December 2, 2003
By Derek Miner
There’s a famous saying that goes, “Writing about music is like dancing about architecture.” Most people end up arguing about who first said this (no, I don’t know either) rather than discussing the point (the emotional component of music can’t be put into words). Well, I think the point is bunk, and I’ve read the evidence to back it up.
VH-1 be damned, I do not love the ‘70s. But if I have to read about music from the era, it might as well be filtered through the mind of Lester Bangs, the famed rock critic re-introduced to many through Cameron Crowe’s flick, ALMOST FAMOUS.
Not everything in MAINLINES, BLOOD FEASTS, AND BAD TASTE (subtitled A LESTER BANGS READER), edited by John Morthland ($15.00, Anchor Books) is about music, but most of it ties into music eventually. Music was obviously a passion for Bangs, whose rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle is something of a peripheral character in this collection.
The book leads off with excerpts from Bangs’ writings from the late ‘60s. It’s a bit of a gamble to begin with this stuff, which, to be honest, is not what most people are expecting. But it’s worth reading to get a handle on Lester’s attitude and style. Musings inspired by the shootings of Andy Warhol and Bobby Kennedy reveal a no-bullshit attitude and a drive to write. There’s also a disturbingly vivid recounting of a gangbang with the participants characterized by their heavy dialects.
In a previous Bangs collection (PSYCHOTIC REACTIONS AND CARBURETOR DUNG), I was drawn to a manic energy that could insist (at length) that some funky vinyl cast-off was an undiscovered gem and have you believe it. There is less of that in MAINLINES, BLOOD FEASTS, AND BAD TASTE, which primarily opts for shorter album reviews and pointed musical essays, but these pieces have their own charms.
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Bangs often eschewed traditional formats and gave material his own spin. I was particularly intrigued how he transcended the typical “question and answer” interview format. One particularly notable review paints uber-wholesome Anne Murray as a sex goddess. Among the longer pieces, I was intrigued by a diatribe against Bob Dylan and his ode to mobster Joey Gallo, complete with historical annotations. In fact, there’s more thoughtful analysis here than I expected. Pieces on the Rolling Stones, Jim Morrison and Black Sabbath particularly stand out.
“Some of his most spontaneous and explosive writing came when Lester was plopped down in a relatively new or foreign place and simply turned loose to record what he saw and heard,” Morthland suggests in the book’s introduction. Indeed, the collection’s highlight is a 40-page piece where Bangs travels to Jamaica, ostensibly to interview Bob Marley. The article paints a revealing picture of the culture and politics of the country, which puts to shame all the over-simplified reggae culture foisted upon us by marketing execs. Lester exposes the roots of such things in his conversations with record company execs trying desperately to sound hip. Bangs is sympathetic to the plight of the people of Jamaica and reverent of their culture, but he seems to hint at some hypocrisy within the ranks of reggae’s hit makers. The actual interview with Marley recreates the man’s dialect and lengthy pauses in print, which seems either an attempt to paint the moment more vividly, or, (as I felt) an exaggeration meant to puncture an inflated ego.
Despite the inventiveness of Lester Bangs’ writing, it takes a persistent (and perhaps stubborn) person to read MAINLINES, BLOOD FEASTS, AND BAD TASTE cover to cover. I certainly grew tired of a few sections and skipped around. As Morthland rightly points out “some of these pieces probably couldn’t even get published in today’s fringier periodicals.” Even the most straightforward writings from the book exhibit a stream-of-consciousness flow and “anything goes” mentality that are increasingly uncommon in music writing today (even on the Internet).
Unwittingly proving that point is Jim DeRogatis, who is coincidentally connected to Lester Bangs as the author of a biography called LET IT BLURT. DeRogatis is also a music journalist, currently in residence at the Chicago Sun-Times. MILK IT! ($17.95, Da Capo Press), subtitled COLLECTED MUSINGS ON THE ALTERNATIVE MUSIC EXPLOSION OF THE ‘90S, is his first collection of writings.
It is perhaps unfair to compare DeRogatis’ writing to Bangs’ because they exist in different environments. As John Morthland points out in the introduction to the Bangs collection, rock writing has had to adapt toward “the music industry’s notion of publicity rather than toward journalism and/or criticism.” Considering the new paradigm, DeRogatis is entertaining and capable in his own right, but in a more straightforward fashion.
