NO ONE LEFT TO COME LOOKING FOR YOU

A portrait of the young bass player in 1990s New York, with a mystery to solve.

Just as Jonathan Liptak changes his name to Jack Shit, because what could be more perfect for a member of a band called the Shits, he discovers that his frontman and roommate, the Banished Earl, has stolen his bass, undoubtedly to raise funds to purchase heroin. No sooner does Jack take in the situation than he receives a call from his friend at the pawn shop—the bass has been spotted. But before he can lay hands on either his vanished instrument or his strung-out friend, the situation becomes categorically more complex. There's a murder. There's a prospective girlfriend and a potential gig. There's a visit from a couple of New York's finest, a run-in with Donald Trump, and a brief retreat to the Liptak homestead in New Jersey. But most importantly, there's a flaming truckload of humor, wit, and joy in the creation of this best-of-times, worst-of-times moment in New York music history, from the band names (Mongoose Civique, Count Fistula, the Annihilation of the Soft Left) to the dive bars, restaurants, and clubs and the ragtag musicians and neighborhood characters, among them scene patriarch Toad Molotov. "To watch Toad munch a revolting quantity of his beloved mint-jelly sandwiches, swill Cuervo Gold, and scratch unrelentingly beneath his fatigue shorts at his hairy legs and crotch was to come of age in the rock underworld." Lipsyte clearly knows whereof he speaks, evoking with verisimilitude and even fondness the experiences of snorting "nose Comet," of dealing with a clogged bar toilet, of acting in a short film that requires being drenched in menstrual blood, and of playing "post-wave neo-noise art punk with a sincere approach to irony." Of the Shits: "When we are on, we are still terrible but also one of the best bands you ever saw." No doubt.

A badass book with brains, wit, moral decay, and radical outrage to spare.