Seb Hunter wasn't just a heavy metal fan. He was a blind devotee who threw away his education and future prospects to become a rock star. In Hell Bent for Leather, he reaches into the most embarrassing depths of the family photo album to reveal his Wayne's World-esque teen years, taking readers on a (very loud) musical journey from his first guitar to his first gig and on, through groupies, girlfriends, too many drugs, spiraling egos, musical differences, and finally, the end of the dream -- and a much-needed haircut.In this nostalgic look at heavy metal culture, Seb Hunter has given us a moving portrait of adolescence and chasing your dream, reminding us all that it's better to have lost in rock than never to have rocked at all.This P.S. edition features an extra 16 pages of insights into the book, including author interviews, recommended reading, and more.

Hell Bent for Leather
Confessions of a Heavy Metal Addict

Chapter One

Let's Get It Up

It's 1981, a late summer evening inan underground common room at a boardingschool in deepest Wiltshire. Someone isplaying "Can-Can" by Bad Manners on acheap yellow record player and we're all runningaround in a sweat, playing off the musicalmomentum, though hardly paying itmuch attention. And then comes my bigmoment, the only real eureka, blinding-lightmoment I've ever had. Some wise child peelsoff from the fray and clunks down AC/DC's "Let's Get it Up," andthat's it for me. That was the light switch -- the world suddenlybecame three dimensional and my ears popped open.

It was so raw, so suggestive, that I had no idea how to react. Thiswas a whole new set of rules for my body; a sudden and unexpectedDNA tattoo. I stood motionless on the flagstone floor, beads ofsweat hanging off my fringe, waiting for this skull-splitting rheumto end so I could calm down and return to how things had beenbefore, but I never quite managed to get there.

"Hey! Hey! What was that?" I stood open-mouthed over the record player.

By the end of the week, having heard "Let's Get it Up" a furthersixteen times, including the B-side,"Back in Black" (live), allother thoughts in my head had evaporated. I taught myself howto do this, fast:

AC/DC

Back at home that ChristmasI knew exactly what I wanted.For the last few years my parentshad been feeding my thirsty StarWars obsession, however thisyear I'd requested just one solitaryitem: a cassette by AC/DC. My mother asked me where shewas supposed to purchase such a thing and I was forced to admitI had no idea. So I spent an anxious Christmas morning worryingthat I'd be getting yet more Star Wars figures and not the one thingI craved so badly. But halfway through the communal giving I washanded a tape-shaped package. Slowly I peeled at the wrappinguntil I could clearly see a gold cover and a picture of a giant cannon,and on the back cover -- oh my god -- the album contained"Let's Get it Up"! I felt sick and slightly dizzy and my hands startedto shake.

My mother, sensing my existential distress, plucked the plasticbox away.

"'Let's get it up,'" I whimpered.

My mother frowned. "What do you think that means?"

"It means ... " I paused. "Let's all get it sort of 'up' and have fun."

"Well you're wrong, it doesn't mean that at all, it means somethingentirely different."

"Like what?"

"I'm not telling you. Just be careful, that's all, don't go aroundsaying that sort of thing in public. And 'Put the Finger on You'?What do you think that one means?"

"It just means putting the finger on you. I don't know." Shedoesn't understand, I thought to myself. She just doesn't get it!

She ran her finger through the rest of the songs, mutteringunder her breath, and handed it back. "'Let's Get it Up' meanssomething rude. In fact quite a lot of these songs sound ratherrude."

You're mad, I thought, embarrassed for her obvious misunderstanding.

As soon as the Queen's speech was over and the family hadthanked each other for their biscuits and condiments, I interruptedproceedings by loudly demanding we play my new tape.

"Everyone will like it!"

"But Granny ... "

"Granny will like it too!"

My father raised an eyebrow. I had up until this moment beena thoroughly charming and dutiful child, so after a moment's consideration,the cassette player was reluctantly dragged in from thekitchen.

With my back to my extended family, I slid the new cassetteinto the machine and covertly inched up the volume in preparationfor AC/DC's grand opus For Those About to Rock ... (WeSalute You) in all its corrosive pomp. As the guitars snaked out Iturned, grinning and blushing heavily, and grabbed onto the aerialto steady myself. Then the bass began to throb and I noticedsome awkward shuffling on the sofa. Next came the drums -- crikey they were loud! I glanced at my scary Uncle Geoff andhe'd started turning purple, but still I sensed a thrill of expectancy in the room. Then came the singing -- or rather some wordlessyelps like a rusty iron lung -- and with it a sharp, horrified wincefrom the entire family. It was slowly dawningon me that perhaps not everyone wouldlove AC/DC quite as much as I'd hoped.Finally, just as the chorus came blazingthrough (For those about to rock! We saluteyou!) and I was at the very peak of excitement,my father shouted "Enough!" and mymother leapt at the eject button, and I washastily sent upstairs by Granny.

My mother and father married in 1968. Mymother was an artist and a teacher, and myfather ran his own property developmentbusinesses. Three years later I came along.

And then two years after that, my sister,Melissa.

For the first six years of my life we livedin an old farmhouse in the Hampshire villageof Meonstoke surrounded by farms andfields, until my father grew bored with thecountry and discovered a gigantic run-downVictorian house in Winchester. It lookedlike it would need years of work but wasirresistibly cheap, so he decided to buy it. Weall slept on brown corduroy cushions in thedrawing room for the first few months,while the electrics were recast, water wascoaxed back through the miles of disused black pipes, and the child-sized gaps in the floorboards were hastilycovered with lino. This was an amazing house: it had thirtyrooms, a cool vaulted cellar, and a giant warren of an attic. My sister and I liked to change bedrooms whenever we felt like itbecause there were just so many to choose from, while my motherpainted huge colorful murals on their walls for our entertainment.My father meanwhile took this sprawling house to task,attacking it with sledgehammers and drills, knocking up archesthrough walls in a comedy hard hat. The garden was a giant overgrownjungle in which I constructed dens out of old beehives,played laser wars with imaginary friends, smashed a footballagainst the green garage door, and goaded our cats ...

Hell Bent for Leather
Confessions of a Heavy Metal Addict. Copyright © by Seb Hunter. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

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