There are far too many books about music, even though I’ve written a fair few myself. The market is starting to feel saturated; graze the music section on your local Waterstones and you’ll find endless biographies of bass players in long-forgotten prog rock groups, a multitude of cut-and-paste hagiographies and interminable, poorly-written memoirs.
Many of these are written by men (usually men) whose main claim to fame appears to be being born at the right time. But why should we simply venerate someone for buying a copy of Dark Side of the Moon or Revolver? Why should we high-five barely housebroken music hacks for having an opinion about the 13th Floor Elevators or Curtis Mayfield?
