The Counterforce No. 17
Anthony Burgess, Martin Amis, Inherent Vice, Raeghan Buchanan, The Beaches, Prismatiqk, and more
I used to have this photo of Anthony Burgess and his books as my phone’s wallpaper. I may very well do so again. It’s inspiring. There’s 18 books in the photo. I just counted how many of his works I have in my bookcase - 25. I used to have at least 10 more. And these numbers are nowhere near his total output. The man was many things, prolific being his abiding attribute. There’s a quote from Philip Larkin in a letter to Anthony Thwaite from 13 August 1966:
‘The whole of English Lit. at the moment is being written by Anthony Burgess. He reviews all new books except those by himself, and these latter include such jeux d’esprit as ‘A Shorter Finnegan’s Wake’ and so on … He must be a kind of Batman of contemporary letters.’
[Speaking of Larkin, did anyone else pick up on Mae reciting his ‘This Be The Verse’ in ep 9 season 3 of Ted Lasso? Do Americans know this poem? It’s the only poem I have memorized and I came to know it from a photo of Richey Manic wearing a t-shirt with its famous opening lines - ‘They fuck you up, your mum and dad’ - in Select magazine circa 1994 (my favourite mag ever, I still have all my old copies and would never sell them)]
1966, and Burgess went on to write DOZENS of books after that. As well as countless reviews, essays, musical compositions, and more. I’m thankful to Tony Dowson for tweeting Martin Amis’ recollection of his meeting with Anthony Burgess (from Visiting Mrs. Nabokov)
Seeing this in the days after Amis’ death, when I was reading everything I could find on MA, reliving those glory days of my early 20’s when I was wrapped up in his work, well, I think this quote inspired me to pick up Burgess again, who I would come to in a big way in my late 20’s and early 30’s. As mentioned in the last Counterforce, I had M/F all queued up to listen to on my drive to my Atlanta signings when Inherent Vice stepped in. A quick diversion before we get back to Burgess, when I finished Inherent Vice for the third time I was so in love with it I thought about simply listening to the audiobook again straightaway. I did opt for M/F in between, but then I was immediately back in for a fourth time through. And my goodness, do I love it. I remember even after seeing the movie - and what a great film poster, with the Pynchon V emblem of the legs - still not understanding much of what was going on. But much like Gravity’s Rainbow, after your third time, it all becomes much clearer. I’m seriously thinking about, like Hunter S. Thompson typing out The Great Gatsby “just to get the feeling of what it was like to write that way”, doing the same with Inherent Vice. So many books to read and here I am wanting to revisit all of Pynchon again this summer.
Back to Burgess. I’ve had M/F on my shelf for years. My friend Andy thought very highly of it, as did Burgess himself. In one of his essay collections, This Man & Music, he dedicates the eighteen pages of ‘Oedipus Wrecks’ to explaining what he was doing in the novel. What a thing it was to be swept back up into his verbal theatrics, his sheer usage of words. Impressive, surely, but not quite hitting home as much as with my decades younger self. Parts of the story were infuriating, other sections very good, his essay pointing up many an interesting allusion but ones that would surely be missed by even readers on the more studious side.
Nevertheless, I was back in. Perhaps thinking about my own output and trying to get it all out of my head in the time I have left. So I picked up Roger Lewis’ Anthony Burgess biography. Again. I had excitedly bought this one day back in 2005, amongst one of the many fine fine used booksellers that I frequented around London back then. And was excited to read it. But not very far in I threw the book down in disgust. This was just an all-out attack on an author I loved dearly. Sure, Burgess’ two volumes of autobiography could’ve been exaggerated for better stories and comic effect but that doesn’t make them any less of fantastic reads. But now that I’m older and not so much a wide-eyed worshipper of his prose, as well as - and this is key - understanding a hell of a lot more about psychology, I see more of what Lewis was getting at. All the bitterness and resentment, Burgess repeatedly bringing up past slights, emphasizing his own greatness, and where it all came from, his family life being what it was. But also not forgetting the sheer amount of the work and his dedication to it. Which is really what I’m interested in. And how, as recounted at the end of volume one of those autobiographies, Little Wilson and Big God (my cherished copy bought for 50p at the Notting Hill Book Exchange within days of returning to London in 2005), Burgess tells of being diagnosed with a brain tumor in 1959, and worried for his wife’s welfare after his imminent demise, set about writing so she would be taken care of by his royalties. The closing lines have always stayed with me :
I sighed and put paper in the typewriter. ‘I’d better start,’ I said.
And I did.
He then went on to write something like six books in the space of a year. A lot of his best work too. The tumor turned out not to exist, but the intensity it sparked never burned itself out. Burgess talks in those books about writing 1000 words a day, which makes 90,000 words every three months, or four books a year. One of those books that first feverish year was Inside Mr. Enderby, one of the funniest novels I’ve ever read. Its sequel, Enderby Outside, may be even more hilarious. The books follow the life of F.X. Enderby, a poet quite content to sit on the toilet composing his verse. But when editor Vesta Bainbridge takes a fancy to him and drags him out into the world, all hell breaks loose as he gets mixed up with pop stars and a bizarre assassination attempt, finally fleeing to Tangiers. Where he can’t get much sleep because the many male occupants of the room he’s sharing are constantly having sex.
