Think of Spinal Tap, only birthed in the foul bowels of hell. Think Black Sabbath but meaner. Think of heavy metal audiences throwing up the sign of the devil horns, only this time the horns are real. This is a divergent tale of life imitating art imitating hellish reality. The book jacket describes the tale here: "Lucifer is a trip through an alternate universe...with the heaviest group that never existed. Lucifer is not only the story of one man's passionate affair with music, but also a romantic odyssey between lovers who had no limits. The story follows Randy from childhood to present-day, along with Whilma, the girl of his dreams: an unearthly beauty who undergoes a transformation from prostitute in the red light district of Copenhagen to a world-renowned songstress, academy award-winning actress, and celebrity."

If it sounds like this book has everything, it does. It relates a beautiful and mournful tale of a young man searching for himself and finally finding that identity in the vocal harmonies of the Beach Boys and the plucking strings of Paul McCartney's bass. The narrative runs through fiction and butts up against reality. There are mentions of Marshall amps and bands like Mountain, the Rolling Stones; the Fillmore and more legendary artists and places are name-checked. The Doors are cited when the main character sees him in the street in Paris.

I froze. Could it be him? By himself, in Paris? The Door's new album was shaping up to be a comeback for them when we'd left the States. To me, he was one of, it not THE biggest star in rock. Randy [Holden, character in book] actually knew him. They'd played the same clubs in California in '66-'67.

The guy with his back to me whipped around. We stood face to face, two feet apart. It was Jim Morrison. He almost fell, got his balance, and smiled crazily.