book review

A Modernity of Touch

Robert Cochrane — Mon, 17 Sep 2018 13:36:45 +0000

A Modernity of Touch Robert Cochrane September 17, 2018 - 09:36

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The Adults Caroline Hulse (Orion)

The Adults is the adroitly named debut novel by Caroline Hulse. Wise, forensically observant and darkly funny, it begins like a light piece of social comedy, encapsulates elements of a tightly paced thriller before concluding with moments of magic realism and Jacobean tragedy. It also has an intense and claustrophobic tone which makes it more than a chattering classes piece of fluff, or a drawing room, comedy of modern manners, affair.

Its premise, though promising, and terribly sensible, a blended family holiday at a forest park over Christmas, is the perfect recipe for disaster. The reader senses this from the outset, but the six main characters, who include Matt and Claire, divorced but with their daughter Scarlett and her imaginary friend, a colossal toy rabbit named Posey, and their respective new partners, Patrick and Alex, are so obliviously playing at being nice, all caught up in the compliments of the season, they really are as deluded as they are oblivious. It is a book that is imbued with a air of thunder in the distance. Things possibly could go awry as they are all skating on the thinnest of ice.

As perfectly nice and educated people trying to do the right thing, attempting to ignore the impact of the past on their present, they have a chance of seasonal success. Claire is “uber” efficient and organised, Matt has a difficulty with telling a whole story, Alex is a likeable recovering alcoholic, whilst Patrick, an action man on the borders of middle or muddle age, who despite his qualifications, is something of a “himbo” and a square. Add to this Scarlet and her appeased and rather meddlesome imaginary rabbit, and the scene is set for a less than restive, festive vacation. They all suffer elements of what could be called emotional woodworm, have all the little anxieties attached to dealing with someone their old partner has rejected or dealing with someone they would have never chosen, the inevitable comparisons, and emotional measuring up, of doing well or better than via the proving of real or imaginary points.

Hulse is a kindly but brutal narrator of their respective angst and failings. She rests her all too observant eye on her literary off-spring, and we can all recognize someone they resemble, and indeed are likely to be as guilty as them, of their inadequacies and conceits. As the proceedings slide like a car with the brakes off down the hill and over the cliffs it reminds me of the late Kathleen Farrell's (1912-1999) neglected master-stroke novel of the early 1950's Mistletoe Malice, again about people marooned together at Christmas. There may be no internet nor mobile phones in her book, but the tone of the emotions, riven and exhausting, are as much to the fore. The things around us may change, but the thoughts within remain the same.

It’s easy to see why there is such a fanfare around this book. It is being published in fifteen different countries, and deserves to find an audience in them all. People in love, people who once were in love, or people simply trying their best and usually failing, are suffering from a global condition. Hulse has a certain Barbara Pym mischief about her observances, but is seldom cruel. I can see why the book will likely find a greater readership amongst women, but it is universal in its understanding of the sexes, and will reward accordingly by observing, annotating, but never judging.

A democratic and audacious debut, it doesn't read like a debut at all.

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Incidents Crowded With Life

Robert Cochrane — Mon, 20 Aug 2018 13:36:50 +0000

Incidents Crowded With Life Robert Cochrane August 20, 2018 - 09:36

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book review

Incidents Crowded With Life - John Howard (Fisher King)

Incidents Crowded With Life can effectively be viewed as three books under one cover. It has all the storytelling tension of a finely honed novel, and resolves itself as one. It can be gleaned as a "coming of age" memoir, an outsider's odyssey, or can equally be seen as a primer regarding the perils and pit-falls of life in the music business. However the reader approaches it there is a guarantee of pleasure from the candid insights of a life lived with ambition in mind, a kind of gaudy Dick Whittington minus the cat.

Howard possesses a vivid strength of recall. He writes honestly and spares himself few self-administered punches. He was a talented boy supported by his parents, the usual piano lessons and a mother with upward mobility in mind, and a burning passion for pop music, especially his heroes, The Beatles. Although he knew his talent wasn't the only thing that rendered him different, his sexuality didn't cause him angst, the sleepless nights from being at variance with the norm were not his. He got on with it in a quietly brazen fashion but eventually realised in order to blossom and succeed the confines of a Northern town had to be abandoned, so at the age of twenty he got on a train from Manchester and headed for London.

Initially things couldn't have been less charmed, Despite initial blips he soon ended up with a wonderfully supportive manager, Stuart Reid, who along with his wife Patsy became Howard's de-facto London parents. His name became rechristened as John Howard, not far removed from the Howard Jones on his birth certificate, and before he was even to release a record at the age of twenty was flown to Rome to record the theme song for Open Road a Peter Fonda/William Holden vehicle. Much of this would have short circuited the valves of a lesser being, but Howard simply took it all in his stride since he'd always known his abilities, and had expectations that were imbued by them.

