Published June 30, 2012
Sad news yesterday: David Hepworth of The Word announced that the magazine will fold after the next issue. Reading news stories about its demise, I was shocked to learn that there were only 25,000 of us reading The Word. I’m not ashamed to admit that I experienced a moment of genuine grief when I heard the news: for me, it was a highlight when this mix of music, literature, film and cultural and media commentary arrived in my mailbox each month.
As Hepworth has written elsewhere, the future of music magazines looks very bleak indeed: too many music consumers these days feel that they can get all the information they need on the Internet, and with diminishing advertising budgets at record companies, meaning that an important chunk of financing has been taken away from these monthlies, it seems to be a negative spiral that can only have one final result. For me personally, the death of The Word means that the world just became a little less like I want it to be, something, admittedly, that middle-aged people probably have experienced since time immemorial.
When The Word first appeared on newsstands back in 2003, I will admit that I ignored it, feeling that I didn’t have the time for yet another music monthly. It was only when I bought an issue in...whatever year it was and read this opinion piece by David Hepworth that I realised that I had to buy every issue of this magazine (I soon started subscribing). I urge you to read it (it has a tiny ABBA reference in it as well). It's the kind of thing you will seldom read elsewhere.
Published May 24, 2012
Music and movies being my two main passions in life, I’ve watched a lot of films over the years. It started in childhood, when old classics were broadcast as prime-time entertainment on Swedish television (these days they’re usually shown on weekday afternoons or close to midnight, if they’re on at all). In the mid-Eighties I studied film for a year; afterwards I calculated that I had seen on average one film per day during that year. Having access to the cinematheque here in Stockholm, and then first the VHS and later the DVD market, only my wallet has stood between me and most of the films that have piqued my curiosity.
But for a few years now, I feel like I’ve reached some kind of saturation. There are very few cinema classics that I haven’t seen (at least from British and American film history), and most of the present-day repertoire fails to engage me: the films that are supposed to be purely entertaining do not entertain me, and the supposedly serious films are dull and pretentious.
Gone, also, are the days when I had the patience to sit through boring films a) in the hope that they would get better or b) because they were considered important in film history. I guess it has to do with age, but these days, after watching a movie that fails to satisfy, I often feel like crying: “I’ll never get those 102 minutes back again!”
Still, I haven’t given up the hunt for hidden gems from film history that I haven’t seen before. Recently, I entered The BFI Movie List Challenge on Facebook, and was surprised to find that I’d seen 77 out of the 100 British films chosen by critics and film industry people at the turn of the millennium. Naturally, I scoured the list for unseen films that might interest me among the remaining 23. Genevieve (1953) and The Belles Of St. Trinians (1954) seemed to be right up my alley, so I ordered them from Amazon. Unfortunately, before clicking the “buy” button I failed to consult my Time Out Film Guide, which would have informed me that Genevieve “just isn’t very funny anymore”, an opinion I concur with wholeheartedly after having watched it. Similarly, The Belles Of St. Trinians turned out to be a disappointment. Alastair Sim does a wonderful acting job in his double-part as the headmistress of a girls’ school, and her brother. But if you don’t find the film’s one joke – that the schoolgirls, who we expect to be sweet and mild, are in fact unruly and up to all sorts of mischief – particularly amusing, there really isn’t much to enjoy. Joyce Grenfell, an actress whose name I’m only familiar with because she appears as herself in Helene Hanff’s book The Duchess Of Bloomsbury Street, is in both movies, and it was interesting to finally see what she was like. And one of my favourite character actresses, Edie Martin, appears for about 30 seconds in Genevieve. Yes, I am clutching at straws here.
I guess it’s inevitable: after you’ve spent almost 50 years on this planet and devoted a fair amount of that time to watching movies, the opportunities to discover true classics get fewer and farther between. Still, I do have a few more films in the BFI Top 100 to check out – only last night some friends recommended that I watch Brighton Rock – and another friend of mine, who has a fine collection of non-British/American movies, has lent me Ballad Of A Soldier, Les Diaboliques and The Shop On Main Street. Cross your fingers that I will like them, won’t you?
