Here is an excerpt from the book at a key moment during Jesse's final concert, which may give you more of a feel for him and the book and therefore the kind of cover we are looking for...
"Then a woman in stonewashed jeans and a loose fitting wine coloured blouse tied at the back slipped on to the stage carrying something, something cloaked in a cloth. She walked steadily, easily in Jesse’s direction. A few wolf-whistles followed her out. Annie put her arm on Jesse’s shoulder and disappeared into the deep green of his eyes. He was hurting, something inside was breaking, she could see it. She hadn’t seen the woman in the front row, the one that looked so much like his mother, who had sent him reeling deep into another place that might have been, dim echoes not of death but of hay and lambs and verses of “sugar at summertime.” It didn’t matter. Now the whole world was only Jesse and her.
Annie rested the object she was carrying on the stage, beside him, then stood and began unbuttoning his shirt, slowly, letting the buttons slip free, one by one, until it fell loose and un-peeled from his body and into her hands. Her gaze never left him and the audience stayed with them, respectful of the moment and what passed between them. Bunching the shirt, she gently dabbed his brow then his cheeks and his chest, stroking away the sweat as a master painter might dust in the last lashes of a masterpiece. It was a provocative act, outrageous and sensual and infamous. It was an act of pure love.
The tattoo on Jesse’s chest, the flying red horse, reared on its hind legs before her, her smile confused, seeking explanation. Jesse leaned forward and whispered, “soon Annie, soon, at the sign of the flying red horse,”, and placed her palm over the tattoo, his heart. I understand, she smiled, as if she did, then reached down and unwrapped the object. It was another guitar, swathed in a fresh, clean shirt. Annie handed Jesse the shirt and he threaded in his arms and let if fall loosely about him, unbuttoned, cool, refreshing. Then she lifted the guitar and served it to him as a pursuivant of arms might lift a ceremonial sword to a monarch. It was beautiful, uncorrupted; gilded and golden. A Maton Goldline 750, blonde and red, shapely, delicious and one of only two hundred made. Jesse, surprised, lost for words, managed a mimed “thank you”. Dinger squeezed out an admiring drum roll, the rest of the boys just swooned."
The photo below reflects the streetscape of 1960s Melbourne.