This book purports to be the record of Chuck Klosterman's pilgrimmage to the U.S. sites hallowed by the deaths of assorted rock 'n' roll personages. That's not really what it's about. Or, that's what it's about in only the very loosest sense. Probably only around 5% of the 235 pages of text are actually devoted to the thesis Chuck set out to write about when he left New York. That's alright. The rest is written affably, and I enjoyed it a lot. I read it in fewer than ten waking hours, which is EXTREMELY fast for me.

Klosterman put me in touch with my inner teenager, obsessed as I was with "love, death, and rock 'n' roll" (p. 234). I remember feeling that way, and the book mostly made me realize how much work it was to walk around smoldering like that all the time. It is absolutely bizarre how much more time you spend thinking about your mortality when you're sixteen than when you're twenty-six. Klosterman never quit feeling that way, apparently, but luckily, he's more articulate than my friends were when I was in high school. I'd highly recommend this to recovering teenagers looking for something to read on a lazy afternoon.

probably my favorite of his, Klosterman travels around the US to different grave yards and murder grounds of famous rockers throughout the ages including Elvis, Kurt Cobain, and Jeff Buckley. his style is immaculate and very catchy. this book came out during the time I was all syked when new Klosterman came out. so yeah, I got it signed haha. ( )

At first, I thought I would love reading this -- it was Eggers-y (road-trip, life dilemmas, made fun of itself for being Eggers-y) and there were hip little jokes about popular music. But it lost steam about halfway through and his ending soliloquy (actually spoken by his editor) about whether anyone would actually care about his non-love story with little plot or personal development was a little too on-point. He should've taken her advice. ( )

I bought this book because I really liked reading Xhuck Klosterman's articles in 'Spin' magazine. Turns out he doesn't work out so well when he has a whole book to ramble about Led Zeppln.

The book has a really great premise (he travels to places where famous musicians have died in a quest to gain some insight into death, pop culture, and music), and it does have some really funny and really insightful parts.

Too bad 80% of the book is about chicks Chuck Klosterman has made it with. ( )

A fun listen.

A man and a woman are happily married for 10 years. During the tenth year the man dies unexpectedly. At the funeral the (now-) widow meets a man and greatly enjoys her conversation with him. A week later the widow kills her sister.

What happened?

If you're normal, you say that the widow killed the sister because she was talking to her husband.

If you're schizophrenic, you say that the widow killed the sister because she enjoyed the conversation with the man at the funeral and wants to go to another funeral in order to see him again.

Of the folks I've posed this question to, I've only had one who gave the schizophrenic response. ( )

So, this was a book recommended to me by a co-worker a bit ago. He loves it and thought that I might find it enjoyable. I picked it up at the library, and it's one of those books that I'm glad that I read, but it will probably be quite a long time for me to read it again. (Similar to Catcher in the Rye for me.)

Why? Because it's depressing. There were times I wanted to curl up into a ball and just cry during some of it. Part of it is that it's about death, rock and roll, and love. And I didn't always get the references to the music stuff (Klosterman is a reviewer with Spin), but there were some moments throughout the book that I was like "Oh. Shit.", where it hit me over the head like a two by four (that's been happening a lot, recently). Just little insights into people, or relationships. But, gotta say, my favourite line?

I could never be one of those people who climb mountains recreationally; I'd be one of those clowns who dies halfway down Everest because I'd bring extra powdered cocoa instead of extra rope.

Other than that, there were times that Klosterman felt like he was just driveling around while driving around the country, just sort of navel gazing, but sometimes, I'm a sucker for that. Plus, it's a traveling memoir thing, and music is super important to him, and those two things gave it more of a depth for me than if he'd just been navel gazing, so to speak. I listened to music for an hour or so afterwards, and in some ways, I listened to it differently than I might have before, if that makes sense. Where I was, what I was doing, the memories attached to it.

And then, if anything, the following passage made it all worth reading this, feeling alienated and slightly depressed, this borderland place that it's not that I feel unhappy, but I'm not happy, and it's not that I'm numb, but I'm not feeling a lot outside of slightly disconnected. (Though, if the book is making me feel like that, then perhaps the writing is more intense than I'm giving it credit for.)

