν τους εαυτούς τους.

Πάντως, όσοι θέλουν μια πέρα για πέρα αληθινή απεικόνιση των μουσικών 70s αυτό εδώ είναι ευαγγέλιο.

[Mesoscope · Rating 3 out of 5]

Lester Bangs somewhat lives up to his reputation in this chaotic, uneven, and often frantic collection of gonzo existentialist rock music criticism. Perhaps he projects a bit too much of his own disordered and alienated life into his writing, but it may be an aesthetic choice in the service of his interest in the social function of rock and roll that he rarely talks about the music per se, and more about what it means or doesn't mean to him.

Many or most of the bands he writes about are of little interest to me - I'd include Chicago, James Taylor, the J. Geils Band, Slade, and Richard Hell. Sometimes his treatment is engaging despite my relative apathy toward his subject, such as his hilarious piece on Barry White, whom he describes as a "molasses-voiced monument to unashamed bulbosity."

Two highlights are alarming interviews with Lou Reed (Q: "Do you ever feel like a self-parody?" A: "No. If I listened to you assholes I would. You're comic strips.") and two of the guys from Kraftwerk ("We cannot deny we are from Germany, because the German mentality, which is more advanced, will always be part of our behavior. We create out of the German language, the mother language, which is very mechanical, we use the basic structures of our music.").

It must be said that Bangs sometimes wrote in poor taste - he freely uses derogatory slurs in a gross "I'm cool enough to get away with it" posture, and I thought his short piece on the death of John Lennon was pretty crappy and needlessly hostile. There's a time to be hipper-than-thou and a time to just leave people alone.

[Ryan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Chances are if you’re considering a book of writings by Lester Bangs you came to him the same way I did: by way of your love of music — or maybe it was from Philip Seymour Hoffman’s performance as him in “Almost Famous” — because writing about music is what he’s ostensibly known for. In fact, it’s almost exclusively what he did from his first published review in Rolling Stone in 1969 (about MC5’s “Kick Out The Jams”) until his death in 1982. I say "ostensibly" and "almost" because while editor Greil Marcus notes in his fantastic introduction, “Perhaps what this book demands from a reader is a willingness to accept that the best writer in America could write almost nothing but record reviews,” he also concluded, “[A] story is what [this book] is to me: the story, ultimately, of one man’s attempt to confront his loathing of the world, his love for it, and to make sense of what he found in the world and within himself.” Yes, Lester Bangs wrote about music, but music was not what he wrote about. He wrote about the world, about society and relationships, about politics and history, about race and ethnicity, about sex and gender … Music, and his love for it, was just the soundtrack, the backdrop, to which he set his words.

And what words. Referring to Bangs’ untimely death, Greil Marcus also noted, “That the story was cut off does not make it less of a story; it does not make it an impoverished tale. That the story was cut off means that the story is painful.” Painful it is. Painful and beautiful and hilarious and heart wrenching and inspiring and sad and moving and exhausting and insightful and honest and vulnerable and a dozen other adjectives that can’t do Lester Bangs or his writing any justice. He and his words are all those things and so much more not because (or simply because) he was a brilliant writer (because sometimes he wasn’t) but because he was honest with himself and with his readers, because he never took himself (or music or rock stars or anything else for that matter) too seriously, and because he gave as much (or more) of himself as he expected from anyone else.

“Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung” is perfectly assembled, and while Greil Marcus notes that the work was a team effort, it is clear that his warts-and-all love of and for Lester Bangs has everything to do with the book’s success. In the final piece in the collection, “Untitled Notes, 1981,” Lester concludes, “They were all entertaining pieces—in fact, there are a lot of people who think to this day that I did the best work I’ll ever do while at Creem and since moving to New York have turned into an increasingly embittered, gimme-a-break moralist, occasionally amusing but increasingly bitter old washed-up hasbeen. Fuck ‘em. I got lucky: this bullshit became my life while I was ensconced in the relatively decidedly pissant environs of Creem, so once I woke up I made it out and can say that though I have my days just like everybody else I still think I have a future.” Unfortunately for him, and for us, that future was cut short. At least we still have his words, immortal and timeless, and perhaps now more necessary than ever.

[Jeff · Rating 4 out of 5]

So forged my way through the Stooges/Iggy hard on that comprised the opening quarter of the book. Boy am I glad I did. Bangs leaves no question as to what acts he is passionate about and while I don't always share his opinions I found the dichotomy of his prose (equal parts acerbic wit and dazed ramblings) thoroughly enjoyable. Bangs is no mere Music Critic. He opens the floodgates through his articles and shines a light on culture by not only focusing the lens on the artists but on himself as well.

