Utterly pedestrian. Even Andrew Hickey's self-published Preservation delves far more into their first and best decade. Jovanovic offers a potted assembly of the usual clippings, summaries, and interviews gleaned. But it's a woefully uncritical take, rarely bothering to analyze the music, or pay attention, as does Hickey, t0 the mimic Ray Davies and his penchant, say, for stereotypical accents and facile lyrics.
For at their best, of course, for me Face to Face in spots, 1966, through Muswell Hilbillies, 1971, the Kinks crafted stunning song cycles. Maybe imperfect, but that only deepens their charm, wit, and intelligence as depictions of postwar England's dramatic social changes, moral shifts, and cultural losses in a demolition-mad London, determined to raze the modest neighborhoods and stubborn, for better or worse, traditional ways. You'll gain precious little sense of this depth from this book's pages.
Although the opening vignette about a disastrous White City show sets the tone for their front man's dissolution well. Brother Dave gets decent attention, but original bassist Pete Quaife stays on the edges of the coverage as does longer-term drummer Mick Avory. And their replacements in the arena era don't stand out much, for as is his nature, Ray hogs the limelight. I have zero enthusiasm for the band's hits after the Seventies lurch into theatricality, so I admit my bias. But overall, the treatment like the group suffers due to the rote recital of data, the predictable content, and the drab delivery.