We all have the potential to fall in love a thousand times in our lifetime. It's easy. [...] They all count. But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you'll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there's still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it always happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of those loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. You will remember having conversations with this person that never actually happened. You will recall sexual trysts with this person that never technically occurred. This is because the individual who embodies your personal definition of love does not really exist. The person is real, and the feelings are real - but you create the context. And context is everything. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they're often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else. ( )

The story has an interesting plot base and the style in which Klosterman tells it is pretty awesome for a while. But towards the end the story sort ofbreaks down into introspective philosophical preachiness. For me the first 200 pages were a breeze and the last 35 were a battle. ( )

http://books.kenficara.com/2007/11/ki... ( )

although i am a fan of chuck klosterman (really, i am), as i read this book, i kept asking myself the same question: why was this published? i mean, its somewhat entertaining, only b/c i was never really sure what chuck would do or say next. but, there never really was a point. he totally admits there is no point, which could be really interesting in some sure of nihilistic pomo sort of way, but instead it just feels like he really had no idea what he was doing.
when he goes to the death sites of musicians, he doesn't speak too much on the subject, and doesn't really make it a literary experience for the reader. its more like, "this is where buddy holly died. i miss the girlfriends i cheat on. i do drugs. etc." as a side note -- i found his short comments on sexual assault and schizophrenia obnoxious and ignorant, but thats not my main point here.
in the end, i grabbed this because my library had it, and i really liked "sex, drugs and cocopuffs". it wasn't bad enough for me to stop reading it half through, but if it had taken me longer than the 2 days it took to read it, i may have abandoned ship. ( )

A prominent voice in contemporary pop culture writing(in my opinion,but hipsters do tend to stick together),Klosterman's follow up to 2003's Sex,Drugs,And Cocoa Puffs is pure paperback gold.
In this latest chronicle,we accompany Klosterman on a cross-country journey to visit the last resting places of famous(and some not so famous) music legends. The combination of music and solitude quickly find Klosterman on the sub-plot of his own life.While this self inventory,in theory, could have easily been the nerdy laments of a jaded 30 something,Klostermans wit and frequent references to pop culture and music keep the story whole and on track. We end up identifying with him and maybe even being a little jealous....because I dont know about you, but I would love to be paid to go on an adventure like this. ( )

Not Klosterman's best, but even his mediocre stuff is better than most. ( )

I don't see how don't see that this book and it's author is insanely fucking annoying and stupid. Led Zeppelin sucks, so does Radiohead and most other music he names. It's hard to care about much he says here it just seems like some guy who thinks he's special and interesting when he's not. He mentions a few gimmicky things that are interesrting but nothing really worthwhile. This book is easy to read and I couldn't put it down when I had it but really, it was only because I wanted to see iif this guy could say anything more annoying than previously which he never really fails to do. Admittedly these are the kinds of music geeks that help reinforce my hatered for most things mainstream (admttedly that is not entirely true but with music and film and most forms of media I'd say it is.) one of his worst quotes is "sometimes I don't think an album can really be good before it sells 20 million copies" Is this what you want to hear from a music critic someone who basically admits he has no real opinion of his own, his idea of knowing what music is good is by sales numbers and popularity? that and his other gushings about how a teenage boy will always feel Led Zeppelin at one point is the best band ever. I never fucking felt that, I've always hated them and I'm skeptic of people who have. I think the only person he's intune with is...himself and not really.

Whatever, I should have known better, he writes for spin which is similar to this book being the stupidest music magazine I can think of, right next to blender (does that still exist anymore I really have no idea?) but I got this book as a gift so thats the only reason I read it.

I think this book can be used to test out weather a new friend or girlfriend is a tool or not. If they say the love this book and Klosterman has some really good points, I can know to show them the door. ( )

I have Seth Cohen (The O.C.) to thank for introducing me to Chuck Klosterman. I spotted him reading Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs during an episode of The O.C., and the title of the book intrigued me so much that I had to hunt it down. It was entirely fitting that a geek of Seth's stature should be reading the work of a self-proclaimed music and pop culture geek. Of course, I use the word geek in an affectionate way, given that I myself am not entirely without geekiness (I actually took some notes while reading this book).

