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It Don’t Come Easy
Fire and Rain: The Beatles, Simon & Garfunkel, James Taylor, CSNY and the Lost Story of 1970 by David Browne (Da Capo, $26.00, 368 pages)
“Half the people are stoned/And the other half are waiting for the next election.” Paul Simon
The year 1970, as some of us remember, was the year that Simon and Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Troubled Water was both the best-selling album and single of the year. But what might not be remembered is that S&G would soon be targeted – during the very same year – as rock’s ultra-conservative sell-outs. The New Yorker music critic, Ellen Willis, wrote of Mr. Simon: “I consider his soft sound a copout. And I hate most of his lyrics; his alienation, like the word itself, is an old-fashioned, sentimental, West-Side-liberal bore.”
Not to be outdone, critic Miles Kingston (who claimed to be a fan) wrote: “Some people hate Simon and Garfunkel because their music has no guts, because it is a middle-class look at life, because it slips too easily from idiom to idiom.” Kingston described their fans as “the left-out kids – the loners, the book-worms… (and worse).” And then there was the Time Magazine reporter, assigned to do a cover story on James Taylor, who wrote that, “…the people interested in James Taylor are those who never quite got over a fascination with Simon and Garfunkel. Upon whom it is now fashionable to dump.”
Yes, David Browne has a knack for finding interesting bits and bytes of information that challenge our collective memory. This is a non-fiction account of the 1970s – and, specifically, the decade’s beginning – in post Kent State America. Browne writes about the softening of rock ‘n roll in a year that saw the demise of three of the world’s most successful groups – The Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young (CSNY). Yet, in a year that one publication initially termed The Year That Melody in Popular Music Had Died, it was to be a year of rebirth in music, of melody.
If the hard rock of the late 60s had just about killed melody (John Lennon had called Beatle Paul’s Helter Skelter, “just noise…”), it was soon brought back to life in the form of new performers like James Taylor and Elton John. Browne’s account is actually a melding of two – one, a background look at the music of the time; second, a description of the social and political environments of the late 60s/early 70s. In this it bears many similarities to Girls Like Us, an earlier-written account of the musical careers and times of Joni Mitchell, Carole King and Carly Simon.
I noted that Browne has a knack for finding interesting factoids. Here’s another one… According to his research, backed by Paul Simon and Paul McCartney, two of the major songs of the decade were written not for the composer’s own group/band but for the voice of Aretha Franklin. Yes, both Bridge Over Troubled Water and Let It Be were specifically written for the Queen of Soul, who – luckily for fate – rejected them. It’s one reason that both songs, written within weeks of each other, share a gospel soul and structure.
If you’d like to read more fascinating things that you never knew about all of the band members and performers listed in the book’s subtitle, and about others like Joni Mitchell, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, Phil Spector, Allen Klein, Mary Balin, and Billy Preston, you’ll want to run and pick this one up. As James Taylor was to sing, “Hey, Mister, That’s Me Up on the Jukebox!”
Well recommended.
Joseph Arellano
A review copy was provided by the publisher.
Notes – Girls Like Us: Carole King, Joni Mitchell, Carly Simon and the Journey of a Generation by Sheila Weller was reviewed on this site on February 2, 2011 (“Women of Heart and Mind”).
Elizabeth Taylor was to say that, “People don’t like sustained success.” Which is perhaps why, in 1970, George Harrison sold more records than either Paul McCartney or John Lennon.
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Questions
The Quandaries of a Book Reviewer
It would seem, at first blush, that a book reviewer needs only to read the book in question and then write-up his or her thoughts. Sometimes it is just this simple. However, I’ve found that some unexpected issues – almost moral in nature – arise from time to time. Let me go over a few of those here with you.
The Twin Books
Sometimes two books, fiction or nonfiction, are released at the same time and contain virtually identical content. It may be that both books are biographies of a former First Lady or of a 70-year-old folk rock singer… It may be that both novels tell a story that is the same from start to finish. How does a reviewer handle this? Is it relevant? I think it is, but then how is the reviewer to make use of this factor?
Do both books get downgraded due to a lack of originality, or does one accept that this is simply what happens in life (independent and spontaneous creation)? If two books are almost the same, does this not beg for a comparative review – a determination of which is better (like DVD versus Blu-ray)? And doesn’t this mean that one of the two must be selected as the winner, and the other as the loser?
Should a reviewer ever express a suspicion that one writer may have copied the other – or at least cribbed an idea from the other? Or should all of this be put aside, so that the reviewer is – in effect – placing his hands over his eyes, ears and mouth like a monkey?
The Shooting Star
Let’s say that the reviewer has a favorite author and is very much looking forward to reading this writer’s latest work (in our example, a novel). For illustrative purposes, I will use one of my favorites, Pat Conroy. If I’ve loved every one of his novels and then I find that his latest release is a dog, what do I do? Or, rather, what should I do? Do I compensate for this by stating that every author is going to have a down period (a compensation for a lifetime of achievement), or should I slam him since I know full well that he’s capable of doing better than this?
Is a talented author to be given a pass when he delivers something less than his usual best, or should the reviewer explicitly make the case that this author has gotten lazy – or something worse?
Pass/Fail
Some less-established authors may have only published a couple of novels. I’ve found instances where one of the two is near-perfection (more often the debut novel), while the sophomore effort pales by comparison. Is this something that should be mentioned in a review of the more recent release, or is it outside the bounds of propriety and relevance? Is it acceptable for the reviewer to write something like, “While this new novel is not up to the standards of the author’s first, he clearly has demonstrated the ability to produce an impressive product the next time around.”
Does the average book review reader really care about whether the author is getting stronger or weaker, or does that reader simply want to know whether this book is worth purchasing?
The Same Thing, Over and Over
There are a few authors who write a great story – the sole problem being that they’re known for writing the same story, the same novel over and over again. In one recent case, a publisher stated that a very successful author’s new novel was “completely new and different,” as if to apologize for all of the almost-photocopied novels (with similar cover images) that preceded it. Should the reviewer judge each and every novel with the almost-same plot and resolution on its own merits – on “all fours” as law professors state, or is it justifiable to critique the author’s novels for a lack of originality?
If you love a particular author whose books happen to be very similar, does it bother you or is it something that you’re able to put aside – like knowing that some rock bands are continuously original while others are not?
The End
If you happen to know the answers to these questions, please feel free to let me know. In the interim, I will continue to stumble along not quite knowing (in the words of the immortal Van Morrison) “what is worst or what is best.”
Joseph Arellano
Pictured – Jackie as Editor: The Literary Life of Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis by Greg Lawrence (Thomas Dunne Books, $25.99, 322 pages). “The vision Jackie brought into editing embraced the recognition that every life has its own riches and meaning, waiting to be revealed by what she called ‘the hard work of writing.'”
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