Suzanne Moore wrote ten years about that women’s rage is “totally thrilling”. And she was right.
I saw the Women In Revolt exhibition at Tate Britain last week and I was totally thrilled.
Elvis never lived to be 43. I did.
Suzanne Moore wrote ten years about that women’s rage is “totally thrilling”. And she was right.
I saw the Women In Revolt exhibition at Tate Britain last week and I was totally thrilled.
Gatekeepers. All women know about them, whatever their job or chosen leisure activity. And the music business has always been one of the top villains.
Within that crowded field, Jann Wenner, co-founder of Rolling Stone magazine, recently emerged as an arch villain. In case you missed it, he put out a book of archive interviews which was full of old white blokes. When challenged about the lack of women said: “none of them were as articulate enough on this intellectual level”. And made a similar point about Black musicians. Prat.
The ensuing controversy even lost him his gig with the ever-irrelevant Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, which isn’t exactly squeaky clean when it comes to ignoring minorities.
So why am I writing about this now?
I suspect that some books get listed (particularly in the case of memoir) because they tell a good story rather than for the quality of the writing. Sound Within Sound, though, qualifies as literature; Kate Molleson used to be a music critic, and her descriptions of how things sound are precise and poetic. But she tells a good story too – in fact, many good stories.
Another
day, another Elon Musk rumour. This time it’s about plans to charge people to
use Twitter (which no-one will ever call X).
From a business
point of view, this is nuts. He should know that most of his user base are
hanging on by a thread, under sufferance, and we’ll all be gone if that happens. It’ll probably
turn out to be another attention-seeking item like the notion of removing the
block function (which turned out to be illegal).
It’s weird,
because for years I’ve been saying I’d be happy to pay if it meant no ads. Why?
Because I valued Twitter.
Looking at it now, you might be wondering why.
Since its original release, the book has become Rough Trade Book of the Year, a Rolling Stone Book of the Year and a Mojo Book of the Year. But, I wondered, is it really a music book? There is after all a lot about Miki’s life before Lush: so is it a book about a person - like a “normal” memoir - rather than a book about music?
Of course, you can’t really separate those things, as everyone whose life has been immersed in music knows. So the first half of the book is about Miki’s dysfunctional, damaging childhood and adolescence. The second half is about her dysfunctional life in the music business. And they make sense of each other.
I never thought I’d ask myself that question. And now I am.
I get my state pension next year. Six years after I expected to get it, and I’m still angry with the Tories about this. But there’s nothing I can do about that. The Waspi T-shirt is in the bottom of a drawer, the movement split into factions, and no-one was listening anyway.
Six years ago, I wouldn’t have contemplated giving up work. I felt fairly fit and healthy. Or as much as I’ve ever been, for someone who hated PE and lived mostly in their head.
It feels as if I’m being punished for that now. I’m being forced to live in my body, to be constantly aware of it. Every minute of the day, it lets me know it’s there, with constant micro-aggressions and the occasional kicking.
It’s another exploration of the momentous year in which I got my autism diagnosis and my mother died. It covers both themes, because in real life things never happen in isolation. I hope you like it.
Trigger warning. Obviously.
We all know that the history of popular music – like the history of most things – is a tale told by men. I’ve also read enough books about Factory Records and the Hacienda to know that their history has largely been told by men, too. This is the antidote.
Barbara Charone, music journalist turned legendary PR woman, has had (and continues to have) an impressive career. It’s obvious from her memoir, Access All Areas, that she also has an impressive contacts book, impressive stamina and an impressive capacity for partying.
Most impressively, she’s still working in the music business well past her pension age. And she still seems to love it.
Someone said to me the other day, the problem with some modern pop songs is that they just sound like extracts from someone’s diary.
The thing about Lucinda Williams’ songs is that they sound like extracts from your own diary. Listening to Passionate Kisses or Sweet Old World, it feels like someone’s been there before you.
As her friend Steve Earle puts it: “People don’t give a fuck what happened to you, they care about what happened to you that also happened to them.”
Husband: “What are you reading?”
Me: “A biography of Karen Carpenter.”
Husband: “What’s interesting about Karen Carpenter?”
It’s true – and it comes up many times in Lucy O’Brien’s new book Lead Sister – that Karen Carpenter had an image problem. Basically, she wasn’t very rock’n’roll.
Did you know there is such a thing as “autistic culture? Well, I’ve seen the phrase used by #ActuallyAutistic people. I’m not quite sure what it means but I think part of it must be the way that we talk among ourselves (online, at least) and share ideas and experiences.
When we share things, one of the common themes is “what not to say to an autistic person”. Because we’ve all heard them.
On the one hand, P P Arnold’s memoir is quite a hard book to read. Because it’s set in the music business in the 1960s and this, from the point of view of a very young, very naive black girl, was a hard place to thrive in.
On the other hand, it is a good read. Because it’s set in the music business in the 1960s and full of interesting tales. Specifically, a big part of it is set in Swinging London where Pat Cole (her real name) hung out with the Rolling Stones, the Small Faces and Jimi Hendrix.
The winner of this year’s Penderyn Music Book Prize has just been announced. It’s a man.
I’m a bit disappointed in this because this year nearly half the books on the longlist were by women (and nearly half of those on the shortlist, too). But Bob Stanley is a very well respected music writer and I’m sure he deserved it.
Nonetheless, I’d like to give a shout-out to all the women on the longlist.
A few weeks ago, I sat in front of the telly and watched the first episode of Chris Packham’s series Inside Our Autistic Minds and cried most of the way through. Afterwards I told everyone how brilliant it was.
Yesterday, I sat down in front of iPlayer and watched Christine McGuinness’s new documentary Unmasking My Autism with low expectations.
Actually they both did a good job, and they both did different jobs.
When I heard that Jessica Hopper had directed a TV series about women musicians, I knew it would be good.
Jessica is a music critic turned author, producer and director. Her first book was aimed at teenage girls and called The Girls’ Guide to Rocking: How to Start a Band, Book Gigs, and Get Rolling to Rock Stardom. Her next book was called The First Collection of Criticism By A Living Female Rock Critic. And she once co-compiled a list of books about music by women, describing it as “writing on popular music that takes place outside the usual heteropatriarchal frame”.
She is, to borrow a word from some of her interviewees, “badass”.