Chuck Klosterman began his career as a journalist, writing mainly about music and popular culture. Killing Yourself To Live is his attempt to "understand why some rock stars don't start living until they die, why death equals credibility". Klosterman begins his journey at the Chelsea Hotel in New York, somewhat unsuccessfully. The hotel manager doesn't want him to talk about the hotel in his book, and insists that the room where Nancy Spungen died no longer exists. Undeterred, Klosterman picks up a rental car, stocks it with over 600 CDs for the trip, and sets off cross-country, taking in the site in Rhode Island where a fire killed over 100 Great White fans at a concert, the spot where Buddy Holly's plane came down, and a few others, culminating in a trip to Washington, where he visits Seattle and Aberdeen.

Klosterman is an entertaining narrator, and the book is peppered with soundbites, musings and tenuous analogies drawn between films and music. Not since High Fidelity (the film mind, not the book), have I enjoyed hearing someone describe music in such detail before. Klosterman describes, compares and critically evaluates the music he loves (rock music mainly), though it's a meandering journey and digressions abound, mainly on the subject of his old girlfriends. He discloses a lot of personal detail about his relationships, and what went wrong with them, and there's quite an analogy near the end of the book where each ex-girlfriend is compared to a member of KISS.

Near the beginning of the book, Klosterman states that "sexuality is 15% real and 85% illusion". Killing Yourself To Live is subtitled 85% Of A True Story. My powers of deduction are telling me that some of this book has been embellished somewhat, and at first I thought that this 15% illusion was to be found in the discussion of his relationships, and the almost unlikely fabulousness of the women who loved him. Then I thought it may have been in the characters he meets on his travels. I'm still undecided. The actual site visits are often fleeting and unremarkable, but that could be the point - even with the knowledge that someone died there to give a location meaning, years after the event it's just a location after all. Popular culture is assigning significance to the sites, and I think that Klosterman gets this completely.

It could be argued that there is too much of the author in this book, but then maybe that's also the point. Klosterman is an avid consumer of music and films, and more importantly he is infectiously enthusiastic about his passions. I have Chuck Klosterman to thank for introducing me to the Dixie Chicks, following his discussion of their song There's Your Trouble in Sex, Drugs and Cocoa Puffs. His writing has that effect on me. I'm off now to buy more Led Zeppelin albums. ( )

Mostly about unrequited loves and crushes he reflects on durring a road trip around the nation, visiting memorial spots where rock stars died. ( )

In many ways, this book is more about Klosterman's failed relationships than about its ostensible purpose: touring the sites of a bunch of famous rock 'n' roll demises (from the room at the Chelsea Hotel in New York where Nancy Spungen was killed, to the greenhouse in Seattle where Kurt Cobain shot himself) and analyzing what effects these early deaths had on the musicians' legacies. The whole thing is very entertaining while you're reading it, but at the end I found myself wishing (and remembering having wished the first time around) that there was more actual death discussed, and less "death of Chuck's love life." Klosterman skirts around some theories about how an early demise can actually bring a musician a weird sort of immortality (the discussions of Jeff Buckley, and yeah, Cobain, are particularly interesting) but he never really presents any kind of thesis and, I dunno, I'd've sort of appreciated even a half-assed one. He also, in his rant about why he hates L.A. and considers it the worst city in the country, seems to confuse "Los Angeles" with "Hollywood." BUT THAT IS ANOTHER RANT I WILL NOT TOUCH TODAY. *restrains self*

But ANYWAY...there's still a lot to enjoy in this book. Klosterman is, as always, a highly readable writer. (See? Watch me pillage one of his more fun devices!) Thus, if you're in even a slightly morbid mood, I really do recommend it.

I didn't enjoy it quite as much as "Fargo Rock City" - it seemed fluffier. However, "Killing Yourself to Live" does give the reader a better understanding of who Chuck Klosterman really is - his fears, feelings, loves. It is more than just the music, but it is ALL about the music. ( )

http://sideways8.wordpress.com/2006/0... ( )

Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. ( )

This is just as much about how he deals with his past relationships as it is about his "go to several places of rock-star deaths" mission.

Read it if you like pop-culture, rock journalism type stuff. ( )

http://www.meloknee.com/archives/2005... ( )

Klosterman travels to various sites of rock deaths, such as the field where Lynyrd Skynyrd's plane crashed and the club where Great White's concert ended in flames. Along the way he throws out his usual continuous stream of pop-culture references and contemplates the state of his love life. Light and breezy, it's entertaining reading. ( )