Is 'Rip It Up And Start Again. Post-Punk 1978-1984' Worth Reading?

If you loved the gritty, experimental energy of 'Rip It Up and Start Again,' you might dig 'Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk' by Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain. It’s raw, unfiltered, and dives deep into the chaos of punk’s early days, with firsthand accounts from icons like Iggy Pop and Debbie Harry. The book doesn’t just recount history—it feels like being in a smoky basement club in 1977. Another great pick is 'Our Band Could Be Your Life' by Michael Azerrad, which shifts focus to the American indie scene but carries that same DIY spirit. Bands like Black Flag and Sonic Youth get the spotlight, showing how post-punk’s ethos bled into the underground. For a broader cultural lens, Simon Reynolds’ later work 'Retromania' critiques how music’s past haunts its present—perfect if you’re into meta commentary on revivalism.

I've had 'Rip It Up and Start Again' on my shelf for years, and it's one of those books that completely reshaped how I see music history. Simon Reynolds dives deep into the post-punk era, covering bands like Joy Division, Talking Heads, and The Fall, but it's not just a nostalgia trip—it's about how these artists shattered conventions. The book argues that post-punk wasn't just a reaction to punk's simplicity; it was a creative explosion, blending art school sensibilities with raw energy. What I love is how Reynolds captures the tension between ambition and chaos. Bands like Gang of Four were dissecting politics through funk rhythms, while Siouxsie and the Banshees turned goth into high theater. The book doesn't gloss over the messy reality, though—label struggles, drug problems, and internal conflicts are all there. It's a bittersweet read because you see how many of these bands burned bright but couldn't sustain it. Still, their influence echoes in everything from indie rock to electronic music today.

I stumbled upon 'Rip It Up and Start Again' during a deep dive into post-punk history, and wow, what a ride! The book doesn’t have a traditional 'ending' since it’s a nonfiction chronicle, but Simon Reynolds wraps up by tracing how the movement’s rebellious energy fragmented into new wave, goth, and indie scenes by 1984. The final chapters feel bittersweet—like watching a wildfire burn out but leave fertile soil behind. Bands like The Fall and Joy Division evolved or dissolved, but their influence seeped into everything from shoegaze to techno. What really stuck with me was Reynolds’ argument that post-punk’s DIY ethos never truly died. Even as mainstream co-optation set in, that spirit resurfaced in rave culture and later underground movements. The last pages left me digging through my vinyl collection, hearing echoes of those experiments in modern artists like IDLES or Dry Cleaning. It’s less about closure and more about legacy—like the book itself became part of the continuum it documents.

Man, if you're diving into 'Rip It Up and Start Again,' you're in for a wild ride through post-punk's most chaotic era. The book isn't about fictional characters, of course—it's a deep dive into the real-life icons who shaped the scene. Simon Reynolds paints vivid portraits of bands like Joy Division, whose brooding intensity and tragic arc with Ian Curtis still give me chills. Then there's the Talking Heads, with David Byrne's neurotic genius, and Gang of Four, who turned Marxist theory into jagged guitar riffs. The book also spotlights lesser-known but equally fascinating figures like Mark E. Smith of The Fall, a man so stubbornly original he might as well have been from another planet. What I love is how Reynolds doesn’t just list names—he captures the friction between them. The clash of egos, the DIY ethos, and the sheer audacity of bands like PiL, who spat on punk’s corpse and reinvented it. It’s not just a who’s who; it’s about how these people collided, collaborated, and sometimes imploded. After reading, I spent weeks obsessively tracking down albums by bands I’d never heard of, like The Pop Group or Scritti Politti. The book’s real magic is making you feel like you were there, dodging beer bottles at some grimy club in Sheffield.

Reading books online for free can be tricky, especially when it comes to niche titles like 'Rip it Up and Start Again.' While I adore post-punk history and would love to dive into Simon Reynolds' deep dive anytime, I’ve found that most legal avenues require purchasing or library access. Websites like Open Library sometimes have loanable digital copies, but availability varies. If you’re tight on budget, I’d recommend checking your local library’s digital catalog—apps like Libby or Hoopla often partner with libraries to lend e-books legally. Piracy sites might pop up in search results, but they’re risky and unfair to authors. Personally, I saved up to buy a used copy because the footnotes and photos are worth owning. Plus, supporting writers keeps these gems coming!

