rock books

2004-03-19T09:14:00.000-08:00

Zagat Survey Music Guide: 1,000 Top Albums of All Time
By Betsy Andrews (Editor), Randi Gollin (Editor)
Zagat Survey
Website: www.zagat.com

Editor’s Note: In keeping with the Zagat format, certain portions of the following book review will feature excessive and often times downright irritating use of quotation marks. This is intended to give the reader some "idea" of how "we feel" after having read the "Zagat Music Guide." No one other than the author of this review was surveyed or otherwise harmed in the making of this review. However, as with all reviews for Rock Books, multiple barnyard animals were ritualistically slaughtered as an offering to Lester Bangs, the patron saint of cough syrup consumption for purposes not intended.

      The "fact" that I was "surprised and slightly confused" when I picked up a copy of National Public Radio’s recent jazz listening guide, was a "fairly good sign" that I was in no way prepared the severe emotional "distress" that would accompany the discovery of Zagat (for obvious reasons, the company is eager to point that their name rhymes with cat) Survey’s Music Guide. The principle goal of this book seems to be finally bridging the unreasonably large gap that divides music and restaurant reviews. "Unfortunately," as countless Dion Warwick infomercials and the Shaq gangsta rap album have taught us, "some gaps are better left alone."
      If nothing else, the folks at Zagat score a good deal of points for consistency, refusing to "deviate" from the restaurant review format "for which they are famous." At the risk of making it "painfully obvious" where my musical allegiances lie, here’s a "bit" of the review of the Pavement masterpieceCrooked Rain, Crooked Rain, so that you might get a taste of what Zagat’s Music Guide has to offer: "Holy Malkmus!"—frontman Stephen and company, "the poster band for indie rock," got "slicker" and "more accessible" on this "delightful, escapist" sophomore that "mines gold sounds," thanks to "better studio production…" Well, you get the idea. Now multiply that by a thousand, and you know what you’re getting yourself into. Zagat has finally answered the rallying battle cries of irate music fans who have been waiting "impatiently" "for" "years" for rock criticism that more closely resembles "a" restaurant review, effectively reducing it to the lowest common denominator in a field rife with extremely low denominators, and all of this in handy half-width book form.
      The 1,000 albums chosen by survey filler-outers range from "the" Beatles canon to Beethoven symphonies to the soundtrack of the "recent" Broadway adaptation of John Waters' Hairspray. Since these are most popular records on the lists of the surveyed, all albums receive fairly similar marks, with little more than a few quick soundbytes sandwiched between quotation marks to inform eager record buyers of the difference between a Mozart concerto and a Liza Minelli album. For this reason, the Zagat Guide is as "unhelpful for the musically clueless" as it is for people who actually own multiple albums.
      As music criticism, the Music Guide "fails" with "admirable consistency." The artists listed within its pages are unlikely to hang their Zagat review in their houses and recording studios. As political criticism, the guide should be "lauded by pundits worldwide" as an astoundingly demonstration of why communism is an "inherently flawed system."

R.I.Y.L.: Quotation marks. So many fucking quotation marks.

2004-03-19T08:04:00.000-08:00

Nirvana: The Chosen Rejects
By Kurt St. Thomas with Troy Smith
St. Martin’s Press
Website: www.stmartins.com

