I read this twice and a subsequent reading caused me to re-consider my opinion. My new review is here, but just for the heck of it -- and because my original review still raises valid criticisms -- I'm also posting my original, less favourable review below. But after you read it, check out my revised opinion.

Fortunate Son is an atypical Batman adventure. The story concerns a rock and roll star, Izaak Crowe, who seems to be suffering from a breakdown and/or substance abuse, which, after he blows up some private property, sends him on a weird odyssey, encountering spectral apparitions of dead rock stars, all the while he's becoming the focus of a grassroots movement-cum-rampage of fans. Batman and Robin become involved in the police hunt for Crowe, but with differing agendas. Robin's a fan who wants to save Crowe, while Batman is obsessively determined that Crowe -- and all rock musicians -- are unstable psychos and need to be stopped. Batman believes Crowe is just out-of-control, while Robin is convinced Crowe is being manipulated by outside forces who are manufacturing Crowe's hallucinations for their own agenda.

If writer Gerard Jones' execution matched his ambition, this could've been a great read. Unfortunately, it doesn't.

There are a lot of problems with Fortunate Son. For one thing, it seems all dressed up but with nowhere to go. Jones wants to explore the mythic, almost pseudo-religious aspects of rock -- Crowe is visited by the ghost of the "God" of rock, a thinly disguised version of the "King", Elvis Presley -- but Jones fails to answer what function the music really fullfils in its fans. Instead of being a profound exploration of the music and, by extension, the soul of Western Culture, the story is reduced to endless quoted snippits from old rock songs that, if anything, serve to make the music seem puerile rather than profound. Even Crowe's signature song, with its refrain of this "ain't what I ordered" fails to stir the blood, or mind (with apologies to Jones who maybe wants to be a lyricist).

And though I'm sure there are still Bible Belt communities where the old "Rock is the Devil's music" debate still wages, for most people, the story will read like something that might've been topical, say, forty years ago, but now just seems quaint. Having a thirtysomething guy like Batman rant against rock just seems...archaic, whatever the psychological justification Jones' provides. Maybe Crowe should've been a rap star, rather than a rock star.

At times, the story seems like Jones had read Steve Darnall and Alex Ross' Uncle Sam -- with its title character wandering through dream like encounters with infamous episodes in American history, while historical quotes echo in his head -- and wanted to do the same thing as a rock odyssey. If so, he doesn't pull it off with the same edge, or anecdotal expertise, never chronicling the history of rock the way you think maybe he's trying to.

All that could be forgiven if the basic narrative was more compelling, or convincing. But Jones -- like too many modern comic writers who are convinced of their own genius and insight -- puts his themes and symbols ahead of any nuts and bolts narrative. Batman and Robin's conversations are reduced to dogmatic and repetitive debates about the pros and cons of the music, rather than any interplay that really convinces you these two are family who hang out together, eat dinner together, etc. They've been reduced to symbols, rather than people. I didn't expect that from Jones whose early '90s work on Green Lantern, though not always great on plot, portrayed people as people.

The story tries to be a psychological analysis of Batman, as we learn why -- well, sort of -- he has such a hate on for rock n' roll. But since Jones fails to make Batman a believeable, human figure, it's a psychological analysis of a straw figure. Jones isn't alone in this. Ironically, ever since comicdom embraced the notion that Batman was a psychologically complex character, it seems Batman as a character has been reduced to more and more cardboard dimensions (I guess to make it easier for "profound" writers to "analyze" him). Not to mention being rendered an increasingly unappealing, compassionless character...the last person on earth who should be taking the law into his own hands.

For a 90 page story, the plot's pretty straight forward, with little in the way of great scenes, or surprise twists. There are a limited number of characters, so it's not hard to guess who's manipulating Crowe. There are lapses in logic (like Batman turning a man over to the police...when it's unclear how Batman knew he was involved in the crimes!) and it stretches plausibility to the breaking point, particularly in the question of just what of Crowe's visions are real and what are hallucinations. As well, the story fails to convincingly create the sense of this swelling, grassroots movement that has the authorities in such a panic. As noted earlier, Jones spends a lot of time expounding, without actually providing any genuine insight. There's also a feeling that the whole story crosses back and forth between whether it's meant to be taken literally or symbolically, like a visit to Arkham Asylum that seems more like a dream sequence than anything credible.

Nonetheless, there's a saving grace in the end revelation as to the villain's motive (which explains the story's title). But it's not enough to salvage the rest.

Maybe I'm just not as "in" to rock as Jones is, because I really wasn't sure what his point was. Though I did better than some. If you don't "get" the lyric references, or recognize some of the thinly disguised celebrities who appear, the story will make even less sense (I know, 'cause I talked to someone who just found the whole book confusing). And Jones' seeming embracing of the rock martyr myth ("It's better to burn out than it is to rust," as Neil Young once sang) is actually a little...disturbing. I wouldn't want to be a rock star whom Jones happened to idolize.

Gene Ha's art is a mixed bag. On one hand it's good, bordering on photo-realistic at times, particularly in faces. At other times, it's just competent work, hurt by a stiffness to the expressions and figures that can sap some of the energy out of the scenes. His heavy inks and Gloria Vasquez's dark colours also lend the story an excessively oppressive air.

I had been sort of looking forward to this, precisely because its premise seemed to promise a change from the super-villain heavy, mob-reliant stories that have become Batman's bread and butter. I thought it might be a throwback to Bat-tales from the late-'60s when writers like Frank Robbins and Mike Friedrich tried to root Batman in a less garish, more realistic world of social turmoil and mysteries. In fact, reading this story put me in mind of the much better, semi-classic tale, "The Cry of Night is -- Kill!" (originally published in Detective Comics #387, but reprinted a few times over the years) in which Batman and Robin are also at odds over whether an anti- establishment, hippy-type character is a criminal or not. But in those days, Batman was the Liberal hero, more prone to siding with the radical, while in Fortunate Son, Batman comes across as a reactionary thug.