book review: David Bowie: Starman by Paul Trynka

“He was unique. The only singer I ever worked with where virtually every take was a master.” -Ken Scott, record producer

David Bowie’s real name was David Jones, he took the name Bowie at an early age after becoming obsessed with Jim Bowie from the film The Alamo. From then on, it seemed evident that David would transform into a million different things, each more interesting than the last.

Former editor of Mojo magazine Paul Trynka has compiled a definitive biography of Ziggy Stardust entitled David Bowie: Starman. In it, he follows the rise of one of the most interesting figures of rock n roll history. In the prologue, Trynka describes a Bowie performance as a “spectacle of not-belonging”. And thus the mood is set for the entire book, which is devoted to unearthing the secrets behind the man who hid behind so many guises.

David Bowie: Starman begins with a brief familial biography, tracing Bowie’s self-identification with alienation and schizophrenia to his mother’s family, many of whom suffered from mental illness. The book then chronicles Bowie’s first exposures to music. In 1955, when he was eight years old, the young David heard Little Richard’s “Tutti Frutti” for the first time. He says that “my heart nearly burst with excitement. I’d never heard anything even resembling this. It filled the room with energy and colour and outrageous defiance…I always wanted to be Little Richard—he was my idol.” And so our journey begins.

This biography is very interesting and extremely well written. It explains little details about Bowie’s life, like the incident that resulted in him having two differently coloured eyes (it has to do with a love triangle, and a fist fight with a friend.)

From the beginning, Bowie was determined to be a star. He wanted to be an entertainer, a singer, famous. “He boasted a bright eyed teenage confidence and reacted to every break as if it were his by right.”

When he first became a fad in the local scene at age seventeen, he was influenced by the Beat novels of the time and thus adopted a nomadic lifestyle. Many of his early performances had to do with showmanship, and often lacked any singing at all. David Bowie, therefore, has always been determined to be a performer and entertainer above all else. Therefore, his artistic expression was never limited to music, but rather embodied a vast spectrum of experimentation, from his pansexual nature to his glamourized multi-media dance performances.

Bowie would charm woman after woman and in true hippie fashion, explore the world without being anchored by a job or having to worry about paying rent. He was a delightful addition to all social circles, and his peers would seek his presence without expecting anything in return but the pleasure of his company.

This book is thorough and detailed with respects to the intricate relationships which drove Bowie’s career, from Calvin Lee to Iggy Pop to Mick Ronson to Lou Reed. Trynka delves into these relationships through extensive narratives from the people closest to Bowie during all periods of his life, exploring not only his musical career but the accompanying drug addictions, sexual experimentation and his unparalleled influence on his fans and the entire music industry.

Bowie himself attributes his multi-faceted musical career to the fact that he was not naturally talented. He says “I forced myself to become a good songwriter. I had no natural talents whatsoever. I made a job of work at getting good.” Trynka cleverly analyzes this by stating “having built up a technique from scratch once, he could do it again”.

Even in his early years, image was everything. When he was a little boy, mothers admired how clean and well-kept he always was; as a teenager, his peers both adored and envied his unique sense of style and glamour. According to Scott Richardson, for Bowie, being a performer was “I’ll do anything, play anything, say anything, wear anything to become a star, and there’s nothing wrong with that. And there was a tremendous hunger on the part of the audience for it too.”

For any devoted fan of David Bowie’s music, this book is a must read. It brings much needed perspective to the man who has fascinated generation after generation of young kids and adults alike, and influenced bands in every genre.

David Bowie: Starman was released today. Buy it on AMAZON

book review: Innerviews by Anil Prasad

Fans read interviews in music magazines to find out what makes their favourite musicians tick, or what factors might have contributed to a recent release. They revel in intimate details because, in a strange way, it allows them to possess their favourite artists.
Innerviews is not like that in the least. Anil Prasad’s new book, which is essentially an anthology of his unpublished interviews with various musicians over the last decade, gives more insight into musicianship than it does to dirty laundry. It’s the antithesis of your typical journalistic work; Prasad explores the bounds of making music with a few fundamental questions. Although the artists whom Prasad features (Stanley Clarke, Bjork, Joe Zawinul to name a few) are not currently in the spotlight, their words offer invaluable details about the process of making music (particularly when they answer Prasad’s standard question of what spirituality means to them). Everything from writing soundtracks to the preference of playing old songs vs new is discussed, and the book teaches a lot more about music history and the industry rather than oft-limited personal stories. Jazz, pop, electronica, hip hop, world music—it’s all here. Prasad, who founded the internet’s first online music magazine (innerviews.org) in 1994 has crafted a gem for anyone who loves music itself, not just a particular artist or genre.

Recommended for musicians and music geeks.

The book will be available on October 19th, and you can order it HERE

book review: Yvonne Prinz - The Vinyl Princess

Following a 16 year old semi-reclusian vinyl junkie named Allie, The Vinyl Princess perfectly encapsulates the diminishing appreciation for musical integrity, specifically in the LP form. Raised by a freethinking Berkeley scholar mother, Allie is more conscious to the world around her than her peers, and, being the daughter of a drummer, she also has a deep respect and love for the musical greats, across all genres.

