This is a book for lovers of the '90s music scene in NYC. This book just wasn't exactly the one for me, unfortunately.

Many thanks to the author, publisher, and NetGalley for sharing this book with me. All thoughts are my own.

This is billed by the publisher as a “darkly comic mystery” and it was none of those. It felt like Lipsyte was attempting to tell a “modern” Catcher in the Rye story and it just came across feeling phony - as Holden Caulfield would say. It was so lackluster for me that I actually forgot at one point there was a murder plot. I debated giving one star, but since the writing itself isn’t an issue, I ended up at two stars.

I didn’t think I would like this book. 2 chapters in and I’m invested in this late 90s punk rock NYC college educated political philosophical mystery.

The style of writing isn’t for everyone as it can be hard to follow when there is conversation exchange, at least for me.

I write similar to his writing style. Before I found him through this book, I thought my writing was more like a script, in terms of dialogue.

I’ve always believed that the conversations between characters should move the story along.

I like the first person narrative. It’s fast paced, gritty, and grimy. It feels true to Gen X and the time period. Drugs. Fuck the Government movement, Punk Rock, real NYC (most would say pre-Giuliani. He made it commercial. New York changed into the conglomerate we see today.)

Let's get into the background.

The main character wakes up to find his roommate and bass guitar missing.

His roommate, a drug addict and lead singer of their punk rock band, is known to sell off things to supply his fix.

The main character plus fellow members of the band go on a NYC fueled adventure to find an enforcer for a well known developer who ran for president.

It has all the things you would want in an intellectual philosophical mystery. I found myself being reminded of The Great Gatsby. It represents a moment in time while offering commentary on society.

For me, it paints a picture of a generation in the way the movie Dazed and Confused did -except the drug use is way worse. It is in the middle of the crack epidemic and heroin usage is on the rise, so in some ways it can be triggering. Also, the police are total assholes-nothing new there.

This is dark, gritty, and real. If you enjoy Punk rock, are Gen X or a Geriatic Millennial, enjoy reading about said developer turned president, social commentary, then this book is for you.

I originally did not write a review for this book but I've taken some time and collected my thoughts. This was a greatly enjoyable story. I enjoyed the mystery and the 'historical' setting. Which is wild to consider the 90s as historical but here we are. I will definitely check out more of Lipsyte's work in the future and maybe even give this book a re-read!

Thank you for the advanced readers copy Netgalley and Simon and Schuster, but this was a DNF for me.

OK I loved this a lot more than I thought I would! Like A Visit from the Goon Squad with only one perspective. I loved the language and the world that was built and how we never quite knew what was going on with the MC. So fun and quick.

Thank you for the advanced readers copy @netgalley but this is a DNF for me. I tried reading several times but just could not get into it.

While the book has some humorous moments, this is a pretty tough hang unless you just really, really love failed musician lit.

I’ll be honest and say that I’m tough on band novels because my father was a musician and all the gossip and infighting and desperation to keep chasing the dream are not new to me nor are they usually portrayed accurately in novels. This one is no exception, which I would have loved to write off as “that’s because it’s a comedy!” but the humor doesn’t hit quite accurately in that regard.

Lipsyte writes well and the humor lands often enough, but the premise isn’t new, the mystery is well below average, and the tired starving musician stuff is a yawn.

*I received an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review.*

From its first lines, the voice of this book grabbed me. Lipsyte's prose soars and dives as he describes the search for his friend, the Banished Earl, who has apparently stolen his prized bass guitar. It reminded me a lot of Joyce's Ulysses, only set in New York's Lower East Side, as Jack Shit stumbles through the city. The characters and settings are so vivid, even down to Jack's mother, who once attended a party with Andy Warhol and has made that event the center of an unfulfilled life.

I can't resist a book about NYC, especially the grimey rock-scene of many moons ago. I'd give this book 4-stars (because I didn't really vibe with the murder mystery in it) but I knew what it was going into it, so that's not fair. So, this book receives 5 stars (yay!) I loved the atmosphere of a grittier time in NYC and the quirky characters.

