April 2021: Architecture

Books read this month: Music From Big Pink (John Niven, Bloomsbury, 2005/2018); The Night Always Comes (Willy Vlautin, Faber, 2021); The Ormering Tide (Kathryn Williams, Wrecking Ball Press, 2021).

"Writing about music is like dancing about architecture. It's a stupid thing to want to do." Who said that? It doesn't matter. It was said and has entered popular lore. Although it's often attributed to Elvis Costello, the truth is more complicated. Ask Elvis: "I didn't say that," he has stated for the record many times. "I may have quoted it, but I think ('70s US actor/singer) Martin Mull coined the phrase." Whatever, wherever and whenever... it's a bloody daft thing to say. Sure, I get it: music is a feeling, an emotion... something you just ca-ca-can't grasp within a pithy phrase. But writing about music, and talking about art, is the second most noble thing you can do with your life. The first? Create it.

John Niven didn't create a world with his 2005 novella 'Music From Big Pink', but he did create an imagined existence within an infamous existing invisible republic. When the editors of the thought-provoking 33 1/3 accepted the Scottish writer's proposal for something a little different to add to the journalistic approach of the books they'd already released analysing classic albums to the nth degree, the 'Kill Your Friends' author was stunned: "Christ... what would Robbie Robertson think?" was amongst his first thoughts. But, slowly, he worked on his initial draft and created a work that placed a path before him. Why Robbie Robertson? Niven's idea was to write faction and live in the world of The Band, Woodstock, Bob Dylan and all the rest. We've all been there. Each time The Band reissue a record and their story dominates my timelines and sends me back to old books, fading magazine articles and YouTube deep dives (have you seen them performing 'Slippin' & Slidin'' on the 'Festival Express'?!), I don't want to leave. The story is fascinating, frustrating and forever leaving fans wanting more and it's this Niven's 'Music From Big Pink' taps into... we always want more! Hence the reissues etc. and the reason the author was ahead of the game with this prototype fan-fiction. The story follows 23-year-old drug dealer Greg Keltner, living amongst The Band and the Woodstock community around the time Ronnie Hawkins and Bob Dylan's favourite set of musicians were locking down in a big pink house writing and recording music without the ticking of a clock in the corner. Greg's trials and tribulations provide the rhythm of time that eludes the rest of the characters, both real and imagined, as he wrestles with the distance between his own aspirations and actions. There's many a tender moment, lots of lovely interactional dialogue and enough nods and winks to keep both Band acolytes and non-fans alike intrigued. Is it a book for someone who's never devoured The Band's first two records or'The Last Waltz'? That's a tough one. As great as Niven's writing is - and a pivotal chapter taking Greg back home to stay with his dad, in his childhood home following the death of his mum, is breathtaking - 'Music From Big Pink' is an acquired taste. What a taste, though: The Catskill Mountains, Martin guitars and many a conversation with Levon Helm and Richard Manuel (not to mention a put down from Robertson and a look or three from the omnipresent Dylan) make the book a must-read for music fans of a certain vintage and appetite. Talking of Americana, or dancing about its architecture, ex-Richmond Fontaine and The Delines singer/songwriter Willy Vlautin releases his sixth novel this month. 'The Night Always Comes' was much-anticipated as I yearned to release myself from the lockdown and escape to Vlautin's always-easy-to-fall-back-into world of American back bedrooms, diners, old cars, old bars and older protagonists. If you're familiar with any of Vlautin's work or creations, in particular Allison Johnson from 'Northline' or nurse Pauline from 'The Free', then the movement on the shoulder of 'The Night Always Comes' will immediately capture your attention. Vlautin's greatest work takes place in the margins and his characters exist between hope and heartbreak. The best of the people he focuses on have hearts as big as the mid-west, while the worst have holes in their souls (or arms) the size of a great John Prine song. The book tells the story of Lynette, set over an unusually thrilling pace (for Vlautin) across two days and two nights in Portland, and pivots on her decision to challenge the economic want at the centre of her life and follow the path desperation is building for her. The speed in which the situations she finds herself in mutate and build up a head of steam is startling at times and initially left me uneasy... I go to a Willy Vlautin novel because it usually reads like The Delines sound as they stroll down a country hill on a bed of soul music. 'The Night Always Comes' shares motion pictures with a more modern country song, with its snare cracking and stinging electric guitar runs, as opposed to rolling gently out over Fender Rhodes chords and the gently lapping shores of a pedal steel guitar. Does it move too fast? Perhaps. It's a swim towards the mainstream for Vlautin and, although he's still looking down the alleyways America usually turns a blind eye to, the particulars of its more shocking plot turns can be as incredulous as they are incredible. The prose is still precise and the tender details remain present, but the length of the sermons given to Lynette's worn-out mum are revealing: to brush stroke a clear sky around the complicated minutiae of the landscape the author is painting, he's had to ignore more of the other side of the mirror than he usually does. It remains a great read and a very good novel, but let's hope it's Willy's widescreen adventure; his 'Born To Run'... and Hollywood hires it. Then we can get back to the B movie tone poems of 'Nebraska'.

Kathryn Williams is an artist who's had a glimpse of the mainstream before. Nominated for a Mercury Music Prize with her second album at the turn of the century, the singer turned her back on that kind of song and dance and went about building a back catalogue of work that constantly hits a level of quality and size of audience she's more comfortable with. Her consistency and curiosity led to a collaboration with author Laura Barnett on the popular 2017 novel 'Greatest Hits' and a record with former Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy is due in 2021. In the meantime, the Scouse songwriter decided to commit to words completely and write her first book. 'The Ormering Tide' sparkles like the shell it shares its title with and announces the arrival of Williams as an astounding author. The poetry contained within the pages of this debut novel is as potent, pretty and pertinent as prose can be, whilst never cluttering up the dark heart twitching taut in the tight tunnels of the tale being told. Each chapter bewitches you with beautiful metaphors and sweeping similes, but its unrelenting beauty never gets in the way of the itch you're waiting for the book to scratch. Sure, it's a layered story to lose yourself in and spend some quality time with, but who wants costume jewellery when there's diamonds to be mined? 'The Ormering Tide' follows our hero Rozel up the hills and around the corners of the bay she and her family live on, as we look out to sea with her and her brothers as the ghosts of the little village's past make their claims on the present. I say ghosts... but they could also be staking a claim to be ancestors, as Williams' subtle style hints rather than points to where the bodies are buried. The blurb in the fold talks about processing the past, but this is a debut novel that will walk alongside you every day and remain with you long after you've turned its final page. That the clear and present strangers of 'The Ormering Tide' feel like family immediately tells you everything you need to know: this book is forever. Have a great month. Al x