Seb Hunter was a heavy metal fan and he's not proud. In fact, he was more than a fan; he was a blind devotee who threw away his education and future prospects to become a rock star. Hell Bent for Leather is his toe-curlingly funny confession of fifteen years spent trying to hit the big time -- taking readers on a (very loud) musical journey from first guitar (his dad's) to first gig, and on through groupies, girlfriends, too many drugs, spiraling egos, musical differences, and, finally, the end of the dream and a much needed haircut. Along the way, Seb offers a crash course in the way of heavy metal, with choice illustrations. You will learn to spot a Fender Telecaster from a Gibson Flying V, Thrash Metal from Glam Metal, and "the Priest" from "the Gunners." Hell Bent for Leather, with a wink and a nod, will also show you how to play a drum solo, wear spandex and white leather sneakers, and exactly what to do in the middle of a muddy field when you are surrounded by a mob of screaming metalheads and you desperately need to relieve yourself. But Seb Hunter's memoir, more than anything, is a moving story of adolescence, of playing air guitar in your bedroom, of living with parental disapproval, and of struggling for acceptance among friends when you carry a shameful secret obsession. It is an affectionate and irreverent memoir told with the nostalgia inspired by a love letter to an old flame.