By now, any music fan who has paid any attention has at least a cursory knowledge of the way the industry works. Bands get signed to labels, they get advances against which any and all expenses related to their careers are counted, and they usually end up making a fraction of what their efforts actually earned, if they make anything at all. From Steve Albini's oft-circulated Baffler piece "The Problem with Music," to the myriad stories from bands like the Jayhawks who saw huge recording and promotional budgets ensure that they'd never see a dime from their recordings, it's a wonder anybody still tries to make it big.

Jen Trynin took a shot at the big time in the early 1990s, deciding she was tired of playing the Sunday to Wednesday night female singer-songwriter circuit, she toughened up her sound, formed a band, and found herself the subject of a major-label bidding war. Warner Brothers won, showering her with the kind of contract most artists only dream of, and re-released her self-release disc, Cockamamie. They smelled a hit in the catchy slacker anthem "Better Than Nothing," but when that failed to catch fire -- and Trynin seemed incapable or unwilling to properly play the game -- their interest waned. The follow-up, Gun Shy Trigger Happy, earned rave reviews, but it too sank and she was dropped.

That would be the end of the story for most, but for Trynin, it is only the beginning. Or rather, the story in its entirety, told in her fantastic new book, All That I'm Cracked Up to Be. It's a fascinating look at the music business from the inside, a warts and all tale that leaves no one unscathed, least of all its author. Trynin is viciously self-critical, pointing out infidelities, missed opportunities and the many times she was given the choice of doing something to further her career and decided otherwise. Ever wonder why the cost of music is so high, or why seemingly successful bands get off the tour bus and go back to work at McDonalds? You won't after reading this.

What makes this such a compelling read -- beyond Trynin's obvious gift with words and her unerring ear for dialogue and detail -- is that this comes not from a success who is recounting the early, lean years, but from someone who tried, failed and moved on. It's a rare vantage point from which to see the industry, a rare glimpse behind the curtain in a way that rounds out what we know about how major labels operate.

The key line comes about a quarter of the way in, when a A&R person from Maverick Records tells Trynin that they probably won't make an offer because they just signed another rock chick, and the market being what it is, it would be hard to promote two at the same time. That other rock chick, of course, is Alanis Morissette, and she is like a shadow star of the book, her success seemingly dogging Trynin's every step. Veruca Salt, Liz Phair and Aimee Mann (who suffered her own major label woes but persevered long enough to triumph) also offer interesting points of comparison throughout.

I'm not alone in seeking out Trynin's music after reading the book, and while it does suffer at times from that mid-90s angry young woman syndrome -- odd, in this case, because the 30something Trynin recorded this on her own and claims to not have listened to popular music -- it holds up remarkably well. At one point during the tour in support of Cockamamie, she writes, she called her brother to say she wasn't having fun anymore, an obvious reason behind her decision a few years later to quit the business. While promoting the book she has begun to play her own material for the first time in years. Here's hoping things have changed and that she's having fun again. If nothing else, frightening though it is at times, her book is a blast, and highly recommended for anyone wanting to know about how things really are in the music business.