MILK IT! leads off with sections devoted to the most recognizable icons of the ‘90s music scene: Nirvana, Courtney Love, Pearl Jam and Smashing Pumpkins. The placement seems to be dictated by legend here; the lead-off Nirvana and Courtney Love sections are interesting, but not the strongest material in the book. Still, there’s plenty of ammunition for both supporters and detractors of Love -- anyone who saw her take over MTV2 for 24 hours can understand why DeRogatis decided it best to just excerpt some of
her choice comments. There’s even less of interest about Pearl Jam, though I suspect this is because (as DeRogatis notes) the band is wary of the press. His reviews of their albums (particularly Yield) offer more in the way of analysis. The Smashing Pumpkins stories are much more intriguing, forming a loose hero’s journey for leader Billy Corgan.
Once past the front third of the book, things get a bit more interesting. DeRogatis’ chapters are much more effective combining individual pieces on similar artists, rather than revisiting the same individuals over the years. Particularly interesting is a section on the British scene which provides a great introduction to Creation Records, as well as reviews of a couple of the label’s signature bands (My Bloody Valentine and Ride). A section on underground pioneers rounds up Lou Reed, Brian Eno, Patti Smith, Pere Ubu and Kraftwerk, among others. There are also chapters on female artists and “freaks and geeks” that don’t quite fit the typical genres.
A foreword to MILK IT! by Keith Moerer suggests DeRogatis can be “Loud, obnoxious, [and] frequently wrong.” On the back cover, Courtney Love suggests he “can sometimes be a dick.” I found him quite reasonable, actually. He’s certainly not as caustic as critic Robert Christgau, for instance. But toward the back of the book, DeRogatis’ dark side peeks out. A series of three pieces of R.E.M. highlights the band’s shift away from what made them originally so compelling. The third of these is quite critical, but to DeRogatis’ credit, I don’t believe the words “sell out” ever came up. Then there’s the case of “Hootiegate,” which must be read to be believed (all this trouble over one Rolling Stone record review!). The most interesting stuff comes from the chapter “Unrepentant Hypes and Fabulous Frauds,” which includes a scathing put-down of N.W.A.’s Niggaz4Life and a thoroughly entertaining one-on-one with Third Eye Blind’s Stephan Jenkins where the singer demands to defend himself against bad reviews. The section concludes with a piece called “My Britney Problem -- And Yours,” which made me glad someone else out there isn’t content to ignore the disgusting corporate charade that is Britney Spears.
MILK IT! suffers a bit from being a compilation of journalism. Three separate articles on Nirvana make reference to the same Kurt Cobain interview. And, as dictated by the corporate constraints previously noted, some of the pieces seem perfunctory and lack detail. The final chapter offers up some opinion pieces (including a dead-on indictment of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame) that are more suited to anthologizing.
A much simpler form of anthology can be found in Nick Hornby’s SONGBOOK (Riverhead Books, $13.00 paperback; McSweeney’s Books, $26.00 hardcover). Hornby will likely be forever tied to music geek culture by his novel HIGH FIDELITY, but as evidenced by SONGBOOK, it’s an association he’s happy to carry.
SONGBOOK contains 26 essays covering 31 songs (The paperback adds some material, but lacks the hardcover’s CD with 11 of the tunes discussed and lavish design modeled after a mix tape). Rather than “time-and-place connections” with songs, these pieces
explore various associations we have with music in general. Nelly Furtado’s “I’m Like A Bird” leads to discussion of disposable pop as a good thing. A comparison of Suicide’s “Frankie Teardrop” and Teenage Fanclub’s “Ain’t That Enough” asks why music must be edgy or dangerous to be considered worthwhile. Tunes by Ian Dury and Richard & Linda Thompson beg the question of what music truly represents England. None of Hornby’s song choices stick out as clichéd or obvious (the closest he comes is perhaps Bruce Springsteen’s “Thunder Road”). The issue of familiarity does come up, though; an entertaining discussion centers on how Bob Dylan’s “Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window?” and The Beatles’ “Rain” offer glimpses of work by artists that often lose context from overexposure.
All of this flows together like a novel, or perhaps a lecture (in the good sense) on various musical topics. Hornby’s style is inviting and humorous. His parenthetical asides and digressions may be pointed, but they’re clever without being cruel. The book also offers some personal reminiscences both lighthearted (the importance of K-Mart to a young English kid set loose in the U.S.) and poignant (a couple of tunes take on new meaning to Hornby as a parent to an autistic child). In other words, the personality, humor and love of music that endeared HIGH FIDELITY to many (myself included) are quite evident in SONGBOOK.
So now we’re back to that matter of writing about music and dancing about architecture. Hornby’s book is perhaps the best example to counter that platitude, but Lester Bangs and Jim DeRogatis hold their own. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a ballet about Frank Lloyd Wright I must see.
Derek Miner wishes to point out that writing about writing about music is like watching someone dance about architecture.
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