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The rather macabre premise of this book is a road trip of locations made famous—or infamous—as the place of various rock stars’ early demise. This was perhaps an okay idea for a magazine article (or a blog entry), but the material here feels stretched a tad too thin. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy reading pop culture nostalgia, especially for crappy musical eras, but Klosterman’s melodramatic musings on his love life and its soundtrack don’t add much to his gravesite seeing. Or perhaps I’m just jealous of his arts journalist swinging life. I think Klosterman can be funny- in that aging hipster sort of way, but he’s overrated as an author. He’s best doing what he loves, that is, yammering about has-been bands in his role at Spin. That said, I just don’t care enough about Kiss album covers, Leonard Skynyrd, or the male adolescent Led Zeppelin Phase of Development to give this book more than a ‘Meh’. . . and two stars.