Top 10 Music Books-A List

Top Ten Music Books

Always a sucker for lists and even more so, a sucker for books about music, I’ve been pondering this for a while. Like all lists, tastes change over time and what may be my Top 10 today may be totally different tomorrow. I’m sure that there are some great books that I’ve read and forgotten about and that there are some books I should have read but haven’t just got around to as yet. Additionally, there will be many books that I have read and are staring me in the face as I type, wondering what they have done not to make this list. Don’t worry, your time will come. But for now, this is how it stands.    

10. Tricksta-Nik Cohn

I picked this up in a second-hand bookshop I think. I’d heard of Nik Cohn, but not read any of his work. It was well worth the £1.50 I spent however.  This is a tale of how, just pre-Katrina, Nik Cohn ended up in New Orleans and immersed in the small, yet amazing, sub-culture of New Orleans rap.

9. Song & Dance Man III-The Art of Bob Dylan-Michael Gray

A massive and fairly scholarly tome, concentrating upon Dylan’s writing rather than his music. I just had to have a Dylan book in here and decided to limit myself to just one. I nearly plumped for Dylan’s  autobiography but Gray’s wins out for now, purely because although it is rightly critical of Dylan where necessary, and looks at his writing over the music, cannot hide the deep love of the music.

8. This Is Serbia Calling-Matthew Collin 

Whenever I read some idiot musician pronouncing that politics have nothing to do with music (or vice versa), I want to point them in the direction of this book, all about how a group of young people kept a radio station, Radio B92, on air throughout the rule of Milosoviec and how important music was to them.

7. Rock & Hard Places-Andrew Mueller

A bit of a mixture of travel and music journalism, this is a collection of tales about music from around the world. But before you think it’s about that dread phrase, “world music”, suffice it to say that it doesn’t enter the frame. A silly Def Leppard promo jaunt in a cave in Morocco and wandering around college towns in America with Radiohead, sum up the absurdities of the music world. It’s very funny as well.

6. Renegade-Mark E Smith

As with Dylan, I had to have a book about The Fall in here. There haven’t been many great books about The Fall; possibly because it’s impossible to write about them. Dave Simpson’s “The Fallen” is an exception and on another day would (and could) probably replace this frankly, bonkers “autobiography” by MES. It is very funny though and I think that the ghost-writer must have had his work cut out.

5. Songs They Never Play on the Radio-James Young  

A dark, bleak and grimly amusing tale of being in the band that backed Nico on her last tour around Europe. Anyone who may still have any lingering doubts about the glamour of drug use and/or the majesty of Nico will be disillusioned. This is not a hatchet job however, but a book that looks at the realities of touring and working with a fading star, with respect and honour.

4. Last Train to Memphis/Careless Love-Peter Guralnick  

Bit of a cheat here, as these are two books about the rise (Last Train to Memphis) and fall (Careless Love) of Elvis Presley. The two things can’t be untwined really. And if you are going to read any book about the King of Rock and Roll, then it has to be this one. (Or two actually).

3. 45 - Bill Drummond    

Written by Drummond when he was 45, this is an autobiography about the Teardrop Explodes, Echo and the Bunnymen, The Justified Ancients of Mu Mu, The KLF, The K Foundation, burning a million quid and drinking tea. There’s more to it than just that but that’s a good start.

2. Love Is A Mixtape-Rob Sheffield 

Please don’t be put off by either the fairly awful sub-Mills & Boon/”chick-lit” title or the negative reviews on Amazon. I loved this tale of love and loss and the redemptive power of music. It might not be to everyone’s tastes, but I’d love to know what other people make of it. Still in my Top 10.

1. High Fidelity-Nick Hornby   

Not the most fashionable writer and I suppose that there’s that clichéd British thing about knocking someone down when they become (very) successful, but I still love this book (and the film as well). I’m sure that so many people have read this that there’s not much point in going on about it. Just a great book, despite everything.

       

Beyonce at Glastonbury

Beyonce at Glastonbury 2011

extracted from "Left Again at the Womble: The adventures of a middle-aged Dad working at the Glastonbury Festival "

As I sat there pondering and musing on such thoughts, I slowly noticed that more and more people were heading past me and onto the Hill. I hadn’t expected that much interest in Beyonce. I anticipated that there wouldn’t be much excitement about Pendulum who were on before her; I caught the very last few minutes of their very last song, but only drifting towards me in the air as I reached the coffee stall. I don’t think that I had missed out on an earth-shattering performance. 

