Who is killing the great hipper-than-thou of Brooklyn? Well, the guy in the Iron Maiden shirt, of course, but that’s not the point. What is the point of Rayo Casablanca’s 6 SICK HIPSTERS is that the pop-culturally elite aren’t safe – not the LP collector, underground filmmaker, album cover painter nor performance artist. And certainly not the comic-book store clerk who meets his demise for being unable to name six VOLTRON characters in two minutes.

But the title of this raucous debut novel refers to the group of guys who aim to solve this most twisted serial-killer streak. Among them is a rocker who looks like Jesus, but the protagonist is Harrison, who writes science-based pornography.

During one of their meetings, they decide they can track down this unique murderer, and knitting-crazy riot grrrl Beth Ann gets roped into helping, despite dealing with premature macular degeneration. When the trail narrows, the group hires gang members – Tank the Niggatron among them – to take the sucka down.

And that leads to a deadly baboon named Faggot. Hey, you’re going to have to trust me on that one.

The joke of the jokey 6 SICK HIPSTERS, of course, is that it is the definition of hip itself. If the phrase “Beggars Banquet” means nothing to you beyond the Rolling Stones, this is not the novel for you. Casablanca’s comic crime tale is a free-for-all down Cool Entertainment Lane, with brief stopovers to reference such disparate subjects as the late Andy Sidaris, CEREBRUS, Manly Wade Wellman and THE WARRIORS, to name but a precious few.

Much of the name-dropping takes place in the music department, unsurprisingly. Really, this is one novel that should come with its own soundtrack disc: Ladytron, Front 242, Sisters of Mercy, This Mortal Coil … and there are tons more where that come from.

I don’t need to tell you that the book leans heavily on the crazy side. Certainly, you’re not bound to read anything else this year quite like it. Until the final confrontation, when the tonal wind shifts toward more serious waters, it’s an engaging, knowing and purposely fucking nuts of a satiric novel. –Rod Lott

Buy it at Amazon.

“And when they got into Harrison’s office they fucked as though they’d never fucked before. … He found his way under her dress and felt her nipples stiffen beneath the pads of her bra. … Beth Ann groaned and surged. Her hands found his prick and she grabbed it tight, squeezed. He had her panties. Pulled. Stretched. Found a way to get his fingers inside her. … Harrison worried he was shaking her retinas loose.”