Chuck Klosterman Ð Fargo Rock City (Book Review)
Finding out that Chuck's next book, before he tackles fiction, is going to be a tome on cultural theory, pretty much reveals why Fargo Rock City offers fresh metal insights page after page, and depending on your level of guilty Twinkie McNugget knowledge, maybe every paragraph. The man is a rapier wit, honed from his experience as a culture critic for the Akron Beacon Journal, and fortunately for us, he grew up drinking a lot and listening to Crue in the faceless demographic crosscut gut of America, where one's frat dance with Ratt, GN'R, Warrant, Whitesnake and Kiss flops onto yer lawn through odious junk media filters, supported by cassette tapes, that pollution-delivery device of metal male trash collectors. Fargo Rock City is like a history of metal's '83 to '92 shiny neon gold run, told to you by the smartest metal fan ever, the two of you sitting at mom's dining room table inhaling a dozen beers, getting up to switch the tune after the first 55 seconds because there is just so much territory to cover tonight, east coast, west coast, the first wave in '83 and the last gasp in '91, new poofs built for speed, old English tarts just trying to make sense. Or maybe you are drinking Witty Chucks, a Fargo bar drink named after our hero that, claims Klosterman, actually makes you exactly this sparkly with your Aqua-Net verbosity. That is just one of maybe 128 drinking anecdotes that offer bust-a-gut-been-there diversion from the cool commentary. The Dirt's got everything, Fargo Rock City's got booze and cassettes. And Motley Crue too. And probably the best, clearest and most poignant analysis of Crue's effect on people you'll likely ever read, because the junk comes in and just rolls around in foggy Fargo heads like Chuck's. And, fortunately for you, before the Jack, or Busch Light or Witty Chucks wear off, he makes sure to get falling down funny scholarly about it.