The story to leads on a journey to the past, the East Village, 1993. Oh, the 1990s, when grunge was in full effect. We meet Jack who is in a band and the lead singer is missing. He starts his journey into places that few have dared to travel, and he meets up with a motley crew of different characters. The story and writing is witty, humorous, and delightful. The twists are added to an already thrilling story.


Disclaimer: Thank you to NetGalley and Simon & Schuster for this review copy, I received this review copy for free, and I am leaving this review voluntarily.

Sam Lipsyte’s latest novel transports you to the streets of 1993’s East Village in Manhattan. Here is a time of young artistry, drugs, and a low cost of living, which seems all fun and games until protagonist Jack learns that his roommate and the lead singer in their band lifted Jack’s bass. In his attempts to recover the stolen instrument, Jack is catapulted into a messy situation that involves murder and real estate schemes. A touch of noir, a dash of politics, and a sprinkle of 90s nostalgia, “No One Left to Come Looking” is a rollicking pleasure of a read, perfect for those who wish to reminisce on the New York City of yesterday or want to get a satirical taste of the period.

Oh, the 1990s! A decade of excellent music, questionable fashion and – in this incisive fictionalization of the post-punk, quasi-grunge, anti-sellout scene rubbing shoulders with the moneyed in New York City – the origin of the fires that will fuel the earnest everyday heroes of our own more recent past in taking up the good fight against the seemingly unassailable.

Three decades ago, however, we had not heroes (or at least not <i>yet</i> heroes) but a band called The Shits, cobbled together, like so many others formed in musical meccas, by a sort of happenstance, a happy accident of who’s available and who vibes. Our young narrator is the bass player, who has recently changed his name to Jack Shit in a bold statement of belief in his band. His guitarist has adopted the moniker Cutwolf, bestowed upon him by their talismanic lead:

QUOTE
The Banished Earl is our front man, our lyricist and lead screamer. His brief includes but is not restricted to howls, whimpers, banshee shrieks, declamations, provocations, semi-ironic rooster struts, blind dives into the mosh pit, simulated or else revocable genital mutilation and, of course, spectacle. Spectacle above all else.

Though now that the Banished Earl is the Vanished Earl, all bets are off until I find him.
END QUOTE

As the book starts, The Banished Earl has not only disappeared from the tiny apartment he shares with Jack, but has managed to abscond with the bass guitar that Jack needs in order to play. The Earl is, unfortunately, a drug addict who isn’t above selling his friends’ valuables in order to feed his habit. This has alienated his now ex-girlfriend, Hera, who is now also their ex-drummer, her break-up with the Earl happening at about the same time as her break-up with the band.

Jack doesn’t really hold the Earl’s weaknesses against him, but he does want to recover both his lead singer and his instrument before what could be a pivotal performance for The Shits’ career, if not outright existence. He also has to persuade Hera to ditch her new band (and boyfriend) for at least one evening, as he’s convinced that one transcendent performance is all she’ll need to see that she belongs with them at least musically, never mind her relationship with the Earl. As Jack sets off with Cutwolf on a sometimes comic odyssey through the New York City underground scene to achieve these aims, the two young men discover not only a dead body but a commitment to justice that they hadn’t known they had in them, as they refuse to let a killer get away with murder.

The amateur sleuthing is a terrific framework for this examination of not only what it means to pour yourself into a musical scene, but also what happens when both the idealism and ignorance of youth run head first into the cynicism and experience of the more established. Jack is the first to admit that, despite the members of his band all having done session work with the hoary radical icon of their scene, the Annihilation of the Soft Left, none of the Shits really think about politics. After all, none of them have ever really had to:

QUOTE
Truth is, despite our roots in the Annihilation of the Soft Left, the Shits are pretty soft ourselves. We are not from the streets. We are each of us semi-misfits from one middle-class suburb or another, except for Hera, who hails from serious money. Her father is one of those junk bond guys, almost went to jail. The rest of us are usually broke, but there are family basements with foldout couches flung across the American empire (New Jersey for me, Long Island for the Earl, Ohio for Cutwolf) for us to flee to in case of utter collapse. These are couches of last resort.