      As we approach the decade anniversary of Kurt Cobain’s entry into musical martyrdom, fans, mourners and rock journalists on both sides of the Atlantic are likely posing the same question: ‘is there anything new to be said about Kurt Cobain?’ Granted, not having anything new or original to say about a subject has never stopped our ilk before. Every year sees the release of new material on all non-Ringo Beatles, Bob Marley, Jim Morrison, Elvis and just about any other musician still deemed artistically relevant by authors, publishers and record companies. British music mag. MOJO recently devoted another cover to the celebration of the Beach Boys’ album Smile, a record that has already received an endless amount of press, despite (or more likely because) of the fact that it was never finished. By all accounts, Kurt Cobain’s (a name which is now freely interchangeable with the word Nirvana) music, as limited in quantity as it may have been, was every bit as important to his generation as those artists were to the one prior.
      Still, the question remains—what can be said about Cobain’s short life that hasn’t already be stated a million times over in the pages of Rolling Stone and the diaries of a million disillusioned victims of teen angst? During Nirvana’s short time on the top of the
charts, the band's living legend status was a constant source of fuel for the media machine. When Cobain died, his face made it onto the cover of just aboutevery relevant news and entertainment source across the country. Since then, unauthorized biographies have been released by the boatload. Among them, Come as You Are and Heavier Than Heaven are generally considered to be the definitive testaments to Nirvana’s career. In 2002, the release of Cobain’s journals managed to shed some light on the subject, straight from the pen of the man himself.
      Nirvana: The Chosen Rejects doesn't actually offer any new opinions on the subject, nor does it do anything to dissuade the reader from acceptance of the Jesus-like state that Cobain achieved in death. Written by Kurt St. Thomas, a self-proclaimed 'die-hard fan,' the book contains much of the sort of hero worship one would expect from a text written by, well, by a self-proclaimed die-hard fan. The first chapter--which would better serve as a preface to the text--is particularly hard to swallow. Written in the first person, the intent of chapter one seems as much of an attempt for the author to justify his writing of such a book as an attempt to cement the band’s status of greatness, recounting his experiences interviewing the group, and generally further the idea that Cobain may actually be the promised Old Testament messiah. The actual band biography begins in the second chapter, and St. Thomas’s self-referencing thankfully subsides to a minimum for the remainder of the book.
      The Chosen Rejects contains a decent amount of band anecdotes and quotes from relevant sources (many taken, quite tellingly, from other band biographies). The band’s story is compelling enough to make the book entertaining at points, but the lack of new information leaves in question the existence of the book, as does the fifteen dollar price tag, especially with books like Come As You Are readily available on used bookstore shelves for a fraction of the price, and only slightly more dog-eared. The Chosen Rejects’ main selling point comes after the actual text. The book lovingly assembles a complete band discography up through DGC and Subpop’s 2002 release Nirvana, including an alphabetical list of every song the band ever recorded, further cementing the book’s status as necessary only for the completist.

RIYL: Books written by guys with the same first name as the guy they are writing about, books written by guys with last names similar to their publishing house.

2004-02-26T10:14:00.000-08:00

White Line Fever: The Autobiography
By Lemmy Kilmister with Janiss Garza
Citadel Press

      Perhaps there’s something inherent in tales of rock and roll excess that makes them so difficult to transcribe into worthy prose, or maybe it’s just that writing an autobiography and a rock song are at two different ends of the artistic pole. Either way, studies in rock and roll debauchery rarely translate into a read experience half as interesting as they should be.
      Generally with rock star autobiographies, the text reads as a mostly chronological “and then this happened, and then this happened” stringing together of interesting little tidbits and faintly remembered legends. White Line Fever is no exception, and though the man who put the speed in speed metal has more than his fair share of interesting rock and roll stories, his tone is pretty consistently dull. Lemmy gives his dislike of vegetables and stories of heroin overdoses fairly similar emphasis. Rockstar nihilism, it turns out, doesn’t really make for exciting reading. The text attempts to conteract this (assumably the principle job of co-author Janiss Garza) with frequent italisizing and exclamation marking, which result little more in creating a repetative quality in the book's sentances.
      Where White Line Fever succeeds is in forming a fairly unique map of the history of rock and roll music. In his lifetime, Lemmy saw seen Buddy Holly and the Beatles live, played with psychedelic mind-fuckers Hawkwind, soul group the Motown Sect, punkers the Damned, formed speed metal pioneers Motorhead, gave Sid Vicious bass lessons, worked as a roadie for Hendrix, partied with the Stones and “taught Lars Ulrich how to vomit.” Lemmy provides link between very dissonant, and seemingly unrelated musical forms. For all intents and purposes, he is the walking secret musical history of the late twentieth-century, creating a link between Buddy Holly and speed metal, with a surprisingly unjaded opinion regarding much of the music that he encounters along the way (even expressing respect for the work of one Mr. Pat Boone).
      The generally unfocused nature of the memoir is enhanced by Lemmy’s many asides, often times using the book as a platform to discuss some kind of vaguely related issue. Those interested in what the bass player from Motorhead thinks about racism, sexism, drug abuse, the conquest of Native Americans and countless other social issues, will find no better resources around than White Line Fever. The book also showcases the artist’s sense of humor, which is likely to induce groans in even the most devout Motorhead fan.
      Throughout the bulk of White Line Fever, one gets the sneaking suspicion that the book could have been greatly improved with a little more focus and a good deal of editing. Lemmy is no doubt an extremely unique character with plenty of interesting anecdotes to relate, but nothing ever seems to come out quite the way it should. It might be best to hold off on the purchase of this one, hoping and praying all the while that someone at Citadel Press sees it fit to put out the audiotape performed by the Lemster himself.

