Not overly impressed... an attempt to add some social perspective to r&r history. Succeeds sometimes, sometimes, especially the later chapters, seems forced. ( )

This slender, large-format paperback is a college-level textbook about the history of rock & roll. Be afraid. Be very afraid.

That's not to say it's not a good textbook. By the standards of the genre, it's a nice piece of work. It's structured with great care, each chapter broken into a series of 2-4 page sections dealing with aspects of the larger topic it covers. It's dense with information: Names of performers, of albums, of concerts . . . the rise and fall of particular styles . . . the timing and significance of the larger social tapestry through which rock was woven. It's easy to follow, clearly written, and extremely reliable.

Still . . . it takes the wild, unruly, anarchic, joyous, silly, profound, glorious mess that is rock, and turns it as dull and flavorless as bowl of dry Shredded Wheat.

Szatmary is so careful, so judicious and fair-minded in his analysis, so determined not to judge -- not to anoint certain performers as innovative or iconic and call others out as poseurs or derivative hacks -- that he forgets to bring the passion. All the love for the music, all the excitement, all the rebelliousness, all the barely restrained sexual energy is missing. The result is like listening to a love poem read in a completely uninflected voice.

Want a great book about rock & roll in its social context? Try Elijah Wald's How the Beatles Destroyed Rock & Roll or Jonathan Gould's Can't Buy Me Love or (although it doesn't wear its historical consciousness on its sleeve) Dave Marsh's The Heart of Rock & Soul. Heck, go listen to Don McLean sing "American Pie" a couple more times. But not this. Please, not this. ( )