I thought that if I was going to get to see a glimpse of Beyonce then it would be advisable to get a better viewing spec, although I’d need one quite near the edge of the crowd so I could beat what would no doubt be a hasty retreat. I supped my coffee off and wandered down the Hill. I did think about getting another drink; but I could get one on the way to see someone else. I’d only be there for a couple of Beyonce’s songs.

I ended up halfway down (or up) the hill, facing the centre of the stage, but with enough space around me to head back up and away. I looked around at the people near to me. There were a group of three women, I’d guess in their mid to late thirties, all ready to dance along to Beyonce. Standing with them was one bloke, who I took to either be a long-suffering partner or an extremely grumpy looking stalker. As much as they all looked to be up for Beyonce, he was at the opposite end of the spectrum. He fitted every cliché of a chap being dragged along to the shops on a Saturday afternoon while the match is on. Apart from them, the rest of the crowd appeared to be a fairly mixed bunch and certainly not what (in what must be admitted, was my somewhat blinkered and slightly snobbish predetermined view), a demographic close to the usual stadium tour audience.

The lights on the stage dimmed and the crowd grew restless with anticipation you get either at the match as it kicks off or at a large gig such as that one, I sighed the sigh of a confirmed cynic. “Here we go,” I thought, “Viva Las Vegas.”

Then…BLAM!!!

read what happened next here:

Amazon UK: 

 http://www.amazon.co.uk/Left-Again-Womble-middle-aged-Glastonbury-ebook/dp/B00IBK2V6M

Amazon US :

http://www.amazon.com/Left-Again-Womble-middle-aged-Glastonbury-ebook/dp/B00IBK2V6M

Left Again at the Womble-an extract

Extracted from "Left Again at the Womble-The adventures of a middle-aged Dad working at the Glastonbury Festival"

This extract is all about waking up on the Friday morning and discovering it was raining...

However much you may read about Tuesday being the new Wednesday or whatever such nonsense about Glastonbury, and irrespective of the fact that I’d been there since Tuesday and spent seven hours working, I still felt somehow that it wouldn’t really start properly until the Friday. I still feel that way and I’m not sure why. It may be because not all the stages kick off until the Friday or that it’s only broadcast on the BBC from the Friday-or just because it’s the weekend. It’s totally irrational because most of the people are there from at least the Thursday and just because a few bands jump up on a stage and start thrashing some instruments shouldn’t mean it’s the signal that it’s all started. But that’s how it feels to me, in some sort of gut-feeling way.

So, as I slowly woke up on the Friday morning, I was excited in that Christmas-Day-is-finally-here sort of way. This was going to be the day when it all kicked in. I was looking forward to a repeat of the previous years’ Friday; blue skies, hot weather, brilliant music, magical times. Granted, Amy wasn’t with me and somewhere within the next 24 hours I had to slot in an eight hour shift, but nevertheless, good times were on the way.

I stretched an arm out of the sleeping bag and gently felt the side of the tent with my palm. It was wet, but I expected that; it was just the condensation. It was light outside; I looked at my watch. Twenty past six. The light outside would be the sun just starting to peek through the early summer mist. In that half-asleep/half-awake state I heard a faint patter of condensation running off the outside of the tent. I would have to find where exactly in my rucksack I had put my battered sandals. The wellies would be useless today; but on the other hand if I was going to be on my feet for a significant part of the day, then maybe I should break out the old Converse.   

