Books like Rock and Roll, Desegregation Movements, and Racism in the Post-Civil Rights Era — picked by fans

In its ambition and sweep across time and political upheavals as well as musical styles, this book may have been the closest thing I had to a model for my book.

Part musical memoir and part capsule history of the American South’s era of integration, Dixie Lullaby was written by longtime music journalist Mark Kemp – a man who grew up in Asheboro, North Carolina in the 1960s and ’70s and has the Lynyrd Skynyrd and Allman Brothers records to prove it.

Living Colour enjoyed an all too brief moment of superstardom at the same time as Sinéad O’Connor.

Grappling with issues such as racism, classism, and police brutality, it fused different musical styles. Yet white critics often saw the all-Black band as a rock anomaly- which was ironic considering that Little Richard and the saxophonist Maceo Parker (who played with James Brown) were among Living Colour's key collaborators! 

Through interviews with the band and key players in the production and reception of its bold, experimental 1990 album, Time’s Up, Mack shows why Living Colour was (and is) musically and politically powerful, and why it remains influential.

For me what makes this book really shine is her presence in the story as a Black girl growing up loving rock, then later as a scholar reclaiming it.

Some time in the 1960s, rock ’n’ roll became rock, and rock became white. That moment forms the core of Jack Hamilton’s exploration of the fraught racial politics of this music in the United States.

Putting different artists into dialogue – such as Dylan and Cooke, or Janis and Aretha – allows Hamilton to excavate the original complexity of genre labels that, over the fifty years since, have too often effaced the original, more complicated story about race, music, and American society. 

Thanks to this book, I know that a great biography can also serve as a penetrating lens into an era. Yes, this is a book about Janis Joplin, but I do not value it because I care particularly much about the tragic specifics of her life, as much as I respect her music.

I love this book because it serves as a deep dive into the links between the often tritely-considered 1960s triumvirate: sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll. Echols does not lightly throw around the word “counterculture”—that’s a big pet peeve of mine—but takes the reader on a tour of the making of a clear and specific cultural divide that’s still very much with us today.

No mistake, though; it is also an empathetic tale of a sensitive and era-defining musician.

As a musician and a fan of bands, I love the creative process of how songs are written and recorded. I’m obsessed with the big and small decisions that musicians, producers, and engineers make in crafting the songs that became part of my Gen X musical landscape. As a fan of Prince’s 80s albums Purple Rain and Around The World In A Day, Duane Tudahl has accomplished the nearly impossible. 

He’s packed his 555-page book with all the details I crave, detailing how Prince wrote, recorded, and collaborated with his band with never-before-heard stories. Tudahl has uncovered hidden truths about the origins of my favorite Prince songs like Purple Rain, When Doves Cry, and Raspberry Beret in a way that makes my listening experience fuller and more satisfying. 

When I got into the Ramones as a teenager in 1984, I already knew that despite seemingly sharing the same surname, they weren't actually brothers.

What I didn't know for a long time was how dysfunctional this ersatz family really was, as epitomised by the fact that the two most visible members – Joey and Johnny – couldn't have been any more different as people... and didn't even talk to each other.

This book adds another layer to an already incredible tale by also delving into the story of Joey's real-life family, as it was penned by Joey's brother Mickey, hence the title. It also adds something that is sorely missing from the books written by Johnny and Dee Dee: tenderness and warmth.

That’s right; it’s an entire book of musical notation. Like I said, this list is for players, not civilians.

I love that every note on every original Beatles record is transcribed here, right down to Ringo’s drum fills on “You Won’t See Me” and the guy saying “number nine” a hundred times on “Revolution 9.”

I love sitting down with my kid, who plays guitar, and discovering exactly how to recreate the parts we can’t work out by ear. I love seeing how the Beatles fit the gears together to make the wheels turn on these songs and how they used chords and notes that I have on the piano at my house, too.

No one combines the business of indie scenes – from production to labels to distribution – better than Holly Kruse. In this accessible yet rich book, she details the complicated structure of the alternative system that Azerrad nods to in his history of the bands that occupied the airwaves and whose products circulated through these systems.

To say that these independent music labels and distributors operated completely absent of the corporate music industry from the beginning is a canard, as Kruse demonstrates, but she also reveals the personal and particular practices that shaped these emerging commercial relationships and consumption patterns that undergirded music fans’ ability to participate in music scenes locally, as well as to access sounds from across the nation, and indeed the world. 

I always knew there was something special, even mystical, about Led Zeppelin’s lead guitarist Jimmy Page. As a high school student, there was something about the band that drew me in, as if I didn’t have a choice.

I now know that I love their music, and Page’s playing in particular, because of the vision Page had for the band’s music, lyrics, and iconography on their album covers and artwork. Light and shade, light and heavy, clear and murky, simple and epic—how better to sum up Led Zeppelin?

This book gave me a drive. Goodman’s account of the Strokes’ debaucherous rise in 9/11-era New York City ignited my passion for oral history and to tell the story of the music that made me. Downtown cool kid garage rock shaped popular culture immensely, but so did My Chemical Romance and their cohort (even more so, I’d argue). Up to this point (MMITB was published in 2017), 2000s emo was frequently misconstrued by those too old to have understood its impact or left out of the conversation entirely.

As I conducted interviews for my book, I challenged my own hypotheses (and personal biases) about these two scenes. I learned they intermingled more than I thought. I talked to Fall Out Boy’s Pete Wentz about DJing the ultra-hip downtown party Misshapes and My Chemical Romance’s Mikey Way about trying to catch a glimpse of Madonna at the same place.