[Kurt Reichenbaugh · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fits and tirades about the music that barely no one listened to while The Eagles, James Taylor, Fleetwood Mac and "Muskrat Love" ruled radio. Best read in small doses while playing your favorite scratched vinyl you hid from your parents. A reminder to not age gracefully.

[Jennifer Kirby · Rating 5 out of 5]

Lester was hilarious and happened to write the best essay on Van Morrison ever. Full stop. If you love music reviews, Lester is a classic.

[Craven · Rating 4 out of 5]

More importantly, it seems to me that there is a war on today which goes far beyond the-rest-of-society vs. punks; it's the war for the preservation of the heart against all those forces which conspire to murder it....
-Lester Bangs

Don't believe the hype. Lester Bangs wasn't a genius. He wasn't the best rock writer alive. He didn't always "speak the rhythms of rock 'n' roll". His writing is dated. His run-on sentences weren't original. His run on sentences were, irritating, manic, super hard to follow and took this reader out of the story all the time. He stole too much from The Beats. He was another swinging dick, aggressive male. He didn't even always have good taste in music.

On the other hand, Bangs was passionate. Compassionate. He rocked hard. He wrote like a zine writer, a mad, unconfined voice that refused to follow any conventions. Far be it from me to say his writing suffered for it. His writing suffered for it. He was just about always right even if his way of expressing it was, self-consciously raving and steamrolling with machismo. Finally, after frustratedly powering through Psychotic Reactions, I found the arc of Bangs writing bent toward a kindness and humanness that was deeply moving and warm, I'm way better off for having read it.

[Il Pech · Rating 5 out of 5]

Lester Bangs era un recensore di dischi, un arrogante di merda, un drogato, un alcolizzato, un grande scrittore, un provocatore e un giornalista gonzo.

Ha scritto di musica quando la musica stava cambiando il mondo, poi ha chiamato Punk gli Stooges e i Velvet Underground, e quando, Qualche anno dopo, gli inglesi hanno adottato il termine per Sex Pistols e Clash, Lester già chiamava questi gruppi New Wave.

Lui inventava definizioni. E creava mode, invece di seguirle.

Le sue recensioni -soprattutto le prime- sono clamorosi pezzi di letteratura: Scritti amfetaminici, divaganti ma centrati, che uniscono il saggio e la confidenza, e ti raccontano canzoni come se Lester le potesse vedere, invece di limitarsi ad ascoltarle("si sente un sassofono che ride della sua vita disgraziata").

Brillante, colto, contradditorio anche nei confronti di se stesso, imprevedibile, Lester quando scrive racconta in modo così onesto, scorrevole e interessante che ti pare lui sia qui di fianco a te, birra in mano, a sbiascicare aneddoti.

Bangs crede nel rumore e sputa sui benpensanti.
Bangs è un Hunter Thompson con più stile e più gusto.

Con gli anni le sue recensioni si sono accorciate e sono diventate meno gonze. Basta "buona la prima", più attenzione, correzioni e revisioni. Forse sarebbe diventato un vecchio nostalgico rompicoglioni, invece è morto giovane ed è diventato leggenda.

[Caitlin Constantine · Rating 4 out of 5]

I've been reading this in bits and pieces for several months now - because to read it all at once is like eating an entire box of chocolate and chasing it with six espressos, and a lady needs some downtime every so often - so I'm just going to review it now because I don't see it changing that much.

I think the subtitle of this book says it all: literature as rock and roll and rock and roll as literature. That is exactly how I would describe Bangs' writing style: like Iggy Pop and Nabakov had a baby and the baby grew up to write half-cracked yet totally brilliant music criticism that uses a lot of really big SAT words. He's kind of poetic like that.

I particularly love his takedown of Lou Reed and Metal Machine Music. He also has a beautiful deconstruction of racism in the rock scene, which, sadly, is still completely relevant. It's probably one of the better essays on race I've ever read from a white person's perspective.

Good for anyone who loves word play and language, or who loves rock music.

[Bernard · Rating 5 out of 5]

Lester Bangs is pretty much my favourite music writer of all time. There is something incredibly vivid about the way he writes, which does the (almost) impossible feat of making words sound like the music they are describing.