As I came round, it slowly dawned on me (quite a relevant metaphor) that the sound I was hearing wasn’t the condensation seeping away from the sides of the tent but  something else altogether. Rain. As my head cleared and I became more awake than asleep, I didn’t immediately leap into action. I must have laid still in my sleeping bag, listening to this gentle patter for at least ten minutes or so. In a strange way it was quite soothing and a bit like the most ambient music you could imagine. Maybe it wasn’t raining at all but instead Eno and Boards of Canada were doing some sort of unannounced secret gig right outside my tent. Or maybe not. Maybe it was just rain and I had to face up to reality. It was good to daydream for a bit, but however much I wished it all away, I knew I had to stick my nose out of the tent and see what exactly was going on. I wriggled myself around and edged towards the front of the tent and, with a certain amount of trepidation, moved the zip down a couple of inches to scan the sky. It was uniformly grey as far as I could see. I pulled the zip down a few more inches, hoping for a break in the clouds somewhat, but there was nothing. It was if a big grey sheet had been thrown over the whole site. In fact there were no clouds at all; it wasn’t that threatening, heavy, scudding black clouds sort of view; just a grey sky. The closest way to describe it is as if you went to bed with a colour tv in your front room and in the night it had been mysteriously replaced with a black and white one. This in itself wasn’t a bad thing; I’d have liked a touch of blue sky to wake up to, although it wasn’t essential. What was certainly not a good thing was the rain, A constant light drizzle. It didn’t seem to be a downpour, it wasn’t windy, simply steady and continuous. Normally I don’t suppose that this would cause much of a problem; if there was such a little shower at home then I think we’re all quite used to it and just get on with things. (After all, I’m from the North of England and we have enough practice with rain. It’s our default position. Rain). However, 15 minutes of drizzle at Glastonbury is a different proposition altogether.

Same cause-but with a very different effect.   

Read more/Get/See  "Left Again at the Womble" here:

Amazon UK

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Left-Again-Womble-middle-aged-Glastonbury-ebook/dp/B00IBK2V6M 

Totally Shuffled Day 328 Kristina Bruuk

Extracted from "Totally Shuffled-A Year of Listening to Music on a Broken iPod". 

I'd stick a You Tube clip of it here if there was one. It was there once, but has gone. You'll have to put up with my words. Which can't and don't really do it justice. If it ever gets back on there, then I'll post it. But for now, read on... 

November 23^rd

Kristina Bruuk-Supermodel-Kalevala 7” single

The third, maybe fourth, maybe even more than fourth, appearance of Kristina Bruuk, within this year. I’ve mentioned her whenever a track from her label, Kalevala Records of Finland, has shuffled up. On one occasion-sometime much earlier in the year-she appeared as a guest vocalist on Dracula’s Daughter’s single, but this is the time for Ms Bruuk to take centre stage and shine in her own right.

It’s quite difficult to describe what she sounds like if you’ve never heard her before. Kristina Bruuk is one of those artists where the idea of her is the main thing. The music is good, but you can’t put it to one side and ignore the concept of Kristina Bruuk. (There are only a few recorded and readily available Bruuk tracks anyway, so the mythology of her and her life is intricately bound up with what you hear).

Everything about her that makes it all lead to you wanting to hear more music-but on the other hand, it’s actually better and adds so much to the myth that only having this single to hand, is really all that’s required. Maybe it’s best to just know that there’s only a couple of songs, and that you can weave and imagine the best myth you can come up with based only upon five minutes or so of shimmering Nordic pop. But it’s not really pop. And it’s not really rock either. I don’t know how to explain what it is; but it’s not pop or rock or soul or folk or anything like anything. It’s not as if it’s some tuneless avant-garde racket either-which would be the next logical conclusion if it didn’t fall into any of those other categories. (I do like the phrase tuneless avant-garde racket (as well as liking tuneless avant-garde rackets)-that’s four words that fit together so well). So, because there is a tune, a melody, verses and a chorus, I suppose that “Supermodel” could work out as a pop song. Just.

It’s all so sad though. I once had a Nico album-maybe it was “The Marble Index”, but I don’t really remember. All I do know that it was the most miserable record I’d ever heard. If there was ever any argument against drugs in music, then the Nico album would have have it covered in 45 minutes. After hearing the first side, you couldn’t think that it would be possible to be as gloomy as she was, but flipping it over and playing side two, matters got even worse. There was no light or slight relief-it was so dark and depressing that it was beyond parody.Things only got better when the whole thing was over. It was the sort of music that you didn’t want to play in the morning as it set up the rest of your day to be totally ruined. 

“Supermodel” isn’t like that-nothing could possibly be as depressing- but it does have levels of melancholy that are deeper than anything that Nico summoned up. And whereas I always sensed that Nico’s lack of happiness was due to overuse of drugs and therefore not wholly genuine, I do think that Kristina Bruuk touches a certain level of sadness that is rare in any form of art, let alone popular music.  

"Totally Shuffled" here:

Kindle book: 

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Totally-Shuffled-Listening-Music-Broken-ebook/dp/B00CJYZ3CA  

Paperback:

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Totally-Shuffled-Listening-Broken-iPod-The/dp/149495687X