Agh! I'm already slowing down. Crap.
Book Read DaCapo Best Music Writing 2008
Pages:337
Method of Acquisition: I was in a store called Bookmark in Halifax with Bea on a search for the third Twilight book (for her! for her!) and although we didn't find it, we ended up lollygagging around for a good hour or two and spending money we don't have.
Distraction level:Immense. Work is busy and then I kept coming home and falling asleep.
I enjoy these DaCapo books. The 2008 one was especially appealing because I was in West Africa in '07/'08 and missed basically every new North American release and trend. There's lots of nice pieces in this one and the articles are arranged in a nice logical sequence: it begins with Globe and Mail music guy Carl Wilson and his essay countering The New Yorker's Sasha Frere-Jones' thesis on "the problem with indie rock" and its reductive tendencies when it comes to race. Then there's a nice segue to a piece about how internet tastemakers chew up and spit out "buzz bands" before anyone's really absorbed them. I was going to make some analogy about corn in the proverbial indie-rock turd, but unfortunately I lack Carl Wilson's fluidity with the turn of phrase, especially when it comes to those that are, uh, poo-based. Right.
All the essays are good. Some are carried simply on the strength of the writing. I suspect the San Francisco Bay Guardian nightlife writer Marke B. could write about a piece about pipe soldering and it would still be more cattier, funnier and insightful than most journalism you've read this year. His piece about "gay music"---what is it, really?---had me howling. He's awesome.
The real gems are the articles about musicians whose music I find terrible. Vibe editor Danyel Smith's piece about Keyshia Cole and her rough Oakland upbringing was amazingly compelling. Another standout was Eric Pape's piece about Congolese rappers who live the payola lifestyle in the most literal sense. He reveals how the country's top musicians are paid handsomely by politicians and corporations to insert complete slogans into their otherwise apolitical songs in order to get by in a country that offers them literally nothing else.
My favorite piece was about Sly Stone (of "And The Family" fame) and his reclusiveness and eventual attempts to start playing and touring with his band's original lineup. Fuck objectivity: David Kamp wears his fandom on his sleeve. His excitement and trepidation over meeting the mysterious 60-something soul master comes out when they finally meet after years of tussling with managers and record companies at a Vallejo bike shop. The passage continues:
"And then, like John Wayne emerging from 'cross the prairie in The Searchers...a strange form advances through the wavy air in the distance: some sort of vehicle, low to the ground, rumbling mightily as it turns off the highway into the parking lot. As it comes closer, the shapes become clearer: a flamboyantly customized banana-yellow chopper trike, the front tire jutting four feet out in front of the driver. He sits on a platform no higher than 18 inches off the ground, legs extended in front of him, his body clad in a loose, tan shirts-and-pants ensemble somewhere between Carhatt work clothes and pajamas. His feet are shod in black leather sneakers with green-yellow-red African tricolour trim. Behind him, on an elevated, throne-like seat built between the two fat tires, sits an attractive, 30-ish woman in full biker leathers. He always was good at entrances."
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