The book records her new and exciting journey into the world of music blogging; she begins to give her two cents on thevinylprincess.com and in a fanzine with the same name while she works full-time at her favourite store, Bob & Bob’s Records (named for Marley and Dylan, modeled after Amoeba Records, which the author co-founded).

Her insight about the joys of vinyl is incredibly accurate, and every time she puts on another record, you’ll feel a lovely shiver of understanding. The story, however, is not one dimensional, and is not fixated on her job (with its quirky workers and customers) or even her blog, but rather expands into the vivid streets of Telegraph, shenanigans with best friends, and the universal longing for similar souls in this dreary world.

Best of all, the book is really funny…and not just grin-inducing funny, either—but laugh out loud, often to tears, funny. A great read, and I am quite proud of the fact that I own almost every LP that she mentions in the book.

Let the Revolution begin.

Highly Recommended.

Buy it on AMAZON

Ryan Adams - Come Pick Me Up (vinyl rip) [mp3]
this particular track is from the Rescue Blues 7", but the original song can be found on Heartbreaker, which is mentioned in the book.

book review: Ryan Adams - Hello Sunshine

Pain can be the best fuel for art. The sweet bitterness of being lonesome translates well into both poetry and music. Ryan Adams’ phenomenal discography and debut book of poetry (Infinity Blues) exemplify this well.

Call me a single cynic, but one of my biggest pet peeves is when people you are close to fall in love. The same friends who used to join you in deploring the ridiculousness of lovey dovey people turn their backs on you and join the others. The others.

Hello Sunshine is Ryan Adams’ second book, and it has neither the intensity nor the anguished honesty of Infinity Blues. It reads like a love letter to his wife. The contentment relayed in the pages is basically career suicide for his poet self. The sober Ryan Adams—the loving husband, the non-smoker, this Ryan Adams does not interest me.

The book has its moments. “Yes” is beautiful, “A colorful ending” is vivid and lucid, and “Fruit Rotting” strikes close to the poems found in Infinity Blues. I will admit that the poems are written with the unapologetic flourish that embodies so much of why I love Ryan Adam's work. The stream of consciousness which was definitely typed up once and not edited. The purity of form. But the substance is all wrong, and all in all, the book was a disappointment.

Adams self-mockingly writes “poets smoke/now/i am really screwed/i am not smoking/damnit”, but he ends the poem triumphantly, thinking that he can still craft good poetry in this state of newfound well-being. I beg to differ. Ryan, why have you forsaken me?

“quietly, I am happy now”?!

Give me recklessness. Give me youth. Don’t give me the precursor to your memoirs as a soccer dad.

I guess he’s forgotten his own wisdom, despite having taken copious notes thereof:
“note to self don't die for anyone. note to self, don't die. note to self, don’t change for anyone. note to self don't die.”

Ryan Adams - Note to Self: Don't Die [mp3]

book review: Kill Your Friends

Kill Your Friends by John Niven is an irresistibly subversive novel which follows the nearly thirty and completely psychotic Steven Stelfox through his lonely, coke-addled days as a major label A & R exec. The title is a tad misleading, as the egotistical protagonist isn’t human enough to warrant any normal relationships—but he is so self-involved that he is completely unaware of his unnatural solitary lifestyle, or the repercussions thereof.

He rather spends all of his time and money over-indulging in prostitutes and high end clubs. When he speaks about music, it is in a deprecating manner, and he lumps every kind of artist into one group. He claims time and time again that everyone, down to the smallest indie group, is only in it for the money.

This book is like a twentieth century reinvention of American Psycho in a British record label suit. Steven will have you laughing against your better judgment at his cynical observations, and worse yet, at his maniacal boldness. He goes to every length imaginable to protect his own lifestyle. He is a nasty, horrible excuse for a human being: a sex-addict murderer unaware of his own lunacy. He will offend you time and time again, but you will not be able to put the book down. Steven will easily become one of the most unforgettable literary characters you have ever encountered.

This is the ultimate satire, and a must read for any music lover, not in spite of, but because of Steven’s many ludicrous claims about music and art. Look at it this way: you’ll only walk away a stronger, more resilient music lover if you can look past Steven calling “Paranoid Android” an awful song. And if you can’t, well, I can’t say I blame you.

Recommended.

the book was released in 2008, and you can buy it on AMAZON

Talking Heads - Psycho Killer [mp3]

book review: Juliet, Naked

The age old aphorism tells us not to judge a book by its cover.
Well, I am kind of ashamed (both as a teacher and as a lover of music/books/High Fidelity) to admit that I judged this book--not by its cover, but by its title.

It seemed like a really stupid title the first time I heard it, and it got me so disinterested that I only got around to reading the book last week, even though it was released in September.