Plus it is absolutely hilarious to read his more negative reviews, which are as merciless as they are hilarious.

There is scarcely a single sentence in this book I didn't find infinitely quotable, but this extract from the review of Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music is one of the best: "All landlords are mealymouthed bastards who would let the ruins of Pompeii fall on your four-poster before they'd lift a finger. They deserve whatever they get, and MMM is the all-time guaranteed lease breaker. Every tenant in America should own a copy of this album. Forearmed!"

Every music journalist should own a copy of this book.

[Drew Noel · Rating 5 out of 5]

I must admit when I started this book I found myself thrown off my some of Lester’s writing techniques. It was so inspired by Beat and Gonzo, Thompson and Kerouac made more sense. But the further I got in, two things happened. 1. I read some of the finest and most entertaining music journalism I’ve ever come across. His coverage of Lou Reed, Kraftwerk, The Clash, James Taylor etc etc, is some of the most passionate and enthusiastic I’ve ever come across, not to mention hilarious. 2. I found myself feeling like I knew this person. Of course I never met Lester, but his writing style was so familiar, it was like you’d known each other for years, warts and all. That second point I didn’t realise until a few days later, when I found his writings worming their way into my dreams. If anything, it’s just left me hungry for more.

[Matt · Rating 5 out of 5]

One of my absolute favorite books by one of my absolte favorite writers.

I picked this up in a used bookstore during Lexington's 4th of July parade (I hate parades) and had to read it 500 times before I finally put it down.

I love this book....Bangs was sarcastic, open-hearted, brilliantly literate, and obsessed with music.

He wrote some of the greatest descriptions of what its like to be a music addict I've ever read...Van Morrison, The Clash, Lou Reed...If you like any of these bands you owe it to yourself to read him. You will be so much the richer for it. I promise!

My hero!

[Elias Carlston · Rating 4 out of 5]

Occasional moments of sheer, transcendent brilliance, mixed with a lot of fun trash. Just like rock 'n' roll.

[Monica De giudici · Rating 4 out of 5]

Eh. Faccio tanto la rockettara e poi... Non sapevo chi fosse Lester Bangs. Non avevo mai letto un libro di critica musicale. Per fortuna un regalo giusto, a sorpresa, al momento giusto, ha sopperito alla mia ignoranza.

E mi sono trovata tra le mani questa raccolta di scritti degli anni 70, che non sono solo critica musicale ma ti fanno proprio vivere quegli anni e quei contesti, quei locali leggendari come il CBGB e le band che li popolavano. E la piccola realtà sociale che ha formato chi li frequentava.

Lester Bangs parte da una band, un disco, un evento e finisce a parlare di sé, delle sue esperienze, delle sue teorie. Il suo amore per la musica contrasta con il concetto di rockstar, di idoli, di gente che mette davanti l'immagine al contenuto... E così ne ha per tutti: da David Bowie (quel "troione" Sic.) a Jimmy Page e il suo "cipiglio matricolato da super musicista borioso", ad Alice Cooper e la sua "stridula isteria da checche anfetaminiche"... E così via, d'altronde un critico musicale non può essere troppo gentile, è così che si perde credibilità 😁

Nel rock cerca onestà e autenticità e la trova ad esempio in Iggy & the Stooges, che se la credono così poco che a volte ai concerti il pubblico potrebbe vergognarsi per loro (si anche quando apprezza non è particolarmente dolce, Les) e poi nei Clash, così stranamente amichevoli con i loro fan a differenza di molte maledette rockstar.

Tanta, tanta musica, forse anche troppa per i non addetti ai lavori? Forse. Ma io lo consiglierei a chiunque ami leggere perché questa è una signora Penna. Pare che Lester sappia scrivere SOLO di musica, ma cavolo se lo fa bene! Il ragazzo aveva stile! Scrive citando testo musicali ma anche film e libri, è divertente, non si prende troppo sul serio, si prende gioco di tutto e di tutti, soprattutto di sé stesso, sa dare titoli pazzeschi ai suoi pezzi. Così ci porta in giro da un concerto a un backstage, oppure in camera sua ad ascoltare dischi e poi ad improbabili interviste con Lou Reed (accompagnato da "la Cosa") che si trasformano in uno scambio assurdo di frecciatine e battute acide ed esprimono un misto di odio-amore imperdibile.

Sex Drugs rock'n'roll. Una favola, peccato che il nostro ne sia rimasto vittima morendo di overdose a 33 anni. Troppo presto. Anche se... Vedendo come va il mondo della musica, forse si è risparmiato un sacco di bestemmie.

