Sick on You

The Disastrous Story of the Hollywood Brats, the Greatest Band You've Never Heard Of

By: Andrew Matheson

Narrated by: Andrew Matheson

With only a guitar, a tatty copy of the Melody Maker, and his template for the perfect band, Andrew Matheson set out in 1971 to make musical history. His band, the Hollywood Brats, were prepunk prophets - uncompromising, ultrathin, wild, untamable, and outrageous. But thrown into the crazy world of the 1970s London music scene, the Brats ultimately fell afoul of the crooks and heavies that ran it and an industry that just wasn't ready for them. Directly inspiring the London SS, the Clash, and the Sex Pistols, the Hollywood Brats imploded too soon to share the glory. Punk's answer to Withnail and I, Sick on You is a startling, funny and brilliantly entertaining period memoir about never quite achieving success despite flying so close to greatness.

©2016 Andrew Matheson (P)2016 HighBridge, a division of Recorded Books

So Close

The Brats were THAT close to being big. And that is why they call it RnR’ love that it is read by the singer.

The funniest audiobook I’ve ever ever listened to.

If you like rock ‘n’ roll memoirs, and you listened to the five minute sample of this book and enjoyed it, I highly recommend listening to the whole thing. It’s engaging and funny from beginning to end. I loved it. It’s a crime that Andrew Matheson hasn’t put out any other books - his writing is fucking hilarious and he does a great job narrating it - laughing at the ridiculousness of his own life story…

I could go on but you got the idea –
I recommend it!

Sardonic, Sartorial, Sensational!

This memoir is a glorious blast from the past: from hobnobbing at Penthouse parties with Bob Guccione to swiping live eels for dinner, Matheson’s stories are as sharp as his wardrobe and twice as loud. The audiobook is a true treat—Matheson narrates his own chaos, occasionally cracking up at his own disasters, which is exactly how all rock memoirs should be delivered. If you’re bored of rock bios that read like they were written by a PR intern on decaf, this is your antidote. Matheson writes like Hunter S. Thompson if he’d swapped the mescaline for a decent record collection and a wicked sense of humor.

RIP, Andrew Matheson (1952-2025) -- I wish you'd written more books!