BOOKS: Uncommon People: The Rise and Fall of The Rock Stars by David Hepworth

It’s obvious from David Hepworth’s book that he is a big 70’s guy. His other recently published book, which i haven’t read, is about 1971.  He is definitely the kind of person (I can just picture it) who would say “music isn’t what it was.”  That’s effectively what this book is.

Therefore, this book on the rise and fall of Rock Gods is at its most enthusiastic in its first half.  Rock Gods of the 80s onwards are treated with less interest.  Kurt Cobain’s suicide is dealt with intelligently but briefly, almost dismissively compared with the longest chapter which is on the rise of Bob Dylan who Hepworth considers the ultimate Rock God.  There’s nothing inherently wrong with that although it gives more than a clue to what Hepworth considers the golden age of rock music.

Really, the nature of the book, although interesting, has less depth than the title promises.  The introduction starts promisingly but the book itself is really just a chronologically ordered list of potted biographies of famous musicians based on a year in their lives.  The book very quickly moves away from analysis of what a rock god is or was and becomes more concerned with anecdotes and trivia - interesting trivia, but still.  Example: the chapter about Jim Morrison focuses a lot on the year he got done for getting his cock out onstage but doesn’t really explain why I should care, or how it contributes to the rise or the fall of the Rock God. Likewise the fact that Little Richard's 'Tutti Frutti' was originally about anal sex is funny but essentially pub quiz level information.

The ‘event in the year in the life of’ approach rarely works for me.  Without context such a narrative relies either on the reader already knowing the context or not caring about it.  The death of John Lennon works better than most; but this could well be because The Beatles have several chapters devoted in this book.  Elvis gets two, everyone else just gets one year, usually the year they made it or the year they died.  

Likewise the list approach is always highly subjective.  My main query is the inclusion of Ian Dury, who was great but a relatively minor player looking back. Considering there’s no chapter on Sid Vicious from the same period seems an odd choice, Vicious being the ultimate anti-Rock God.  The conclusion I draw from this is that Hepworth isn’t interested in 70s punk and so chose someone he liked to write about.  Nothing necessarily wrong with that, it is his book after all - but this points once more to this being more like a list of favourite artists than historically influential ones.  Another quirk is the end of chapter lists of important singles and albums from the year in question, which sometimes omit songs from the artist you’ve just been reading about.

The overarching narrative is that the concept of the Rock God relied a lot on their mystique and ability to seem different to their audience in a special way.  According to Hepworth this went out the window with the arrival of us living, in his words, in a hip-hop world, which he seems to class as the opposite of rock somehow.  It’s true that In the 21st century, it’s not hard to find out what people in the charts have for breakfast or where they shop, which makes them less mysterious and more directly boastful. Instead of hiding away in a Gothic ruin pretending to be an occultist like Jimmy Page they will show off their bling on Instagram at will.  Considering there are chapters on Elvis and Michael Jackson, this doesn’t sit right with me.  They’d be straight on Instagram showing off their latest expensive diamond encrusted toilet roll holder or whatever.  The fall of the Rock God is more likely due to the fact that Rock Gods lost their novelty and that Rock as a genre ground to a natural halt.  

The mid-90s is a good place to stop - it was at this point that rock slowly became more derivative, with Oasis and Blur pinching bits of the 60s, Franz Ferdinand and Bloc Party pinching bits of the Post-Punk era, and the original bands themselves reforming to do on the whole uninspiring Greatest Hits/grab the money and run nostalgia gigs.  The Rolling Stones are for instance are technically still going, but I’m sure people who see them now are either on a nostalgia trip or are curious to hear them play their old stuff live - and they give those people what they want.  Go on, name their last album without googling it - or in fact one of their albums from the last 20 years.

It is, however, premature to write off rock as a genre even if Rock Gods have in fact gone for good.  There’s always exciting indie stuff out there, as well as a lot of dreck admittedly - but that has always been the case, even in Hepworth’s day - for every Beatles there would have been a hundred Gerry and the Pacemakers.  Music is fashion, and fashion goes in cycles.  The 80s were on the whole a dry spell for guitar bands in the mainstream, but things turned around in the 90s through to the early 00s and then turned around again.  What Hepworth really means are that his Rock Gods are dead.  Music stardom still exists, and there’s nothing to say that guitar music won’t become culturally dominant again (although it’s true to say that there’s nothing to say it will either).