[Ewan · Rating 2 out of 5]

Putting my foot down and calling this what it is, mindless rambles from a man who was a prevalent voice in the field because he happened to live near it. Lester Bangs is a figure of failure that does not live up to his reputation, one that bolsters him as the hotshot, unhinged nutcase that championed the great bands of the past. That he did, but making himself the story and not an interesting one at that is the death knell that pushed him away from the radioactive appeal of Rolling Stone Magazine and away to the lesser-remembered Creem.

Long-winded digressions that give sickly or uninteresting detail into his early years, so far off the mark and away from the interesting and limited pockets that it almost becomes comical. When they work, they work, but often absent and never quite up to speed with that undeniable knowledge Bangs had of the music scene around him. Diet Hunter S. Thompson, for those who thought shades and 'dear reader' hooks were worth investing time in. It is not, "dear reader", and although Bangs has interesting appeal on his opinions, he is too scattershot to ever truly engage with.

[Liz · Rating 4 out of 5]

Alan gave this to me as some of his favorite music writing. Was pleasantly impressed with it. Light read

[Edvin]

Som om Kerouac hade skrivit punkrecensioner i mitten av 70-talet, kul men lite tröttsamt i längden

[Robert Giesenhagen · Rating 5 out of 5]

Lester Bangs wrote about music the way most of us wish we could. I don’t really have much to say beyond that. You have to love music on levels others don’t. I do short little shitty reviews on discogs but by comparison I’m a child.

The only writer of music reviews I dig more is Mark Prindle.

[LIBRETADELECTURAS · Rating 5 out of 5]

«Yo no discrimino -solía reírme-. ¡Tengo prejuicios para todo el mundo!»

Brutal y apasionante. Imprescindible como ensayo sobre música y sorprendentemente deslumbrante en lo literario. Me arrepiento de haber pillado este libro en la biblioteca, sin duda tenía que haberlo comprado; aún no lo descarto. Es una obra de consulta y un Evangelio de la historia del rock, o mejor aún porque a diferencia de aquellos, este está escrito en el momento de los hechos; se trata de una selección de artículos de un cronista coetáneo e implicado en la escena en primera persona y en caliente, y no una historia elaborada a partir de recuerdos o testimonios indirectos. En eso reside su fuerza y su rabia. Bueno, en eso y en el personalísimo y frenético estilo de Bangs acorde también con sus tiempos acelerados, mitad periodismo musical militante y subversivo, mitad ida de olla filosófica e intoxicada. Un estilo atropellado, verborreico, ingenioso, abigarrado, febril «como un piloto de hot rod»... intenso y agotador. No te puedes desconcentrar un momento y sin duda requiere de relectura: es imposible captarlo todo a la primera. Debo advertir que quizá no guste a todo el mundo, que no a todos haga gracia su locuacidad incontenible e irreverente

Bangs fue un loco exaltado, un cínico, un hater recalcitrante difícil de contentar, muy crítico con todo, en especial con la sofisticación y las imposturas de la cultura del rock. Defensor a ultranza del rocanrol más crudo y faltón, era, en el fondo, un proto-punk. Sus crónicas vehementes y entrevistas delirantes parten siempre de un planteamiento gamberro, corrosivo, transgresor, entusiasta y apasionado, que denota unas percepciones muy bien encauzadas, casi proféticas y sorprendentemente vigentes («todo aquello sobre lo que se asienta el negocio musical: la exageración, el peloteo, la falsedad»).

Y por supuesto, el humor, impertinente y deliberadamente ampuloso; yo me he descojonado vivo, pero llega un momento en que le enviarías a la mierda.

Además de impagables impresiones cercanas y descacharrantes sobre muchas leyendas del rock, muchas veces reducidas a parodia de sí mismas, contiene multitud de sorprendentes y reveladores datos cronológicos («A mi juicio, las cosas empezaron a ir cuesta abajo para el rock en 1968»; «el punk rock es algo cuyo mugriento hocico se asomó hacia 1966»)

De su exuberante abundancia de datos y comentarios, no puedo por menos que transcribir algunos:

Count Five:

«aunque el respaldo instrumental sonase vagamente a un coche atascado en el barro mientras las ruedas giran acelerando en vano.»

