Desolation

April 1, 2024
Lamb of God guitarist Morton debuts with a bruising personal history of music and addiction. Growing up in the 1970s and ’80s, Morton spent his childhood in suburban Virginia skateboarding, watching MTV, and grappling with body image anxieties that drove him to start using drugs and drinking to fit in. He found punk rock music in his early teens and began playing in bands. In the mid-1990s, he formed Lamb of God (initially known as Burn the Priest), a heavy metal group known for its chaotic musical style (“We were a burning car crash: jarring, unhinged, and impossible not to watch”). Rising fame led to world tours and the author’s descent into a “black hole of drugs and alcohol,” which accelerated after the death of his newborn daughter in 2009. Morton spent years seesawing between addiction and sobriety as he tried to “blot out... reality” while contending with suicidal thoughts, agonizing withdrawals, and a strained marriage. Realizing he’d begun to feel “spiritually and emotionally dead,” he hit rock bottom in 2018 and got sober. Morton writes movingly of the way pain and art are intimately linked, and has a sharp eye for the gifts afforded by sobriety, including more fully experiencing “fans’ connections to our music” at live shows. It’s a raw yet hopeful portrait of a tumultuous life.

May 1, 2024
The Lamb of God co-founder and guitarist recalls his life in heavy metal, nearly undone by addiction. Morton (b. 1972) recalls a relatively well-adjusted upbringing in Williamsburg, Virginia. Still, he had insecurities about his weight and making friends, which drew him to alcohol and marijuana as a teen. Music provided a healthier outlet for his anxieties, and he quickly found a home in Virginia's punk, hard rock, and metal scenes. By the late 1990s, his band (first called Burn the Priest) worked its way from opening for Slayer and Metallica to headlining. But as the rock clich� goes, storm clouds were brewing: Morton's alcohol consumption grew along with the band's success, and he was soon adding Oxycodone pills to the mix. In the prologue, Morton captures the depths of his abuse: In a hotel room near Madison Square Garden, where the band was set to open for Metallica, he recalls at once wrestling with his addiction and managing the trauma of the loss of his daughter, who died from complications two days after she was born. The author is a sympathetic narrator, and his storytelling reveals a few quirks: Each chapter opens with a recollection of an influential song, typically un-metal tracks by R.E.M., the Wallflowers, Son Volt, etc. Morton offers a few entertaining stories, such as an early tour with theatrical metal act Gwar and an ill-advised effort to steal poppy-plant pods from a primary school in Switzerland to feed his addiction. However, this is a fairly familiar rock memoir, replete with stinky tour buses, busted relationships, bad habits, and eventual recovery. Hardcore Lamb of God enthusiasts will appreciate Morton's candor, especially now that he has been sober for a few years. But there's little to surprise and appeal to readers beyond that group. A largely by-the-numbers tale of rock excess.

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June 1, 2024

Music memoirs and reflective titles about substance disorder can sometimes describe similar arcs. That's the case with Morton's memoir, which chronicles both his musical career, primarily as a guitarist for heavy metal band Lamb of God, and his simultaneous experiences with a substance-use disorder and recovery. It's written with the help of Ben Opipari (founder, Persuasive Matters), and it's an affecting and largely sympathetic narrative, chronicling Morton's early, heady ascent, thrilling ride, and a make-or-break moment when his music and substance use came to a head. Many things turn in Morton's life when his newborn daughter, Madalyn, dies after developing an infection during her delivery. His memoir opens with her death and then progresses chronologically. Heavy metal as a musical genre is characterized by catharsis and a propensity for melodrama, but Morton is a down-to-earth and plainspoken narrator of his own story. It concludes with an expression of gratitude for where he's managed to arrive. VERDICT A highly readable and often touching memoir about Lamb of God's guitarist and lyricist.--Genevieve Williams

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