Little did I know that the title was not referring to some naked lady, but rather, to a stripped down version of a fictional album. And, having read the book, I have to say, the title is perfect.
Juliet, Naked is consistently, beautifully, Nick Hornby. It fuels that little need we crazed music fans have of being reassured: it's not so bad being single. Our record collections keep us company, and, indeed, are often the driving force behind many a break up.

How can we love somebody who can't appreciate our most intense musical loves? Well, it goes both ways. I guess some people are sick of people like us--people who obsess over every little detail of (what seems to them is just) some band. Juliet, Naked gives voices to all of our exes, all of the ones who just didn't get what all of the fuss is about.

The story follows two men who fallen from grace, through the eyes of the woman and album which tie them together.

One, Duncan, had spoiled 15 years of his girlfriend Annie's life with mediocrity and childlessness.

The other, Tucker Crowe (modeled after Bob Dylan) had been lounging around for about the same amount of time--after the release of his groundbreaking breakup album Juliet and his subsequent abandonment of musicianship.

Both men had fallen from grace, and are united by two things--the first being Annie and the second: Juliet, the album which Tucker disregards as proof of his own sham as a human being.

The world of fiction gives us the happy coincidence that this is the very album which Duncan had been obsessively poring over for years. He creepily cites himself as a "Croweologist", and posts a gushing review of the recently released acoustic session version of the album, which they dub Juliet Naked. Meanwhile, he had been neglecting his live-in girlfriend Annie, who thinks that Naked is a piece of shit, and says so in a scathing review which she posts on the website dedicated to Crowe. This review just happens to be the thing which gets Tucker's fire going again. And so continues the delicate relationship between our hearts and our ears, and the effects we unknowingly bestow on those whom we love--or, sometimes, those who make the music in the first place.

The one criticism I have of this book is that there are a few moments when there are too many characters involved (specifically the hospital scenes with all of Tucker's children). Hornby is best when he observes two or three characters in detail, which he does throughout most of the book. Other than that, I really loved it. It's honest about the mess that is the human heart, and it resonates so well with the music enthusiasts which it offhandedly criticizes.

Back to to my opening thought of "don't judge a book by its cover". The most ironic thing of it all is the fact that I actually really love the cover of this book. It's one of those double images things. I didn't pick up on it until I saw the book in front of me (initially, I only saw the headphones). So it goes to show you, you really should never judge a book by something as arbitrary as its cover--or its title.

I really recommend taking a break from your crazy musical fandom and taking the time to read this book if you haven't already. It'd make a great gift too, if you're still stumped on any xmas gifts.

Regina Spektor - Apres Moi [mp3]

buy the book on AMAZON

book review: That Summertime Sound

It’s rare that you come across a novel so honest, so amplified, so relatable as That Summertime Sound. The story follows a nineteen year old college student during his summer adventures through the music culture of Ohio in the 80’s, as he experiences things that all music lovers can relate to.

Obsessed with a local band called Lords of Oblivion, the narrator desperately clings to their measly two 45s as divine inspiration. He is determined to meet the deliverer of truth—the band’s lead singer Nic Devine. What ensues is a rollercoaster of fresh perspective through a genuinely original story.

In short, this is a book that Chuck Klosterman should have written. I am a HUGE fan of Mr. K, and adore all of his non-fiction, but when I finished reading his first novel (Downtown Owl), I wanted to send him an angry letter telling him never to write fiction ever again, because he is damn awful at it. I was expecting a story grounded in music, with love et al. as a secondary thing, what I got was the opposite.

With That Summertime Sound, Matthew Specktor has achieved what I wanted Klosterman to fulfill. The book is riddled with abundant musical references—sometimes obscure, sometimes mainstream, and sometimes esoteric. Chapters are titled with song lyrics or titles, reminding me of how I used to title my own journal entries in high school. The narrator does not hide his disdain for his girlfriend’s favourite artist—Elvis Costello, whom he deems a phony, unworthy of the name he “stole” from the King. He talks about Grand Funk Railroad incessantly. He speaks of mix tapes and drugs, of girls and backlash from people who do not understand the sanctity of music. And with him, the reader discovers many shocking things, such as the mortality of our musical heroes. The story is as timeless as David Bowie.

Specktor’s first novel delivers a very powerful kind of musical description, only capable of being uttered by a person who worships a certain band. For example, the narrator describes a Lord of Oblivion song as one that “drew blood it was so urgent.” It'll make you stop and reminisce about your own favourite bands, and how powerfully their art affects you.

My favourite thing about the book was how the narrator’s perspective changed as he looked into the stories behind the music that he so desperately loved. He began to realize that while singles are the perfect form of delivering a powerful shot of musical glory, they might just be a way to hide behind the fear of creating a full length album.

My only criticism is that the author tries a little too hard to create memorable themes, such as “summertime adventures” or the namelessness of the narrator. In my opinion, he could have done it a bit more subtly. But that’s it. The book is great, and you won’t be able to put it down.

That Summertime Sound is prose of the highest form—irresistibly delectable and close to your heart. It’s the kind of novel that I wish I could have written, and that is a critic’s highest praise.

buy the book on AMAZON