R.I.Y.L Cheese in it’s many wonderful forms, mixing your uppers and downers, rockstars in frog costumes.

2004-02-26T10:03:00.001-08:00

Radio Activity
By Bill Fitzhugh
Harper-Collins
Website: www.harpercollins.com

      I feel it necessary to include a bit of a disclaimer here, though perhaps the phrase ‘cop out’ is more suitable in this particular situation. Either way, as those of you who can read (which is really who this particular disclaimer is geared toward, or at least those of you who have the ability to be read to) know, the name of this site is Rock Books, and therefore Bill Fitzhugh’s novel is judged herein on the merits of its being a rock book, which may in turn lead to what some will view undue criticism. Radio Activity is essentially a murder-mystery set in the context of commercial radio. In all fairness to ourselves, however, we should note that portions of the book are devoted to a crticism of the current state of commercial radio, as well as the effect such a state has on the DJ and media itself. That said, let the now tainted review commence:

      It begins well enough—at least from an allegorical point of view—a middle-aged disc jockey disillusioned by the current conglomerated state of radio, finds himself without a job thanks to deeds of the thinly-veiled, semi-ficticous media corporation Clean Signal (since Fitzhugh never makes reference to the existence to another company with an incredibly similar moniker, one can only assume that the author has created a stand-in for the real world company; if not, it seems that we can expect to see the copyright infringmenet suits fly in Radio Activity: Episode II).
      As Radio Activity opens, Rick Shannon, the jock in question (the name of an F.M. radio drive time DJ if ever there was one—possibly some kind of amagamation of Del Shannon, and the Disco Duck himself, Rick Dees) pulls up to a second hand store, debating with himself over whether or not sell his original pressing of Piper at the Gates of Dawn (signed by the entire band, including acid casualty and recluse Syd Barrett, mind you) for gas money, a scenario that no doubt will lead every vinyl collector who picks up the novel to grit their teeth and go into hypothectical convulsions. On the way in, Shannon passes a homeless man who advises him to not “sell ‘em all…Hang onto something, you know just in case.” The homeless man, it is revelaed somewhat predictably by the man behind the counter, is a former radio DJ like Shannon, who didn’t get out the commercial radio biz in time. Despite living on the street, he has managed to hold onto a “Please, Please Me” 45 (and thus the convulsion begin, once again).
      Radio Activity, it seems at this early stage in the game, is the story of a man who has bee made a dinosaur before his own time by the industry that he loves, struggling against the multi-billion dollar conglomorate that is very rapidly clear-cutting creativity and individuality in return for a more immediate payout. Shannon rattles off a few insightful internal monologs about the media’s demise, and then, one-third of the way into them first chapter, someone is handcuffed to fence, shot in the head and buried in a hole. At this point, it becomes frightfully obvious that whole radio-thing is destined to become a secondary plot point at best.
      As a piece of pulp fiction, Fitzhugh’s novel operates reasonably well. Radio Activity delivers more than your recommended daily value of murder, blackmail, cheap woman and most of the other tropes of the genre. Shannon adopts the pseudonym Buddy Miles (one can only assume that he does this because the name Mitch Mitchell sounds pretty made up) and becomes a self-hired private investigator, digging up files and interviewing potential witnesses and suspects, attempting to get to the bottom of the unexplained disappearance of the man whose job he has recently been hired to fill.
      The radio scenes become fewer and farther between, seemingly only included to occassionaly remind the of why Shannon has gotten himself into this mess in the first place. Often times, scenes in the studio are reduced to employees at the station recite strings of music trivia in lieu of actual conversation. Fitzhugh also includes lengthy set lists in the text, describing how well each song segued into the next, in an apparent attempt to increase the believability of the radio station setting. The characters are also generally undeveloped (with the notable exceptions of the over-the-top sleazy general manager, and the equally over-blown, wacky DJ who acts out the words to songs and does imitations on and off the air), popping up when needed in order to advance Shannon’s gung-ho quest to discover the murderer.
      Radio Activity’s biggest failure is that is tries to be too many things to too many people. Sometimes it is a murder-mystery. Sometimes it is the story of a struggling DJ in a struggling radio station. In others, it is a fish-out-of-water tale of a man who moves to a small Southern town, which plays out like a Rotery Club version of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. All of these suffer, the novel constantly switching between one another, never really flushing out any to a point of satisfaction.