This is not a bad book, and is well written for what it is - if you enjoy music from the period covered (and I definitely do) you will find it very enjoyable.  But don’t expect more than some interesting facts from the past.  The future has no place in Hepworth’s obituary of the Rock God.

MUSIC: Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Nobel Prize Again

Bob Dylan? Nobel Prize? Literature? Dylan? Wuh?

This was the reaction of some to Dylan getting the Nobel Prize for Literature last week. There were also many people whose reaction went “about time too” (as if they'd been expecting this for years), stuffy “Dylan is a singer not a writer of novels or books and therefore incapable of writing literature”, and in the most self-parodic Guardian article I think I've read, “Bob Dylan is a white male and any white male winning an award is a step backwards for society” (no, seriously).

Although anyone who acts like they were expecting this is clearly full of shit, it is obviously an excellent choice. Bob Dylan is one of the most influential writers of the last century. Although mainly when people talk about his greatness they're referring to his Imperial Phase from the early 60's to (at a push) the late 70's, that's still an impressive body of work. The Guardian's suggestion that Margaret Atwood or Toni Morrison would have been better choices aren't really in the same league in terms of influence, popularity and ability to textually analyse in an English Literature degree kind of way. Also, Toni Morrison already has the Nobel Prize in 1993.

The textual analysis of Dylan happened early,mainly but not exclusively by music journalists. Music journalism developed its analytical side perhaps because of Dylan - his popular contemporaries didn't have anything to analyse (The Beatles, for all their talent, were still singing about diamond rings and holding hands until George Harrison buying Freewheelin’ on an American tour shocked them into trying harder. And by giving them drugs). Greil Marcus wrote one of the best music reviews ever on Dylan’s Self-Portrait (with my favorite opening line of any piece of critical analysis ever - “What is this shit?”). He was the most intelligent 60's icon, but transcended being reduced to only having iconic status - the Beatles can be reduced, if you want, to a lot of media clips with ‘She Loves You’ playing in the background - to 'get' Dylan you have to listen to the words.

And this is crucial to the understanding of why Dylan deserves a prize for literature - it is the words with Dylan, always the words - the music is great, but not as important. You just need to listen to covers of his songs to understand that. Jimi Hendrix covered All Along The Watchtower and effectively (in both senses of the word) jettisoned the music - he wanted that song for the words. Most covers of Dylan improve on the music but leave the words well alone - the lyrics are respected in the same way poetry is, an innate understanding that there is serious authorial intent behind every line, that this is not just something that goes well with some music. This is true of most Dylan songs at his peak - the music is great but it's the lyrics that are driving the car. Pitchfork, the ultimate hipster music website argues that to divorce the lyrics from the music lessens them; but this is comparable to saying divorcing an playwright's words from actors declaiming them renders them somehow un-literary - a line of argument that is weirdly pedantic in the name of being contrary. It is an unsurprisingly hipster argument, and has a perverse logic that would invalidate previous winners right to the prize, Samuel Beckett and Harold Pinter. Which would frankly be mad.

The idea of literature being something that can only be presented in static form in black and white is outmoded and redundant - is in fact very old-fashioned, and maybe the argument comes from the same hipster predilection for vinyl being superior to digital. When you're debating the medium rather than the message you are effectively judging a book by its cover. The vitality of literature lies in its communication of a message, of a feeling, of conveying a world - not in its form. Words are the lifeblood of literature, whether they are spoken, sung or read.

Bob Dylan's lyrics at their best are surreal, funny, angry - often simultaneously impenetrable and universal. Like Shakespeare his work is populist without sacrificing artistic merit - without being easy. Sure, not every line was shot through with genius, but enough were for him to be thoroughly deserving of a prize for literature. There's a line by Aaron Copeland - if you want to understand the 60’s play the music of the Beatles. Which I agree with. But equally I would say if you want to understand the the 60’s and more, listen to the words of Bob Dylan.