Richard, by Ben Myers. It's a fictionalised version of the last known days of Richey Edwards (of the Manic Street Preachers- even though much of their recorded output recently has been arse, The Holy Bible is one of my all-time favourite records, and at the time I was in a pretty bad place myself and identified with his shit quite a lot, so I had to check it out, really). Much in the vein of David Peace's The Damned United, I guess, and to start with it kind of annoyed me how much Myers was so obviously trying to write like Peace... but it kinda works, and he does it well, and Peace is such an awesome writer you can't really blame anyone for being inspired (I'm probably just cross because I've tried writing like Peace and it just hasn't worked. Myers is better at it than me- trufax).
There's still something weird about writing a book about the guy in the first person, and I wonder how his family/friends/bandmates feel about it- it's written with empathy and compassion, though, and it's not to my mind needlessly offensive.
All that said, though, I'm gripped, and fascinated, and it's a really, really good book. As much for the brilliantly chaotic flashback scenes about the band as for the intimate, measured internal monologue that forms the book's backbone.