But mostly this is glowering portraits with occasional sweaty live shots. Words-wise, Butcher fills out the pages with nicely-turned anecdotes about capturing the chaos of those Birthday Party performances and being there to snap Cave reinventing himself in Berlin.
The stories dry up the latter stages and the book become as more of a family album of the many enigmatic musicians who served time in the Bad Seeds up to the late noughties.
It's a nice enough companion piece to 20,000 Days and a fine visual history of one man's perpetual haircut, too.
Jerry Lee Lewis
His Own Story by Rick Bragg (Allen & Unwin, $39.99)
It's a pity, really, there's already been a Jerry Lee Lewis movie - that forgettable 1989 effort starring Dennis Quaid as a sanitised version of the piano-pounding, underage cousin-marrying rock 'n' roll pioneer.
Because if they made a movie of the Jerry Lee Lewis from this authorised account of The Killer's life and times ... well, that wouldn't be just a colourful showbiz tale. That would be a story of guns, drugs, drink, women, tragic deaths, and a final twist: He's still alive and he remembers it all.
Rick Bragg is a Pulitzer Prize-winning former New York Times feature writer-turned-journalism academic, who might be on "as-told-to" duties here.
But it's intriguing how he captures Lewis' southern, self-justifying, and sociopathic voice to tell the man's version of events.
The writer's own flourishes can get a bit much - no doubt a risk when you're writing about one of rock 'n' roll's first great show-offs. But his is a compelling highly entertaining hefty read about a deeply flawed but fascinating character.
Yes, it's a slog once Lewis enters his career wilderness years in the 70s and beyond. But there's always something awful going on in the background to keep it interesting, whether it's yet another divorce, a murder allegation or a crippling tax bill.
A big biography to be relished then filed alongside Peter Guralnick's great Elvis Presley books.
Carlos Santana
The Universal Tone with Ashley Kahn and Hall Miller (Hachette $39.99)
Guitarist Carlos Santana remains a metaphysical kind of dude whose songs seemed mainly there as platforms for his deathless guitar solos and vast percussion sections.
So you might think this autobiography might be a long leap into the cosmic that requires a great deal of hippie-forgiveness to wade one's way through.
But even if he was on acid when playing Woodstock in his band's breakthrough performance, Santana is possessed of a vivid memory for just about everything.
It's that immediacy that keeps The Universal Tone humming along, even when he occasionally wanders into mysticism and is pronouncing his deep and meaningful beliefs on matters spiritual. Back on Earth, he tells a good yarn, especially about his encounters with musical cohorts like Miles Davis, or his take on the history of the late-60s San Francisco music scene he emerged from. He's eloquent, too, at describing the music he and the ever-rotating band that bore his name have created.
It makes for the sort of rock memoir that is likely to instil a whole new appreciation for the guy behind it and comes highly recommended.
Mick Fleetwood
Play On: Now, Then & Fleetwood Mac with Anthony Bozza (Hodder & Stoughton $39.99)
Well, here's a reason why they shouldn't ban cars on Auckland's volcano cones: "The clandestine nature of it was romantic and it was even more so on tour, in our world within a world, where we cold do as we pleased. In New Zealand, after a show, we spent the night driving up to a crater to see the sun rise. A light rain started to fall and we huddled close together on the ride back to the hotel and afterwards we spent the entire day in bed together without a care in the world."
That's Fleetwood Mac drummer Mick Fleetwood on his late-70s fling with singer Stevie Nicks.
The cocaine-powered soft rock soap opera that has been the history of Fleetwood Mac has been well covered over the years. Fleetwood delivered his first ghost-written account in the early 90s and there's yet another biography of Nicks on the way as the band goes out on yet another reunion tour.
But the 300 or so pages of this is fairly dull. He's got some stories, has Fleetwood, but here they feel like they've been worn smooth in the retelling and, despite his day job, it's a book of a very plodding rhythm. Still, Mt Eden - or wherever - could do with a nice plaque: Scene of the great Fleetwood Mac park-up. November 6, 1977.
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