This is one of the most unusual punk rock books I own. It was published in 2017, though I was unaware of it until about two years ago, when a friend whose thirst for minutiae is even more ravenous than mine seemed apoplectic that I had never even heard of it, let alone read it. It's a small - I'm not sure what size it is, but it's smaller than A5 - and tight 94-page novella-size book you can devour in just over an hour, and it tells the story of what happened to Roger Rogerson, the original bass player from the Circle Jerks. I had never even pondered whatever happened to him, nor had I considered the topic possibly even interesting, though I didn't know the ins and outs, and if you do have a thirst for punk rock's every single detail, you could do much worse than spend 60 minutes of your life finding out.

It's penned by J. Hunter Bennett, who also writes for Ugly Things magazine and works for real in the legal profession (even as an assistant DA in Philly!), and in essence it started out as an article for UT and then took off on a life of its own. Do you care what happened to Roger Rogerson? I always thought that Lucky Lehrer, their original drummer powerhouse, was an interesting tale, because it was well-known punk lore that he left the band for a successful career in law, though Roger's fate never even occurred to me. I mean, what happened to the second bass player from Stretch Marks? Did the drummer from Doggy Style do OK when they split? OK, now I'm just being facetious.

The band known as the Circle Jerks will always mean enough to me that I'm happy to pursue their story in some regards. They were one of the first west coast hardcore bands I ever got into (first via the Repo Man soundtrack and quick purchases of their first four albums; I bought their IV LP in 1987 the week it came out), and I even took the time and trouble (and expense) to see them play here on their debut tour late last year - and they were good. The fact that they were supporting bro-core nudniks Pennywise to make it to these shores was slightly galling for all involved, but whatever it takes - dude. Keith Morris' SoCal drawl will always have a special place in this-here heart. Deal with it.

You could argue that they were a top-heavy band who peaked early. I mean, Group Sex is one of the best punk rock discs EVER, a 15-minute note-perfect summation of the short/fast/loud skate-drink-and-fuck-shit-up vibe of the nascent and totally happening LA hardcore scene, and nothing they did thereafter really quite reached such a similar peak, but I will unashamedly vouch for any and all of their '80s albums: the flawed follow-up, Wild In The Streets (a GREAT album marred by clunky production and a bad mix, one slightly amended in more recent reissues); 1983's Golden Shower Of Hits (probably their weakest album, but you get "Coup D'Etat" and a few other belters); 1985's 'sell-out' platter, Wonderful (their big, slick "ROCK" album for the Combat Core label - one must also say that this is a GREAT, big, slick punk ROCK album); and '87's IV, in which they tried to go back to a more 4/4 straight punk-rock sound - you could make the point that they were running on fumes at this juncture, though for a 15-year-old from Melbourne, at the time (and now!), tracks like "I'm Alive" and "I Don't" (and others!) resonated deeply.

Got all this? Then there's this book. Unbeknownst to me, Roger walked out on the band in 1983 - much to their relief - and stole their van, going totally AWOL until 1996, when he breezed back into town, got in contact with Keith, Greg and Lucky and proposed they get the band back together again and become bigger than the Beatles (his actual words). This is after disappearing off the face of the earth for 13 years. His last few years in the band had been a haphazard, drug-fuelled and completely erratic nightmare for all involved, and his reemergence in LA sent off alarm bells, but they agreed to meet up a few days later, if perhaps only to indulge him. They didn't really intend to get the band back together with him: their brief foray into '90s major labeldom was a resounding failure, members had other things going on, and besides, they had a bass player already. Roger never showed up to the proposed second meeting and died later that week from a drug overdose, either on purpose or accidentally.

The Prodigal Rogerson attempts to piece together the story of Roger's life, and the most interesting aspect of the tale is his life between 1983 - 1996. His pre-CJs days still remain largely a mystery, if only because Roger was a compulsive and serial bullshitter who was later diagnosed with bipolar disorder. From the book, it's gleaned that he served in the US military from 1977 - 1979 and then went AWOL, winding up in LA during the dying days of the Masque. Musically proficient, if anything, he was a punk chancer. He came to Hollywood to be a rock star, punk rock was the big deal in town and he saw his chance. The Circle Jerks immediately became a big deal and lived the low-rent rock-star lifestyle for a number of years, and when he jumped off the gravy train in '83 (for reasons largely unknown, other than the erratic and illogical manner in which he lived his life, one derailed by serious drug addiction and alcoholism), he left the world of punk rock for some pretty crazy detours.

There's the New Wave band with General Hospital's Jimmy McNichol, the brother of actress Kirsty McNichol, a band which featured, of all people, actor Mark McClure, best known for playing Jimmy Olsen in the Christopher Reeve Superman films(!). I mean, when you think that things can't get any more ridiculous, it must be noted that he also had a hard-rock band in the '90s with Kevin Clark, younger brother of Gene Clark, called Roxx Off. In between these debacles were multiple marriages, drug binges, various jobs from truck-driving to working in guitar stores and some time spent in a psych ward.

I have said before that the mantra of this blog is to not shit on the efforts of others, and that really should extend to not shitting on the dead. It is, however, hard to conclude that the man known as Roger Rogerson (and he went by several aliases, Rogerson not being his real surname) was not an easy person to be around, and that's being very generous. A punk-rock chancer and a mystery, a self-destructive punish to all those around him, a good-time party animal who let the good times get the better of him, he was all this and more. Is this the greatest story ever told? Of course not, but if you have to read everything to do with the early west coast hardcore punk scene - and clearly I do - then it's an easy and illuminating read on a topic you probably never even considered before. Add it to the pile.