Published January 13, 2012
I've just watched the U2 documentary From The Sky Down, ostensibly telling the story of the creation of their 1991 album Achtung Baby. According to U2 lore, this album was when they broke free from their full-of-themselves arena-rock existence and reinvented themselves as ironic and whatever blah blah blah. And certainly, Achtung Baby does contain some excellent tracks and was a breath of fresh air upon its release (it's the only U2 album I own). But this documentary... I almost laughed out loud. Although we get some insight into the band's creative process, and that's always interesting, I can't see that the film does anything than build on the mythology of the band - and I'm talking about clichéd old arena rock band mythology. The only thing missing was the hand of God reaching down from the sky and touching the shoulders of the four U2 members to guide them on the path leading to their preordained destiny.
I guess there's just something so humour-less and so unambiguous about U2, that if you're a documentary-maker and this band is your subject, this is where you end up. For all the archive shots of the band dressing up in drag - wow, they're so, like, alternative - there were tons more of The Edge in that horrible bandana-and-long-hair look, and Bono in mullets, mullets and more mullets. Even his re-invented 1991-1992 hair-style looked like mullet-lite to me. The presumably unintended message of the documentary seems to be that the reinvention was mainly cosmetic.
Another thought: In Sweden, this was broadcast by our public service company, SVT. The production bears a copyright of Mercury Records, U2's record company. Now, I'm wondering: Where are all those TV reviewers who threw a hissy-fit when Agnetha Fältskog's self-produced and -financed 2004 documentary was aired on SVT, because they felt it was "promotion"? Come to think of it, where have they been when SVT has broadcast other programmes produced and financed by the record companies and/or artists involved? Oh, I forgot. Agnetha's documentary was about a sad old member of that ultra-commercial pop group ABBA ("pop", not "rock"), a member so crassly commercial and self-promoting that she had done everything in her power to stay out of the limelight for 17 years, so of course that had to be pounced upon.
One more thought: The U2 documentary used an interesting device to discuss the dangers of a band falling apart, by showing several examples of other famous bands losing one or more members. It would have been an excellent segment if there hadn't been something seriously lacking in the research department. Guys, it wasn't Carl Wilson who left The Beach Boys - it was his brother Brian, the original driving-force behind the band.
Published December 01, 2011
November 2011 saw the 10th Anniversary of a fantastic website that currently hosts almost 20,000 articles and reviews from the rich history of rock journalism. Rock’s Backpages was launched a decade ago by veteran music journalist and author, Barney Hoskyns, who is also the author of two of my favourite books on the Los Angeles music scene, Waiting For The Sun and Hotel California.
Today, Rock’s Backpages is a thriving, constantly growing archive, covering every aspect of the history of rock and pop. “Any band or genre/movement that proves to have legs or impact/influence is grist to RBP’s mill,” Hoskyns says. “We don’t jump on every Next Big Thing or new trend but wait to see whether it has some staying power. We believe it’s as important to include pieces on the X-Factor as it is to feature stuff on John Cage.”
Rock’s Backpages was born in 2000, when Hoskyns was asked to recommend someone who could write the liner notes for a CD by British musician Roy Harper. This then led to another idea. “[I thought] it would be great to aggregate online at least 10 great Harper pieces – from all walks of the music press – that would span his career. A little over a decade later, that vision has come true. Maybe in another decade we’ll have twenty Roy Harper pieces.” It certainly doesn’t sound like an impossible achievement – with 10 pieces available for a non-household name such as Harper, you can just imagine the multitude of stories relating to big names such as The Beatles, Elvis Presley, The Rolling Stones, Madonna, Michael Jackson, and so on. Many who read this particular blog will be interested to learn that there are, at the time of writing, 23 articles and reviews about ABBA, including the previously unpublished full transcript of the Björn Ulvaeus interview that formed the basis of Jim Irvin’s insightful ABBA story, published in Mojo in 1999.
Rock’s Backpages does not simply represent the writings of a select few rock journalists, but does include pieces by almost every well-known and lesser-known British and American writer you can think of. According to Barney Hoskyns, the archive boasts contributions from “over 500 writers from all eras and on all genres of popular music”, with 30 or 40 new pieces being added every week. The archive also features over 300 audio interviews with icons from Hendrix to Cobain. “Almost all the writers have embraced RBP from the get-go,” says Hoskyns. “One or two American curmudgeons demurred. Now it’s a club that most rock writers want to join. We never like to turn anyone away but it’s difficult to manage the sheer amount of content flooding in.”
