From Blue To Black
A novel by Joel Lane

Joel Lane, like myself, takes music seriously; in this novel anyway. Far, far too seriously. He's still bound up into adolescent naivety, convinced that bitter, angst-fuelled, angst-filled, indie-rock can somehow change the world. Well, we've all been there, but most of us have moved on - hoping perhaps to actually be personally changed by what we hear; even to share the effect with some friends - to become grown-up listeners and consumers, often of intrinsically more revolutionary types of music like jazz, electronica or improvisation [or mutant variations and combinations]; relinguishing the macho rebel-strut of rock'n'roll, in its independent guise [tattered jeans and black t-shirts], for something a little less fashion-conscious, a little more musically radical.

If, like Nick Hornby, say, Lane had let a little humour into his book, even one or two ironical nods to the reader, I might have gone for it. As it is it's so damn miserable, so po-faced, so young & angry, it just annoys me. Dark and dingy Birmingham is the setting; in your face [in more ways than one!] gay sex[uality] is the subplot; suicidal indie-rock partner-cum-singer-songwriter Karl is the main-man; David, the bass-player of the band, Triangle, is the narrator and serious indie-rock-plonker [actually he's not as big a plonker as Karl turns out to be]. Throughout the novel the book is littered with 'right-on' [if you share Lane's musical taste; I often don't, I sometimes do] lyrical quotes from, or 'real' reminiscences or comments about, actual bands [Joy Division figure highly, PJ Harvey and The Smiths turn up, as do The Kitchens of Distinction and Tindersticks - but there's no index and I can't be arsed to do a count]. But the music is always secondary to something else in this book, in a way it couldn't be otherwise: for how can anyone really, truly, describe the effect great music has on you? Describe that something that happens when the moment along with what-you-hear [which may later turn out to be crap] get caught up together and catalyzed into something life-changing, if fragmented and momentary perfect pop.

In this novel it's always raining; smack and ex-wives figure, as do touring, alcoholic excess, dope and nervous breakdown. You know where the story is going from the first chapter, and it takes a long and boring route through to it, with no sense of humour or wit; just achingly dull rock cliché. There's even a fake discography of the invented bands in the book. Personally I was surprised not to find footnotes and a list of recommended records.

Actually, I take music so seriously that I think it deserves a hell of a lot better than this.

© Rupert Loydell 2000

From Blue To Black by Joel Lane [Serpent's Tail, £10, 212pp, ISBN 1-85242-618-7]



www.tangents.co.uk

editor@tangents.co.uk