R.I.Y.L.: Lots of Skynyrd references, back hoes, phonetic spellings of radio station call letters.

2004-02-20T11:27:00.000-08:00

A Dysfunctional Success: The Wreckless Eric Manual
Eric Goulden
The Do-Not Press
Website: www.thedonotpress.com

      So, who exactly is Wreckless Eric? A valid question for anyone not alive and cognizant in Britain between the years of 1979-1983 (if A Dysfunctional Success is to be believed, not even old Wreckless could claim the latter during the period over which most of the book occurs). Eric Goulden (the name reckless Eric went by prior to becoming wreckless—also incidentally the name of the bloke who wrote Wreckless Eric’s autobiography) is probably (which is to say definitely) best know for being a member of the Stiff Records stable of artists, alongside Elvis Costello, Madness, the Damned and label owner Nick Lowe, among others. Sure he released a few records with some good songs on them, but come on, he was on the same label as Elvis Costello. He probably even called the guy Declan!
      So where does the leave Wreckless Eric, the lad who may or have not called the guy Declan? Eric’s place has been firmly secured on the fringe of the fringe, that area that we’ve lovingly learned to refer to in retrospect as cult [editor’s note: this review was written by a yank who wouldn’t know an eel pie if it right nipped him in the arse, a fact that will become even more apparent as we progress with this review. It should be taken into account that all reflections on the popularity of Stiff Records’ star Wreckless Eric are by said Yank, for said Yank]. Any plan by rock biographers to put out a book devoted to Wreckless Eric has likely been put third in line for the backburner behind pieces on Graham Parker and Joe Jackson, so, in order for a Wreckless Eric Manual to appear, Goulden had to get all DIY and shit, and write his own damn story.
      Goulden’s story is indeed well classified as a dysfunctional success—the key word being the first one. His beginnings were equally humble as his peers. Like most British people who have ever picked up a guitar, Goulden went to art school, and much like his buddy Elvis C., he did his time in the factory—with one key difference: Elvis put out records on which he sung about the factory, thus allowing him to stay out. Eric never really escaped. Hampered by alcohol, bad decisions and large stretches of public indifference, Wreckless Eric never managed to make a career out of his career, even after two breakthrough singles (‘Whole Wide World’ and ‘Semaphore Signals). As his label mates achieved unimaginable success, Goulden battled over royalties, worked the soundboard for a country artist and generally drank himself back into obscurity.
      Wreckless Eric’s time at the top was short (tellingly, while recounting the peak of his success, Goulden abruptly begins a new chapter entitled “The Slippery Slope”) and his descent was painful, but Goulden never fails to elicit a laugh. The stories of his success are always entertaining (the most memorable being that of his getting signed, which involved bursting through the doors of Stiff and freaking out then-receptionist Huey Lewis—yes, that Huey Lewis—by loudly proclaiming, “I’m one of those cunts that brings tapes into record companies”), and he never fails to tack a moral onto his miserable failures.
      All told, the actual success section of the book is fairly small, devoting perhaps a bit too much space to his growing up, in which he takes the piss out of a few gits [bloody yank-ed.], watches a lot of episodes of Top of the Pops and spends a good deal of time dreading visits from his grandmother. That seems to be the point though. Success is fleeting—especially when your first name is Wreckless.

R.I.Y.L.: British spellings, name dropping the obscure.

2004-02-20T11:11:00.000-08:00

A Simple Twist of Fate: Bob Dylan and the Making of Blood on the Tracks
by Andy Gill, Kevin Odegard
De Capo Press
Website: www.dacapopress.com