With so many articles and reviews covering so many different aspects now collected in one database, Hoskyns is in a perfect place to make an informed observation about how rock journalism has evolved over the years. “Broadly speaking,” he says, “rock writing has turned from freeform countercultural commentary – passionate and often iconoclastic – to service-industry compliance: blandly deferential profiles and soundbite consumer-guide reviewing. With most outbreaks of rebellion now instantly commodified by the marketplace, rock and roll has been subsumed into the general entertainment culture and lost its tribal, lightning-rod shock value.”
The mere existence of an “archive” of rock writing does indeed seem to suggest that rock and pop as a subversive force, capable of truly surprising its audience and having the function as a life-or-death cultural identifier for young people, is now a thing of the past. Barney Hoskyns would agree. “Without wishing to be an Old Fart for the sake of it, I do think rock culture has reached the end of its first major cycle – and that it will never impact on society in the way it did with Elvis or Dylan or Hendrix or the Pistols or hip hop or even Cobain (arguably the last rock star who really ‘meant it, man’). People will say, ‘It’s still new and radical to a 14-year-old’ but I think even 14-year-olds are aware of the weight of history (of Elvis and Dylan and the Beatles and the Clash) bearing down on contemporary pop. Rock and roll will survive and mutate but I’m not sure it can ever ‘change the world’ again.”
Whether this prognosis proves to be true or not, the fact remains that rock and roll turned 60 this very year (if you’re willing to accept the 1951 recording ‘Rocket 88’ by Jackie Brenston as the first rock record, as many historians do), and a lot of great writing has been done on the subject over the decades. Much of that writing is now available at Rock’s Backpages and I urge you to become a subscriber. You will be lost for hours reading story upon interesting story reflecting the rich history of modern pop and rock music. As far as I’m concerned, that could never be a bad thing.
Published November 10, 2011
As previously posted in this blog, a George Harrison documentary, Living In The Material World, has recently been released on DVD. As a long-time Beatles fan I naturally bought this as soon as I could. I’ve since watched it a couple of times and although I haven’t got much to add to the praise lauded upon on the film – and it really is not to be missed – it did trigger the following thoughts.
Rock documentaries are not only a depiction of the life and times of its subject, but do also reflect the times in which they’re made. This might be stating the bleeding obvious, but in this case it’s particularly poignant, for when Imagine: John Lennon, the official documentary about Lennon, was made back in 1988, relations between the surviving ex-Beatles and Yoko Ono were not such that his former band mates could be interviewed for the film. Today, of course, post-law-suit-settling, the situation is different, and both Paul and Ringo, as well as Yoko, were interviewed for the film about George. Also, John’s film was a cinema-length film, around 1 hour and 40 minutes in length. George’s film is about 3½ hours, taking a leaf from Scorsese’s 2005 Bob Dylan extravaganza, No Direction Home. So if the John Lennon film had been made today, it would in all likelihood have been a very different, more expansive experience, and probably an even better one.
Some rock documentaries require a high level of knowledge about its subject so as to fill in the blanks in the film. If you come to Living In The Material World with only basic knowledge about its subject, my guess is that some of the events depicted and people featured in the film will raise a number of question marks that are never straightened out. With my fairly deep knowledge of George’s life, I was still left puzzled by some sections in the film. Also, I do agree with some of the points made in this review, particularly about the complete omission of George’s comeback album Cloud Nine and its international hit single ‘Got My Mind Set On You’. It would have required an additional five minutes at the most, and I can’t see that this would have made much difference when the film was already so long. Perhaps David Hepworth is on to something when he writes in Word Magazine that “you do wonder how many people were interviewed whose contributions ended on the cutting-room floor because their views didn’t coincide with the producer’s argument. Bob Dylan is an obvious no-show but the absence of Jeff Lynne is more puzzling.” Indeed, Jeff Lynne was interviewed but his contributions are only in the DVD’s extras (and not very much at that). Knowing that Lynne was George’s most integral partner on his albums Cloud Nine and Brainwashed, as well as The Traveling Wilburys albums, his complete no-show in the film is incomprehensible.
So: If you’re a Beatles or George Harrison fan, you will definitely enjoy this film – its rare and previously unseen archive footage, and interesting insights from George himself as well as the interviewees, pretty much guarantees that. But be prepared to fill in the blanks.