Hunter's ordinary childhood and discovery of rock is uneventful and unabsorbing. His first foray into playing the guitar and being in a band is just plain boring. In addition, the manner that he reveres rock stars throughout the book is almost sexual and really rather strange. He makes you suffer through a multitude of tedious tangents that have nothing to do with heavy metal or the life of a "heavy metal addict". For instance, he spends pages trying to convince us that metal fans of the late eighties and early nineties judged the reputation of a band by the shape of a guitar head. Nobody gave a shit... I know, I was there. Another example is that Hunter spends 12 pages of his book articulating in great detail about The Monsters of Rock Festival at Donnington, the sights, the sounds, the smells all to be concluded by the fact that he never went! How can you write so much about something in your autobiography that you never even did?! (Shut Up! Shut Up! Shut Up!)
Another thing that bothers me so much about this book is that Hunter spends so much time babbling about rubbish that he misses the "Heavy Metal" part completely. Such influential and important bands such as Metallica, Megadeth, Slayer and Anthrax (The Big Four) barely get a half page mention each, but he dedicates countless pages to the insignificant and talentless Hanoi Rocks. So many aspects of Heavy Metal were barely touched on or even mentioned. His experience of Heavy Metal in that period was entirely different to mine. I actually listened and lived metal at the time (and still do). He seems to have spent his time wearing women's clothes and badly trying to imitate The Rolling Stones. He didn't appear to go to any gigs other than his own and was consumed by Glam Rock, the ridiculous Hellfire Club and his feeble image. The true heavy metal fans of that generation used to laugh at those androgynous, image obsessed cretins.
Hunter's story is so self loathing, it's cringey to read. He characterises himself as an outright loser who is not only immeasurably lazy but also the kind of person that betrays and cheats pretty much anyone he meets. As a result, his self loathing, which I assume is supposed to inspire some kind of pity or amusement, is altogether contravened by this selfish, disagreeable side to the man.
I hate this book. It is not what it says on the tin. Anyway, I was interested to hear the kind of music that his "Heavy Metal" band played and found that Seb Hunter has a website where you can hear it. No matter how many times you listen to it, it's still not metal. To add insult to injury some moron made a film out of this book... Although unsurprisingly it only managed to score 2/10 on imdb.
I'm sorry Seb, I'm sure you're a nice guy these days, but you should never have written this book. A true Metal fan is never ashamed of the scene as you seem to be (he even states before the first chapter that he is not proud of his "Heavy Metal" past).
For the record Seb, Heavy Metal never died, Glam did.