      It seemed like a strange topic to devote 212 pages to. Of course Bob Dylan's long, storied career is always an interesting topic. The most important songwriter of the twentieth century is no doubt a worth subject for biography—countless books have attested to this, as has the fact that referring to Dylan as “the most important songwriter of the twentieth century” had become a cliché quite a while before the century had wrapped up. Still, it’s hard not to question the necessity of an entire book devoted to the creation of Dylan’s 1974 LP Blood on the Tracks. It didn’t define a generation the way Pet Sounds, Sgt. Pepper’s or "Blowin’ in the Wind"--it’s not even consider Dylan’s best or most important work by most. That distinction is usually awarded to Highway 61 Revisited or Blonde on Blonde. Nor is the album Dylan’s most mysterious or controversial work. Those titles belong to The Basement Tapes, and Bringing it All Back Home, the former chronicled famously by seminal rock critic Greil Marcus in Old, Weird America, the latter, Dylan’s electric album has been documented numerous times, not the least of which appeared in D.A. Pennebaker’s 1967 Dylan documentaryDon’t Look Back. Still, rarely does A Simple Twist of Fate ever prove slow or tedious. At its heart, it’s the story of a man struggling against numerous personal and professional demons, to create a masterpiece, the sort of tale that never really gets old, no matter how many times it’s reimagined.
      Authors Gill and Odegard begin A Simple Twist of Fate’s second chapter by closing the seventies. The decade of hope that Dylan had played a large part in initiating had ultimately been undone not by the establishment that its many proponents had fought so hard against, but rather by the counterculture itself, the short terror spree of the Manson and the death at Altamonte had left the writing on the wall—in some cases more literarally than anyone could have ever imagined. Much of the overwhelming hope that had fueled the past ten years eroded away into the self-indulgence of Tom Wolfe’s “Me Decade.” The music business responded with cocaine binges and overblown stage shows. At the same time, the authors point out, movie makers were playing on an overwhelming sense of fear that governed the viewing public, with disaster movies like The Poseidon Adventure, and “brooding” movies like Dirty Harry. Dylan’s own life was in similar disarray, under the shadow of looming divorce, a string of critically disappointing records and rumors of drug abuse.
      A Simple Twist of Fate chronicles the transformation of such pain into what is widely regarded as his most person record. The creation process documented in A Simple Twist of Fate was often as complicated and in some respects as painful as the events that led to Dylan’s ten tracks of person catharsis, leaving a hanfdul of friends, musicians and other coconspirators frustrated, confused and angry in its wake. From the shots taken against his ex-wife and other sources of person strife in the album’s lyrics to Dylan’s “unique” approach to recording (which generally involved little or not rehearsal on the ever changing whims of the songwriter), the scrapping of all but two songs from the original New York sessions and the eventual omission of many of Blood on the Traccks’ key players from the album’s linear notes, the recording process proved every bit as bittersweet as the record itself.
      The authors do a fine job expressing the importance of Blood on the Tracks to Dylan as a person and an artist, as well as the other people’s whose lives the album touched. The interviews and stories contained in the book (including a few particularly sadistic episodes from Dylan’s youth) give an equally awed and harsh glimpse into the life of an infamously private artist.

RIYL: Anecdotes from Graham Nash, the Disney film The Great Mouse Detective, people name-dropping Prince.

2004-02-20T10:29:00.000-08:00

4 Way Street: The Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young Reader
Edited by Dave Zimmer
Da Capo Press
Website: www.dacapopress.com

      The career of CSN (and sometimes Y) is chalk full of enough tales rock and roll excess to fill multiple volumes worth of misadventure. It is, however, unspeakably handy to have so many unfortunate rock star incidents available in one extremely handy and easy-to-use paperback, because as any reputable rock journalist, person who has attempted to sit through an entire Behind the Music marathon or Go-Go's road manager can tell you, even something as seemingly infinitely fascinating as rock stars making asses out of themselves can being to wear on you after a while.
      Unlike most musical success stories, CSNY's tale began at the height of ego inflation, all the members all having come from their own legendary rock group (except of course in the case of Stills and Young who came from the same legendary rock group). Each member of the band was a well-defined individual--a rock star in their own right. There was the substance abusing wild man, the slightly-more-subtly substance abusing ego maniac, the diplomatic smiley Brit and the falsetto Canadian who looked as if at any moment he might just snap and suffocate you in your sleep with his filthy, boxcar-jumping hat. Somehow, despite legendary egos, drugs and the generally not-recommended tendency to sleep with the same women, the four came together to create a fairly unique beast: the super group that equaled more than its component parts and (kind of, sort of) lasted.
      4 Way Street is a (mostly) chronological collection of stories and interviews with the group published between 1969 and 2002 by the likes of Rolling Stone, Crawdaddy, Hit Parader and Creem, which chronicle the group's countless risings, fallings, breakups, reunions, side-projects and affairs with Joni Mitchell. The individual stories are fascinating and brutally honest, and while the band may at times claim that rumors of their clashing egos have been exaggerated, multiple quotes from band members themselves confirm the suspicion that at many points during the career, various members hated each other's guts with a fiery passion.
      The most fascinating part of the group has always been that which holds them together, which creates harmony from such divergent sources. The band members constantly profess a love for on another with a frequency tending toward compulsion, but when Young drops in on a CSN recording session unexpectedly, it's hard not to buy into the sincerity of a comment like, "[b]ig problem with CSNY...Too much hugging." If CSNY ever gets picked up by one of the major networks for a weekly sitcom, it's comments like these that will provide the pre-pause, credit-rolling punch line.
      The pieces chosen for 4 Way Street do an excellent job painting the history of the group. The Confessions of a Coke Addict, a piece co-authored by Crosby (essentially an interview with the singer transcribed in story form), the walking walrus-mustached anti-drug message (which really isn't such a bad thing to be, once one considers the alternative) should be mandatory reading for all grade school children enrolled in D.A.R.E. His personal recounting of fleeing the country and getting thrown into a maximum security prison is worth a million After School Specialss rolled into one.
      4 Way Street is a testament to the power of music over ego, proof that sometimes the most beautiful things come from the most unexpected places, all Crosby jokes aside.