Stooges:

«Iggy Stooge es un maldito tonto»

«Lo que necesitamos son más «estrellas» del rock dispuestas a hacer el ridículo «

«Ninguno de ellos llevaba más de dos o tres años tocando, pero eso es bueno; no tienes que desaprender nada de lo que arruina a tantos otros jóvenes prometedores de blues exhibicionista…»

«un mono domesticado seguramente podría aprender a tocar esa línea de dos acordes subyacente»

«el saxo tenor sonando a jabalí malherido»

«ígneos mantos de feedback»

Jagger:

«sus actuaciones, con sus miradas lascivas y remilgados andares, siempre fueron ultrajantes, chorras, absurdas y trascendentalmente arrogantes»

Ian Anderson:

«Se hace pasar por loco y realmente da el pego, tambaleándose como si estuviese afrontando feroces vendavales llegados de lugares inimaginables»

«En la creación de algo puede llegarse a un punto en que los adornos y el oropel, y la construcción misma, se vuelvan tan relevantes que realmente ya no importe lo que contenga en su interior»

Kraftwerk:

Muy celebrada también su destacable entrevista a la banda teutona, con los que parece mostrarse más respetuoso de lo habitual, y de donde salen perlas como esta: «Es bien sabido que los alemanes inventaron la metanfetamina, que de todas las herramientas accesibles ha sido la que más ha aproximado a los seres humanos a la condición maquinal»…¡y esto lo escribió en 1975!

Lou Reed:

Capítulo aparte -literalmente- merece su espinosa relación con el ex Velvet Underground:


«Yo le chuparía la polla a Lou Reed, por la misma razón que besaría los pies de quienes redactaron la Carta Magna»

«Lou Reed es un pervertido profundamente depravado y un patético enano de la muerte (…) un talento desperdiciado, un artista en flujo constante (…) un macarra que vive a costa del nihilismo tontorrón de toda una generación»

«Dios mío, parece un insecto (…) sus ojos escrutan el local contínuamente, lleva afeitado el cráneo y bajo el pelo se aprecia la palidez, parece como si llevase implantadas en la cabeza placas metálicas»

(Rock&roll) «…la menos pretenciosa y más auténtica de todas las canciones recientes que toman como tema lo que se supone que es su forma»

Tangerine dream:

«suenan como cieno sedimentando en el fondo del océano«

Elvis:

Ofrece un retrato despiadado y certero, desmitificador, de un Elvis obtuso y abotargado, víctima de un éxito desproporcionado, sobredimensionado:

«lo más crucial es que, cuando Elvis se puso a menear las caderas y Ed Sullivan se negó a mostrarlo, el país entero se vio abocado a un paroxismo de frustración sexual»

» Siempre hubo algo sobrenatural en él. Elvis era una fuerza de la naturaleza. Aparte de eso, era un zurullo. Un paleto grandullón y tonto apenas más listo que su mula»

«…pues me convertisteis en la mayor estrella del mundo, creísteis en mí, pusisteis en mí todas esas esperanzas que no hubiese podido cumplir incluso de haber podido comprenderlas»

«preferiría que me dijeseis que soy una mierda, de vez en cuando, o incluso que lo soy todo el tiempo»


New Wave:

«La «new wave» ya tiene su primera víctima, y dada la predilección de esta escena por las drogas y la actitud destructiva general...»

Teds:

«Parecían personas que habían tenido una iluminación y que seguían chupeteando eternamente el hueso seco de ese recuerdo»


Richard Hell:

«Es parte de la forma del rocanrol conservar el coraje de tus convicciones de adolescente y hacer cosas que sean vergonzosas y ultrajantes para mucha gente, pero que constituyen mucho del atractivo para tu público»

«Hasta dónde mantengas la actitud que tenías de adolescente influye en la medida en que te mantengas vivo»

«Y no me refiero a vuestros putrefactos dioses, sino a una sensación de asombro ante la vida misma y a la sensación de que hay algún factor que por lo menos DEBES buscar hasta caer muerto por causas naturales»

Racismo:

«Digamos que no es necesario esforzarse en ser racista. Es un retorcido y minúsculo coágulo de veneno que acecha en todos nosotros»

«Yo no discrimino -solía reírme-. ¡Tengo prejuicios para todo el mundo!»

«…tiene la teoría de que una de las cosas más importantes de la New Wave es que en su gran mayoría es música blanca, y el enorme giro que esto supone con respecto al rock del pasado, casi todo él derivado del blues. No estoy necesariamente de acuerdo con eso»

Lennon:

Dedica un capítulo a elaborar un desilusionado obituario por un Lennon –«cínico, burlonamente sarcástico, secamente ingenioso e iconoclasta»– cautivo de su éxito, apabullado, incomprendido, mal interpretado.