The Shits are pretty left wing, I guess, but our irony smothers our politics.
END QUOTE

For all that he claims irony as his watchword though, Jack is endearingly earnest in his search for the Earl, his bass, justice, the truth, and one last kickass performance. The book practically hums with the energy of creative youth, as Jack navigates the different social scenes, running into real-life people who will loom even more largely in the headlines of our present day. It almost made me nostalgic for my own wild and dirty indie music days (albeit a decade later and in a different part of the country,) as Sam Lipsyte dissects with both ruthlessness and compassion what it means to be an artsy young person with dreams and a reckless sense of immortality. Most importantly, No One Left To Come Looking For You urges readers to take that energy and translate it into a will to make things better, no matter how much or little time has passed since one’s glory days.

Jack is a young Jersey musician living in Manhattan’s East Village in 1993. His band, The Shits, is days away from their biggest gig when their lead singer goes missing, taking Jack’s bass with him (probably to pay for some smack). Jack’s search for his buddy and his bass takes him across NYC as a wave of crimes hits that seem to point to local real estate barons. He meanders across the city to stop for clever banter with a colorful cast of characters.

This is described as “a page-turning suspense novel” - I gotta say it’s nothing like that. Instead, it’s nostalgia for an NYC that no longer exists with some oddball characters trying to be clever.

While amusing at times, there wasn’t a real plot or emotional investment here. A shitty band could afford to chase their dreams and a smack habit in the 90s and the characters are surface level, only there to add some colorful/witty dialogue. Meh.

Reading the description for this one, plus knowing Lipsyte's wacky sense of humor, I approached the novel expecting The Ramones meet Only Murders in the Building.

 Turns out, I don't know Jack Shit, the stage name of our much put upon protagonist. He's one busy guy: out looking for his missing roommate, the guy who stole his guitar, AND helping out in a homicide investigation.

I can't tell you much more about the plot as I'm still trying to figure it out myself.

5 stars for the great dialog
4 for the characters and situations
3 for the not-that-intriguing murder mystery
2 for the god-awful title I still can't remember

and, great news - there is absolutely nothing 1 star about this book

Lipsyte's tale of woe and punk rock manages to be quirky, imaginative, and nostalgic - a combination that made me smile. 

I mostly enjoyed whatever the heck this was called.

Published by ‎ Simon & Schuster on December 6, 2022

No One Left to Come Looking for You is a celebration of performance. The Shits perform music, or its rough equivalent, but the band members are also performing life. Their performance is hindered by crime, but in the end, nothing gets in the way of a good shriek.

Jonathan Liptak plays bass in a band called The Shits. Jonathan has decided he wants people to call him Jack, as in Jack Shit. That’s about as clever as Jack gets, which may be why Vesna broke up with him, although Jack attributes the breakup to his flake-outs and whiskey dick.

The Shits’ genre is “innovative and eccentric guitar-based noise rock,” which I take it means loud with no melody. A magazine described The Shits as “scabrous, intermittently witty, post-skronk propulsion not unlike early Anal Gnosis.” Another magazine praised its most recent seven-inch recording as “the most promising wedge of deconstructed neo-proto-art-scuzz since Gimp Mask Goethe’s notorious debut.” A fan named Corrina praises the band because it doesn’t care about all the bullshit, “like notes and stuff.”

Hera Benberger was The Shits’ drummer until she left to join Thorazine, an anemic band that isn’t loud at all. Hera comes from money, but Jack and the other band members are from middle-class suburbia. Craig Dunn (stage name Cutwolf) plays guitar. The band’s lead singer, Alan Massad (stage name Banished Earl), stole Jack’s guitar.

Jack assumes that the Earl will trade the guitar for drugs. Jack roams around in search of the Earl until a guitar shop owner tells him that a guy named Mounce is trying to sell the guitar. Jack tries to intervene, but Mounce is big and nasty while Jack is soft and pudgy.

