Another year, another book sale

Yes indeed. I’ve got to tell you, I hit the motherlode this year. In the music section amongst the old black and white fan books and the boring rock encyclopaedias, what did I find but this gem: “Rip It Up and Start Again; Postpunk 1978-1984” by Simon Reynolds. It’s probably not much of a find really since it was published in 2005, but I still get a buzz out of going into a warehouse filled with 95% trash and finding the hidden gems scattered among it, so to me this is huge. Best $2 I’ve ever spent. I've scanned my copy for the photo – note colour fading and water marks on the side. Awesome. It was obviously very well-loved prior to me getting my mitts on it. I hope that person went out and started a band off the back of it.

This is a book you need to read. Not only has Mr Reynolds come up with the most informed and informative book on this essential period of music, but he has done it with generous dozes of humour and some great anecdotes. If I am going to criticise it at all I’d say his focus is weighed more towards the indie side of things at the expense of some of the better known artists, but that’s an editorial call he had to make to keep the book manageable. As a result, anyone that veered closer to the mainstream, major label deals and/or international success is more or less side-lined. This means the likes of The Clash, The Psychedelic Furs and XTC only get mentioned in passing. The latter especially get treated pretty shabbily, being dismissed as a skinny-tie new wave band. That’s a crime I find it hard to forgive him for, but otherwise he hits the mark pretty well and leaves plenty of space for you to form your own opinions. That’s the beauty of music. There are no right answers and everyone is free to develop their own reality around it. No one should ever be lambasted for having an opinion different to yours (unless they are completely ignorant of course. Citizens of Dumbfuckistan take note).

One of the best parts of this book is actually the introduction where he produces a vivid assessment of the cultural and political flavour of the times, and describes the burning need for musicians to seize the time they were living in and use it as a launching pad into the future. Just as the counter-culture did in the 60s, postpunk tapped into the zeitgeist of the times and brought it to life. In fact it largely defined it, or at least provided a soundtrack for it. The cold-war, Ronnie and Maggie, unemployment, new technology and future shock. It’s all there in the sounds produced by musicians desperate to capture the changes happening around them. Not escape from them as they did in the 60s. Define them.

The period in question is a distinct time capsule. You can see the start and finish of it all. It kicks off with the Sex Pistols last stand in January 1978 and careers on a wild thrill ride until 1984, when all that was left were the mascara stains on Frankie’s stonewashed jeans. The energy had burned itself out, snuffed by the rise of big money labels and MTV giving people a clear career path to Pop Stardom. Being a creative artist became untenable as the corporates bought up the indies. It was back to the dole queue or Tescos for most. For a sequel, someone needs to write a book covering the wilderness years up to the end of the 20^th Century. It might have been done for all I know. Maybe next year’s book sale. Can’t wait!

One thing that came home reading this book is that postpunk music was deliberately agnostic of its roots. In hindsight that was a big mistake and gave rise to big fat lies like “the early 70s were an embarrassing cultural wasteland” and “the 60s were all about self-indulgent hippy dreamers”. Nothing, of course, is further from the truth, as we all know now from our vantage point nearly 50 years after the fact. Back then though, people’s perspective was a bit distorted. If postpunk hadn’t developed from the Stalinist philosophies of the punk movement it might have soared to even higher levels of achievement than it did. It’s no coincidence that the most enduring postpunk bands were the ones that absorbed their influences from their 60s-70s roots, or from long established cultures in other places like reggae and funk. That’s the lesson my little guys try to get across: you should never cut yourself off from anything. Even the most hideous thing can produce something that influences you – even if it is a lesson to avoid it at all costs and do the opposite. Find out what that sounds like in any of the other posts on this blog:

Who the hell?
Amerikaemia
Serf City
The Hopkinsville Goblins are Back!

Serf City

Nice to see you back. It’s been a while. Apologies for the long gap between posts. I’ve been out in the barn putting the finishing touches on some new material for your listening pleasure. This post is a heads up about the new single release from The Hopkinsville Goblins, “Serf City”, tied to some wider thoughts on the current state of things.

It’s ironic that this is the second release in a row of a political nature given how much my little guys hate politics. They see politics as a surrealist circus at best and a dance of death at worst. The truth probably lies halfway in between. Let’s face it. Democracy is basically a lottery in which you risk giving people you wouldn’t ordinarily piss on the power to control your destiny. I guess it beats fascism, but there are some sliding scales of democracy so you need to be careful what you are talking about. Democracy at best is an illusion derived from the clever use of statistics. There hasn’t been a real mandate for any government to rule in any world power for longer than anyone can comfortably remember. Last year saw the big backlash against this, but the effect was even worse than the cause. Rock to the left, hard place to the right.

This is why the Hopkinsville Goblins have based themselves in New Zealand. It’s so far away from the international centres of madness that you can breathe a little and observe impartially. The flip side of this is that it is so far away from the action that it can be a bit dull.

But have no fear. After the insanity around the world throughout 2016, the good people of New Zealand are now facing their own political circus in September this year. Yes, we get to choose from the same parade of ego-maniacs, carpet-baggers and crooks that have always called parliament home, plus the clutch of do-gooders who try (and fail) to keep it real. All of this taking place while the country slides ever further into third world status. Possibly an exaggeration, but it wouldn’t surprise me if smallpox makes a comeback here first, or some new and unknown super, resistant-to-everything bug busts out here to decimate the tiny population as a warm up to taking down the rest of the planet. Plague and poverty are ours for the taking.

But I digress as usual.

The Hopkinsville Goblins have a new single out. It’s a thinly disguised stab at life in New Zealand’s largest city – a place now so absurdly over-priced that even its own residents can’t afford to live there. For the few that can it’s probably a really nice place to be, although it does tend to rain a lot. For everyone else it’s … well, get the single and you can sing along to the chorus.

Let them eat lamingtons on the last bus home:

I-Tunes, Spotify, Apple Music, Google Play or check it out on Youtube.
 
Taken from the new Hopkinsville Goblins album, out now!