Ruido horrísono: Bangs me divierte especialmente en sus descripciones puramente musicales, disruptivas y llenas de sarcasmo:

«una guitarra de alarma antiaérea atonal»

«una hora larga de feedback chirriante»

«las sobregrabaciones de guitarra sub-sub-sub-sub Hendrix de Stephens se tropezaban unas con otras de modo tan inepto que convergían en una atonalidad genuinamente vigorizante»


PIL:

«no es más que otro traficante de nihilismo barato, con todo lo que ello conlleva: racismo barato, sexismo barato, etc.»

«se trata de música negativa, de música desolada en todos los casos; es música procedente del otro lado de algo que siento pero no me atrevo a cruzar»

Lost Highway:

«Creo que perder el entusiasmo por algo que te convenía es casi una tragedia (…) Se convierte en un negocio, y puede destruir tu creatividad (…) A veces desearía que tocase gratis en cualquier parte, que tocase el piano solo o con un pequeño grupo, para así poder disfrutar de la música»

Sid Vicious:

«Por lo menos Sid podía andar por el escenario con la frase «NECESITO UN PICO» escrita con sangre en el pecho y aporrear en la cabeza a la gente en primera fila con su bajo (…) Sid sí que se lo pasaba bien.»

Varias:

«Si existe el paraíso del rocanrol deben tener una banda infernal»

«el impulso inconsciente y obsesivo de bailar toda la noche que hoy está arrasando en la ciudad de Nueva York»

«Y todo el propósito, absurdo y mecánicamente persistente, de tu relación con la música grabada es la búsqueda de ese momento inestimable»

«el aparente disparate de un hombre que dedica su vida al tambaleante artificio de intentar parecer una mujer»

«de modo similar a como nuestros prejuicios y miedos más profundos escriben los chistes que nos contamos unos a otros»

«todos esos elepés inanes en los que participa esa pandilla de mierdosos mercenarios de técnica impecable»

«El primer error del arte es asumir que es algo serio»


Ya hacia el final, y gracias al trabajo devoto y amoroso de Greil Marcus en la compilación y presentación de los textos, las palabras de Lester adquieren un oscuro tono profético, presagiando su próximo y trágico final de modo a veces sutil y otras veces a lo bruto: «Quiero follarme a la muerte». Marcus no se ha contentado con seleccionar una muestra del trabajo de Lester, sino que ha pretendido ofrecernos un retrato del personaje a partir de sus artículos, contarnos su historia y rendirle un homenaje: «Este libro es mi versión de la obra que nos legó Lester Bangs. No es una recopilación ni una selección representativa, sino un intento de retratar a un hombre que está creando una visión del mundo, llevándola a la práctica, afrontando sus consecuencias y tratando de seguir adelante».

No soy mucho de recomendar, pero en este caso sí lo hago, encarecidamente. Lectura obligada para los fans de la historia del rock, desde el curioso hasta el erudito. Es realmente tremendo.

[Kari Ellis · Rating 3 out of 5]

Very stream of consciousness. Some great inside stuff on The Clash, lots of love/hate with Lou Reed.

[iva · Rating 5 out of 5]

u bistvu lahko umrem kr zdej, ker kaj je smisel življenja, če ni 1972 in jaz ne pišem za Creem

[Nick · Rating 3 out of 5]

Collection of essays that rank anywhere from 1 star to 5. Enjoyed it overall

[Kelly Sedinger · Rating 5 out of 5]

This was quite a read. Lester Bangs is one of the greatest rock music writers of all time, and his shadow still looms large over the entire genre, even now that he has been dead nearly 40 years. I don't begin to claim one bit of even the tiniest portion of familiarity with rock music that he had, and the sheer volume of his output is apparently something to behold. His reviews and essays and thought-pieces are full of insight and knowledge and erudition and amazing turns of phrase; there is also a lot of anger and love and 12-year-old boy humor and more than a few passages that I've no doubt were the product of, shall we say, chemically-enhanced synapse work.

I've been reading more writing about music of late, partly to teach myself new things about how to write about music myself. I very much doubt that Lester Bangs will end up being much of an influence for me, because at this point I've got my voice and he had his. But WOW, what a voice he had. Just amazing collection.