R.I.Y.L.: Side projects, news articles with the words "Coke addict" in them, Cameron Crowe before growing body hair, pictures rock stars looking haggard.

2004-02-20T10:15:00.000-08:00

Rhythm Science
By Paul D. Miller aka DJ Spooky That Subliminal Kid
MIT Press
Website: mitpress.mit.edu

      You've gotta hand it to DJ Spooky. Like any good commander of the steel wheels, he knows what the people what they want, and with the release of Rhythm Science (a title, which quite fittingly sounds as much like an electronic album as a book), that subliminal kid has released the text which hipster professors at liberal arts colleges have long been impatiently awaiting for ever since the art of the disc jockey was first declared a reasonable topic of classroom discourse, and lo, how postmodernism rained down from the heavens (or at least the office of the dean).
      Rhythm Science is the literary bridge between the po-mo art of the mix and the theoretical texts oft used to discuss said art in the academic context. Miller weaves together pop-culture and pop-cultural theory fairly seamlessly, invoking everything from writer W.E.B. duBois to 20s newspaper comic strip Krazy Kat, always holding steady to that now well-established belief that every aspect of cultural should be on equal footing as a candidate for intellectual fodder--the same belief that has allowed the number of people get masters degrees in the study of the Slinky to increase tangentially in recent years. This is not intended as a slight in regards to Miller's book--in fact, it's one of the text's key arguments. Everything is relevant and everything is interrelated. Everything gets thrown into the mix. Rave kids are dancing to beats lifted from a sped up Andrews Sisters' track, just happy to be along for the ride. This is what the mix is all about.
      Still, though many parallels are to be discovered in the work of the writer and the DJ (which Miller often sites to the point of exhaustion), the two are not the same, and where Miller has repeatedly proven his ability to create original art by sampling records, he never truly demonstrates the creation of something uniquely new by way of literary sampling--the process by which he weaves together theory. Miller never really seems to create theory uniquely his own, with the exception of the that connected quality that he maintains bounds together himself as a writer and a DJ, and though interesting points are raised, by the time the book is over, it's hard to avoid the sneaking suspicion that you have just spent your reading experience filling up on empty theoretical calories, waiting patiently for a punch line that is never adequately fulfilled.
      Miller's writing shines in flashes of brilliance, the language of a DJ: beats and breaks, flow and wild style, mixed with concepts of reality ("The Matrix" unfortunately rears it's ugly, Pleather-clad head at least once), thought transmission, quite a bit of self-indulgent biography and quotes from relevant figures in countless fields. Ultimately, however, Rhythm Science comes off as more of an exercise than a finished product, with Miller consistently flexing his intellect and information resources (both of which he posses in spades). He has taken on too much in too short of a space, never dwelling on anything long enough to come to any kind of conclusion, or even put his own stamp on. The book rather is written entirely in tangents, which Miller is quick to excuse away as part of the mix, his DJ analogy often times coming across as more of a justification for his writing than a solid metaphor.
      For budding theorists and electronic music aficionados, Rhythm Science isn't a bad place to start, especially if it leads to the discovery of some of the works of the many folks that Miller lovingly invokes. Those who with a bit a good deal of experience would be best looking elsewhere, waiting for Miller to produce the masterstroke that he no doubt has inside of him.

