The author's reminiscence of his gleefully mis-spent youth as a rock critic, in tones equal parts mournful and gloating that the 21st century implosion of the music business has largely denied subsequent generations of ill-kempt unemployables the same glorious opportunity.

"Mueller is a master of splashy, roundabout sentences and displays still-sharp critical talons."
- The Big Issue

"An ode to a golden era that has as much chance of revival as Keith Richards' liver."
- GQ

"Although Mueller says bad music no longer makes him angry, the rage seems to have permanently irradiated his prose, which is never less than forceful. It does make for compulsive reading."
- The Sydney Morning Herald

"Throughout, his enthusiasm and love for a tall tale shine through." 
- CollapseBoard

"Mueller is admirably self-deprecating about his own egotistical failings but his genuine love of music shines through. A brilliantly noisy blast from his eventful past."
- Hot Press

"Typically rollicking Mueller fare, the work of a writer pathologically incapable of writing a dull or foggy sentence. It’s also a celebration of a way of working life and an era in the music industry which has most likely vanished forever, but from which inspiration and example can still be taken."
- The Quietus

"He has a sharp, snappy style that frequently teeters in the direction of the baroque, and he can be very funny. And in this book, he captures exactly the wonderful inconsequentiality of the rock journo’s life: reviewing terrible gigs, slagging off terrible albums, interviewing half-witted musicians, hanging out with hacks even worse dressed and more psychologically disadvantaged than you are yourself, all for 10p a word."
- The Spectator

"A must-read for anyone who thinks that music journalism can be a noble profession, anyone who knows that it's not and anyone who understands that those two viewpoints aren't mutually exclusive."
- Metal Hammer