I stumbled upon Japanese hardcore punk from the '80s while digging through underground music forums, and wow—what a wild ride! Bands like 'GISM' and 'Gauze' absolutely shattered my expectations with their raw energy and chaotic sound. The scene was a rebellious explosion against societal norms, blending Western punk with uniquely Japanese intensity. If you're into music history or love discovering aggressive, unfiltered art, this era is gold. The lyrics (even translated) hit hard with themes of alienation and defiance. That said, it's not for everyone. The production is often lo-fi, and the sheer abrasiveness can be overwhelming. But that’s part of its charm—it feels alive, like a snapshot of pure rebellion. I’d recommend starting with compilations like 'Tokyo Flashback' to get a taste before diving deeper.

The first few volumes really had me hooked—it's not your standard gritty survivalist tale, which I appreciated. There's a refreshing focus on the rebuilding part of the post-apocalyptic label. The protagonist, Ash, isn't just scavenging ruins; he's actively using his past-life knowledge to reintroduce agriculture, sanitation, and basic tech to a medieval-level society recovering from some vague collapse. It scratches a very specific itch for methodical progress and societal recovery. The world-building around the Church and the 'divine beasts' adds a layer of mystery that keeps the plot moving beyond just farming manuals. That said, the pacing can be glacial. If you're in it for constant action and dire threats, you might find long stretches about crop rotation or setting up a bathhouse tedious. The post-apocalyptic elements are more of a backdrop than an immediate, visceral danger—the 'apocalypse' happened long ago, and the story is about the slow climb out of the dark age. The character interactions are charming but fairly straightforward, without the deep moral complexities of something like 'The Road'. I'd recommend it to fans of the genre who enjoy the logistical and societal aspects, think 'Dies the Fire' but way more laid-back and focused on a single village. If your favorite part of a post-apocalyptic story is seeing how communities re-form and knowledge is preserved or rediscovered, this is absolutely worth a look. The light novel illustrations are nice, too.

I picked up 'Oy Oy Oy Gevalt!: Jews and Punk' on a whim, mostly because the title alone was enough to make me laugh and pique my curiosity. As someone who’s always been fascinated by subcultures and their intersections with identity, this book felt like it was written just for me. It’s a wild, energetic deep dive into the often-overlooked connections between Jewish identity and punk rock, blending history, music criticism, and personal anecdotes in a way that feels both scholarly and deeply personal. The author doesn’t just list bands with Jewish members—they explore how Jewishness, with its traditions of rebellion and outsider status, shaped punk’s ethos. It’s a niche topic, sure, but if you’ve ever wondered why so many punk icons hail from Jewish backgrounds, this book offers some brilliant insights. What really stood out to me was how the book avoids being dry or academic. It’s packed with humor and passion, almost like a punk zine in book form. The chapters on bands like The Ramones and Lou Reed are particularly gripping, tying their music back to Jewish cultural themes in ways I’d never considered. That said, it’s not a perfect read—some sections feel a bit rushed, and I wish there was more on contemporary Jewish punk scenes. But overall, it’s a refreshingly original take on both punk history and Jewish cultural studies. If you’re into either, or just love weird cultural mashups, this is totally worth your time. I finished it with a newfound appreciation for how subversive humor and loud music can be a form of cultural survival.

Tears for Fears has always been one of those bands that feels like a journey—each album is a snapshot of their evolution, both musically and emotionally. From the raw, synth-driven angst of 'The Hurting' to the polished, introspective depths of 'The Seeds of Love,' there’s a lot to unpack. I’ve spent countless hours diving into their discography, and I’d say every album offers something unique, even if not every track hits the same high notes. 'Songs From the Big Chair' is a masterpiece, no question, but even their later work like 'Everybody Loves a Happy Ending' has this underrated charm that grows on you over time. That said, whether every single song is 'worth reading' depends on what you’re looking for. If you’re a die-hard fan or a music nerd like me, absolutely—you’ll appreciate the experimentation, the lyrical themes, and how Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith’s dynamic shifts over the years. But if you’re more casual, some deep cuts might feel like filler. Still, there’s a magic in hearing how their sound transforms, from the brooding 'Mad World' to the lush 'Sowing the Seeds of Love.' It’s like flipping through pages of a diary where every entry reveals something new.