About the Author:
Bill Fitzhugh worked at several FM rock radio stations in the 1970s and 1980s. Born and raised in Jackson, Mississippi, he prefers The Band, Little Feat, and Van Morrison to Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, and Iron Butterfly. The author of numerous screenplays and five comic novels, he lives in Los Angeles with his wife and his record collection.
Fitzhugh takes things down a few notches in his latest, which has more radio than activity. Disc-jockey Rick Shannon, rendered a hapless nomad by the heartless homogenization of corporate mass media, is at the point of selling blood or--worse--vinyl when a lil' ol' rock station run by a big ol' jackass hires him on as their new program director, replacing a man whose sudden disappearance and untimely incorporation into the red earth of Mississippi sparks an ambling amateur investigation, stirring up less than the usual quota of quirky characters and plot twists. The result is a kinder, gentler, more laid-back and consequently much less funny version of Carl Hiaasen. There are glimmers of down-home charm here and there, but the author's real enthusiasm is reserved for loving and lengthy descriptions of classic-rock trivia, play lists, song sets, and segues. Lacking the wit or heart of Nick Hornby's High Fidelity, Fitzhugh's story is upstaged by its own killer soundtrack, but that is in itself a recommendation of sorts for a select audience. David Wright
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