RIYL: Pseudonyms, drawings of records, the phrase "check the flow."

2004-02-20T08:41:00.000-08:00

About "Rock Books"

About us--when we say 'us,' as in 'about us,' it is the royal us, as in the royal we, which means that when we say we, as in "when we say we," or "when we refer to us," we are referring to I. All of this is to say that when we or I say 'we,' I or we is/are referring to 'I,' the 'I' or 'me' by itself or myself. "Rock Books" is the sole responsibility/burden of myself, however I may refer to us at the present moment, and for that reason, all love letters, hate mail, promotional material and records about your cat may be sent to the same address.

This address:

rock_books@yahoo.com

Me, myself and we will attempt to reply to all queries and comments in both a timely and timeless matter, or which ever means requires less time. If you wrote, published or are charged with the promoting of a book that you feel would prove good fodder for a "Rock Books" review, e-mail me and we'll supply you with all of the necessary contact material for contacting us with your material. The next logical question is: what qualifies a book as good fodder for a "Rock Books" review? For this reason, we've chosen in all of our infinite wisdom to refer to the following section as:

What qualifies a book as good fodder for a "Rock Books" review?

Glad you asked. Now some may say that we've limited our pool of candidates by naming our site "Rock Books." Well, such was not our intention, and though rock does refer to something specific (well, not exactly specific, and quite frankly becoming a great deal less specific as we sit here contemplating specificity), the name was chosen not to limit the books critiqued herein, but rather on account of its sounding pretty cool. Say it aloud a few times. Seriously. It has a ring to it, doesn't it?

The reviews in Rock Books are not limited solely to...well, book about rock. If anything, the books are limited to books about music, that is, a set of written, printed or blank sheets bound together into a volume in attempt to express some though, idea or concept regarding the science or art of ordering tones or sounds in succession, in combination and in temporal relationships to produce a compostion having unity and continuity (Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary, Tenth ed). Of course books not on sheets will be considered for review as well, assuming that you pay for shipping and the text is not transcribed on human blood. We would prefer that the book indeed be bound together as we tend to lose thing quickly (our filing system leaves a bit to be desired). The whole "ordering tones and sounds" thing isn't really all that strict. We will accept texts that discuss certain John Cage pieces devoid of tones, though the submitter must promise in writing not be appalled if the reviewer writes something along the lines of, "wow, did you ever notice that John Cage and John Cale are separated by one letter?" The inclusion of such decidedly unpretentious and borderline laughable comments may also be included in reviews of texts which focus on the subjects of jazz, classic and modern classical (the aforementioned Misters Cage and Cale included), anything that can be described as "world music" (especially hyphenated hybridized genres), electronica (of pretty much every conceivable variety), speed, death or black metal (death punk if played by Norwegian band Turbonegro will be welcomed with open and loving denim-clad arms), and anything thing about Frank Zappa (and the entire Zappa family), Captain Beefheart, Sonic Youth and other artists that we pretend to "get" in order to increase the value of our hipster stock. Books on the topics of Radiohead, The Smiths/Morrissey, any group that can be classified as a jam band, emo, especially when suffixed with "-core," and Coldplay may result in postscripts along the lines of: "I apologize for those I hurt. I had too much to drink and I am an angry drunk. Now if you don't mind I'm going to have something to drink."

Can I (you) write stuff for you (me)?

I dunno. Let's talk.

Can you (me) write for my (your) web site, magazine or bathroom wall?

I dunno. Again with the talking.

About us: Episode II, Actually about us.

My name is Brian. I used to be in charge of a radio station and the music section of a newspaper. Now I get coffee for the fine folks on the SPIN Magazine staff. I live in New York, because anywhere else would be too far to go to deliver coffee. My favorite shark is the goblin shark.

Why do you like the goblin shark so much?

Dude, have you ever seen the goblin shark? S'totally sweet.

What does the goblin shark have to do with a music book review website?

Nothing.

Oh, huh. Sorry.

S'cool. Are those all of the questions that you have for me?

I guess so. I already asked you the thing about the shark, right?

Yep. It was the goblin shark.

Oh, yeah. Uh, thanks.

No Problem.

Rendering of the Goblin Shark in all of its totally sweetness.