The band has a gig coming up and stands to earn 13% of the $5 cover charge that maybe 25 people will pay to hear the band play. The gig is in jeopardy if Jack can’t find the Earl and his bass. Without the Earl’s vocals, the band is “a raucous, semi-coherent noise band.”

The plot follows Jack, who divides his time between aimlessly searching for the Earl and aimlessly living. One of those activities brings him into contact with a friend just after the friend is mortally wounded. A corrupt cop and Mounce make Jack wonder whether he will survive long enough to play what might be the band's final gig.

The story takes place in New York City during a week in 1993. Bill Clinton is the new President and Donald Trump isn’t paying his contractors, one of whom is the Earl’s father. Corruption is an urban menace that becomes instrumental to the plot. The band’s response to the abuse of power by the wealthy is reflected in its style: “post-wave neo-noise art punk with a sincere approach to anarchy.” The legendary band leader who mentored Jack fostered an ideology of “anarcho-bewildered” while teaching Jack to dislike law enforcement “insofar as its function is to protect the property of the rich and repress all resistance to the tyranny of the transactional order.”

No One Left to Come Looking for You is fun and funny. Sam Lipsyte’s edgy characters, plot, and prose capture a certain generational vibe that is echoed in the noise-music played by The Shits, music of the early 90s that built upon but rejected its roots. Music that purported to be about authenticity. It was, in fact, a performance of authenticity, meant to impress fans by sending the deliberate message that fans and performance were unimportant. Lipsyte exposes that hypocrisy without mocking the sincerity of the musicians who were trying to express something that they deemed to be important.

Jack’s only goal has been to move The Shits closer to, and possibly through, “the portal of depraved magnificence.” As the title suggests, Jack is a loner. Alienation is choice reflected in the band’s music and attitude (they don’t interact with each other or the audience while they perform, lest they allow impurities into their noise), but Jack comes to see other people like the stars in the New York City sky. You can only ever see two or three, but it’s good to know that others are out there. The novel drives toward that lesson in a fast and furious journey that, fortunately, is more coherent than the music Jack plays.

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Thank you to Netgalley, the publisher and the author, for an ARC of this book, in exchange for an honest review.
The synopsis of this book sounded interesting to me so I requested a copy to read.
Unfortunately, I have tried reading this book on 2 separate occasions and during this 2nd attempt, I have
decided to stop reading this book
and state that this book just wasn't for me.
I wish the author, publisher and all those promoting the book much success and connections with the right readers.

This was my first foray with this author and I'm so sad it didn't work for me. I wasn't feeling the humor, never connected with the MC. I honestly didn't like him much. The ragtag cast of characters he chases around and bumps in to all along the story were colorful but didn't feel developed. Maybe it was the timeframe but I just never caught the rhythm of this story to really enjoy it. I wish I had - I would have loved a funny, suspense filled read.

A huge thank you to the author and publisher for providing an e-ARC via Netgalley. This does not affect my opinion regarding the book.

set in 1990s New York, Jack (a riff on Jack Shit) is a musician. When the frontman of his band goes missing, he goes on a quest to find him.

The writing style here was not for me. It was a bit stream of consciousness for my taste, but that is a personal preference! If you like that style, then this book will probably appeal more to you than me.

The 90s was a really great part of my life. I was in college. I was out on my own and becoming my own person. I have a joke that everyone was in a band in the 90s. This book proves that point. However, the characters in this book were the posers who didn’t really get it. In a time of re-opening of minds, the youth vote, and bands with a real understanding of what it was punk was trying to say without just immitating it, there were a lot of posers who just wanted to be loud. This is a book about them.

This was not my lens of the decade, so maybe that’s why I rolled my eyes through a good portion of it. I got so tired of the language trying so hard to be cool. To paraphrase an actual good band from that time-trying to look like they didn’t try. I found it all so silly….and low. Just the name the lead character has chosen for himself, not to mention the rest of the band, kept me from really connecting with this book. I rounded up half a star just for the nostalgic references sprinkled throughout.