A work in progress since the 1970s, Harry Doherty’s biography of Thin Lizzy (now with a co-author credit to guitarist Scott Gorham, though his contributions seem to be minimal) seems, at first glance, to be a bit flimsy, in comparison to other rock biographies, at 176 photo-heavy pages. But as you settle into it, the book certainly feels as thorough as you would want. Perhaps less is more.

I was never a fan of Thin Lizzy. They always struck me as a band who didn’t know what they wanted to be, their hard rock sound seemingly compromised by a desire (most notably from Phil Lynott) to be down with the cool kids. At their best, they came up with incredible anthemic tracks, but listening to their classic albums (Nightlife, Fighting, Jailbreak, Johnny the Fox, Bad Reputation) when reissued earlier this year, my overwhelming feeling was still that too much of their stuff just didn’t have any impact. My efforts to review those albums were ultimately doomed because I couldn’t find anything interesting to say. But I know that Lizzy was one of those bands that attracted a devoted, fanatical following, who obviously saw something I’ve missed – possibly their live shows that do seem to have been pretty spectacular.

However, the story of Thin Lizzy is an undoubtedly fascinating one, and a remarkable cautionary tale of rock ‘n’ roll excess and the ability to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. This is the story of an Irish rock band who made it big in the 1970s through sheer bloody hard work, constantly struggling with money and albums that failed to capture the band’s sound, and doomed to suffer the most appalling luck – much of it of their own making. A constant turnover of guitarists, potentially career-defining US tours snatched from them through illness and injury, the band and their talent ultimately ravaged by drug addiction, and a determination on the part of more than one member to live the life of the rock ‘n’ roll cliché makes this story play out like some sort of grand tragedy. This is especially true of Lynott, who’s fragile talent battled his ego, his rock star pretensions, his need to be part of the fashionable elite and the drug habit that he seemed unwilling to deal with (or even admit to), and which ultimately killed him aged 37.

Doherty is obviously a devoted fan of the band, and his enthusiasm shines through here, but he’s not afraid to reveal the dark side of the band and the personality flaws of those involved (the continual turn over guitarists had a lot to do with Gorham and Lynott being so wasted that they were impossible to work with or even be around for most musicians). As a result, I didn’t feel as though there was any part of the Thin Lizzy story untold here, and the copious amount of illustrations are impressive – as is the stark cover, with its iconic black and white image and silver-embossed lettering.

This isn’t a book that makes me want to rush out and reassess the band’s back catalogue. But it is a fascinating, if not exactly happy story of determination, ambition and the price you sometimes have to pay for success.

DAVID FLINT

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