His story proves that dreams do come true but do not end with their realisation. Despite a recording deal with CBS, an album in the can recorded at Abbey Road and Apple Studios, there were ominous aspects of portent. He was told by those in power at the label that his handshake wasn't firm enough and that his initial portfolio of photographs were disgusting. Admittedly they were a tad camp. The gothic dandy they revealed was part-Ziggy, part-Noel Coward with a dash of Quentin Crisp. A problem was emerging that proved despite John not being a crusader, his mere existence was a crusade in itself. Years later he was to learn that the reasons proffered by the BBC for ignoring his three superlative singles (too depressing, too sexist) they were effectively banned, were more to do with a power to be being in the closet, He later emerged from it, but at that time didn't wish to be seen promoting someone who was obviously living happily a life he couldn't embrace.

There were the inevitable comparisons to Elton John, but this John didn't sing in as faux American accent, and all they had in common was a piano and a good ear for melody. Howard has more in common with his American counterpart Jobriath. The verve and glitz, if not the catty sexual politics, though I fear if CBS had allowed John Howard the image he desired he too would have been scissored and sneered at in the way Jobriath sadly was. Homophobia was once the bearded rock critics axe of choice for effete contenders. When Kid In A Big World appeared the now twenty-one year old star in the transit felt that the world was his oyster, but when he witnessed the treatment gifted Leonard Cohen at a CBS industry bash, talked over and ignored by drunken staff, he was rightly shocked and appalled.

The lack of hit singles meant there was no lead-in to make punters embrace a new album by an unknown commodity. It sold a respectable amount, but not sufficient to earn the continued support of CBS. Two further rejected albums later and the game was up. Stardom once so near had wandered off and bestowed her favours upon others. John Howard was dropped, made a reasonable living playing piano in clubs and restaurants, again a thread of similarity to Jobriath's fate, and a '70's lifestyle became his and a transient sense of paranoia flowered. The usual sex and drugs and getting up close and personal with people who wanted to, and did try to kill him.

His story begins with Howard leaping from the balcony window of his flat in order to escape the the marauding vandalism and worse of a marauding Russian sailor, think Popeye's Brutus, a pick-up, not of John's but his ditzy Philipino house-mates. His fearful descent ended with a broken back and smashed feet and a long stay in hospital. A shooting star had fallen heavily and painfully as a frightened man to earth. That future that came after is now a distant past and beguilingly lies in another book, but in this one Howard has successfully dealt with ambition and its loss. He writes engagingly, movingly and with supreme delicacy, especially of his mother's early demise from cancer just prior to his album's release, and his chapter on Glam Rock is astute, as it is unstarry. This is a book with a talent to amuse, but that will also touch your heart. It is proof positive that true stars are born, not made and not always massively rewarded by success.

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Wicked Wilson!

Dusty Wright — Mon, 15 May 2017 15:27:46 +0000

Wicked Wilson! Dusty Wright May 15, 2017 - 11:27

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In the Midnight Hour: The Life & Soul of Wilson Pickett (Oxford University Press)

Tony Fletcher

The art of writing bios is no easy feat, but for British-born/NY-based scribe Tony Fletcher, well, he makes it seem all so easy even though his research is exhaustive. His bios on R.E.M (Remarks Remade - The Story of R.E.M.), Keith Moon (Dear Boy: The Life of Keith Moon), The Smiths (A Light That Never Goes Out: The Enduring Saga of The Smiths, to name but a few, are must-reads. His latest on the turbulent life of R&B legend Wilson Pickett -- In the Midnight Hour: The Life & Soul of Wilson Pickett -- may be his best yet.

For the charismatic '60s crossover icon "Wicked" Wilson Pickett, Fletcher pulls no punches with interviews with his family, business partners, musicians, etc., to shed light on his troubled legacy. Amazingly, this is the first-ever bio on the R&B maverick who had some 50 Billboard charting songs, including well-known hits like "Mustang Sally," "In the Midnight Hour," "Land of 1000 Dances," "634-5789," and "Don't Let the Green Grass Fool You." The book lays bare in detail Wilson's troubled soul and how he let his over-consumption of life, all the good and bad, leech into his own personal life causing stress and strife for all who entered his orbit.

The book also serves as a social commentary -- civil rights movement, the rise and crossover of R&B music -- of a certain era and for those of us who remember that time period it comes as no surprise. And if you're a guitarist, what a treat to learn about all the amazing musicians who played on his records. Greats like Steve Cropper, Reggie Young, Duane Allman(!), Bobby Womack (who co-wrote songs with him), the very funky Dennis Coffey (wah-wah on The Temptations' "Psychedelic Shack," et al.); even NYC-based guitar hero Marc Ribot, a Tom Waits staple, toured with him in the '80s. But towards the end of his life, the Rock 'n' Roll Hal of Famer would succumb to the demons that fueled his life, spend time in jail, find religion (again), and suffer health problems. Pickett would eventually succumb to a heart attack in early January 2006 at the age of 64. Thankfully, Mr. Fletcher has documented his numerous conquests as well as his failures in this most-excellent bio.

Check Tony's website for upcoming readings/events and new offerings.