Speaking of both Burgess and Pynchon above, it’s worth mentioning that Burgess’ second wife, Liana, ‘the Countess’, was the translator of the Italian editions of both V and The Crying Of Lot 49.
I had mentioned Martin Amis’ Invasion Of The Space Invaders book last time, staying at my friends Rick and Emma’s house where there was an autographed copy on the shelf by my bed. It’s a guide to arcade games written in the early 80s, apparently when he needed money as he writing Money. You can check out a sample from a PDF here. I read 20 or so pages before I left and it was really strange, because it’s totally written in his voice, wonderful recollections of being addicted to video games. But towards the end there’s a chapter of one-page summaries for a bunch of different machines. And the Pac-Man one blew my mind. Because he refers to Pac-Man himself as ‘The Lemon’ and the ghosts as ‘The PacMen’. I can’t wrap my brain around this. And discussing it with Emma the next morning, she pointed out that the arrival of Ms. Pac-Man the following year totally drove the point home that those ‘lemons’ are indeed the title characters. I can’t help but wonder how such an intelligent man as Martin Amis could have made this mistake. Someone pointed out he may have been taking the piss, but that just seems odd, especially since the rest of the book is considered very spot on concerning the topic.
My review of Raeghan Buchanan’s excellent The Secret History of Black Punk: Record Zero is now up at The Comics Journal. You can buy the book from Silver Sprocket, and I highly recommend you do.
“Raeghan Buchanan’s The Secret History of Black Punk: Record Zero is equal parts comic, zine, and liner notes for a killer mix tape. If you love music, you’ll be inspired to keep jumping onto YouTube to see and hear the artists Buchanan writes so passionately about. Her aim is to present the criminally overlooked black players who have made so many great contributions to music ever since rock 'n roll was first committed to tape…. As Buchanan states on page one, “this is a love letter.” And on every page one feels her love and admiration for all these incredible artists - along with a certain despair at their not getting the recognition they so rightly deserve. The Secret History of Black Punk: Record Zero goes a little way towards rectifying that. And if Buchanan continues with this series as she intends, giving fuller biographies of more and more acts, then these books should be on every music curriculum in every school, to point the way to the lost, real originators that have been whitewashed out of history by culture at large.”
And check out Raeghan’s other work at her site here.
I haven’t had much chance to listen to music lately, what with being obsessed with the Inherent Vice audiobook and all, but I’m very much looking forward to giving the new Rancid and Janelle Monáe records a listen on my drives this weekend. Two songs I have heard this week that I dig are:
The Beaches - ‘Blame Brett’ (not about Mr. Anderson as I first assumed having been sent it by a rabid Suede fan). Not that it sounds Suede-y at all, more modern rock but something about it I really dig, being a sucker for female vocals as I am.
And from another rabid Suede fan, though again not sounding like that band at all, Steve Horry has a new project going called Prismatiqk, who release their first single today, ‘Swimming Lessons’. Again very nice female vocals, over a trip-hoppy atmosphere with guitars.
For those of you in New Hampshire this weekend, I’ll be doing a reading for The Ballad Of Buttery Cake Ass at The Bookery in Manchester on Saturday at 4PM.
SEVEN SONGS
Anton Barbeau - ‘Across The Drama Pond’. An incredibly catchy pop tune from one of America’s great English eccentrics (i.e. the Californian lovechild of Robyn Hitchcock, Julian Cope, and Andy Partridge)
Mick Lawless & The Reckless Hearts - ‘Shake Up Girl’. I did a reading for The Ballad Of Buttery Cake Ass at The Nevermind Shop in Upton, MA on Sunday. It was good fun and Mick and Vannie who run the place were very cool to me. Mick gave me a copy of his cd and I dig this song. He says he writes “modern Monkees songs” and it’s a good slice of power pop. If you’re in the area, near Worcester/MetroWest, stop in, they’ve just got a boatload of used vinyl in, lots of quality stuff.
Otur - ‘Apart’ . Emma Bates from The Light Bulb Project. Otur was her solo thing afterwards. Lovely Swedish synthpop
Sam Cooke - ‘What A Wonderful World’. LOVE this song. Just learned it was co-written with Herb Alpert and Lou Adler. I love the Herman’s Hermits version too, as heard in Inherent Vice. Two minutes of perfection
Janelle Monáe - ‘Pink’. The song that got me into Ms. Monáe. Gorgeous pop. As my friend Alex says about the video, ‘what it lacks in subtlety, it more than makes up for in unsubtlety’
Rockets Burst From The Streetlamps - ‘Martin Amis’ Teeth’. After Rick and I finished and were floored by Experience when it came out, Rick suggested we call our new post-punky instrumental this, after this Mr. Amis’ famous dental distress
Uncle Tupelo - ‘Gun’. Lamenting the fact that automobiles are no longer manufactured with cd players yesterday, I remembered that Still Feel Gone has been in my car for years. Everything about its opening track is just so good
I’m also collecting all these Seven Songs lists here on a monster Apple playlist