Who’s up for a highway song? I first heard this only recently when I was researching another rocker from the Southern rock band Blackfoot called Train, Train. You see, that song and today’s featured song Highway Song were their big hits from the 1979 album Strikes, reaching No. 38 and No. 26 respectively on the US Billboard charts.
In both songs you can hear a Lynyrd Skynyrd sound throughout. Heck, even the vocals of Rickey Medlocke and Skynyrd frontman Ronnie Van Zant are similar in pitch and delivery. And what do you know? Rickey Medlocke played with an early incarnation of Lynyrd Skynyrd before later rejoining the band permanently in the mid-1990s. In effect, he became linked to both bands: Blackfoot and Lynyrd Skynyrd.
Highway Song really is a classic American Southern rock song. I was about to call it “no-frills”, but where this song perhaps rises above the signature Southern rock sound, at least to me, is in its spectacular guitar solo which cranks the song into top gear starting just over halfway through. You wouldn’t believe that solo goes for nearly three minutes because the time just whooshes by while listening to it. This song is like their Free Bird.
Like Lynyrd Skynyrd, Blackfoot originated from Jacksonville, Florida and formed in 1969. The group disbanded in the mid-1980s but reunited several times afterwards, though later line-ups often differed from the original band, especially after Medlocke returned to Lynyrd Skynyrd in 1996.
[Verse 1] Well, another day, another dollar After I’ve sang and hollered Oh, it’s my way of livin’ and I can’t change a thing Another town is drawin’ near Oh, baby, I wish you were here But the only way I can see you, darlin’, is in my dreams
[Chorus] It’s a highway song You sing it on and on On and on
[Verse 2] Well, the hurt you leave behind Its the hurt that’s on your mind Oh, and last night’s show took its toll on me Well, the city lights fly by me As I lay my body in my bed Oh, and dreams of you dance through my head
[Chorus] It’s a highway song You sing it on and on On and on Highway song Is as lonely As the road I’m on
[Verse 3] It’s those big wheels are ready to roll We’ve been flyin’ high and so low Lord, and all this madness ain’t as crazy as it seems Everywhere they stop to stare I’m just a stranger on this road Oh, I stand alone only in my dream
Warning: The following post contains discussion of death and, in particular, suicide. It should therefore be approached with caution, or avoided altogether by readers who may be sensitive to such material.
Welcome back to my Wednesday literature segment. Today I feature another ten-page excerpt from yet another book by US novelist Paul Auster called In the Country of Last Things. Despite the book being only 188 pages long, I read it as quickly as I can remember reading any novel. I was completely fascinated by it. As usual, if you enjoy dabbling in books, feel free to join me [here] on Goodreads.
Although this book was published before Paul Auster’s previous novel which I reviewed – The Music of Chance – I decided to read In the Country of Last Things later because of its dark and ominous subject matter. I suspected I might not respond well to it since I had been going through a rough patch myself and thought it might only darken my own outlook. But strangely enough, the book had the opposite effect. I found myself emboldened and inspired by it.
In the dystopian world of In the Country of Last Things, set in a roughly contemporary time, society is collapsing into ruin as food, objects, language, and even human purpose slowly disappear, leaving people to scavenge merely to survive another day. The city feels like a waking nightmare where hope is fragile, memory is fading, and every street carries the sense that civilisation itself is quietly vanishing.
The narrator of the novel is Anna Blume, a young Jewish woman who enters the collapsing unnamed city in search of her missing brother, William. The book is written as a long letter – or epistle – from Anna to an unnamed friend or confidant outside the city, which gives the story an intensely personal and reflective tone. She does not even know whether the letter will ever be read, but she continues writing, refusing to disappear and become yet another “last thing.”
As Anna tries to survive in a world where nothing is produced and everything is running out, she gradually realises the hopelessness of her quest. Yet despite living in some of the bleakest circumstances imaginable, she refuses to give up and continues her search. Therein lies the faint but important silver lining the novel leaves us with.
We are with Anna constantly. We enter her mindset and begin to see and feel the world through her eyes until her struggle almost becomes our own.
Contrary to Paul Auster’s The Music of Chance, which had a gripping and fast-paced opening, the only part of In the Country of Last Things I found somewhat difficult was its long introduction, where Anna describes the world around her in exhausting detail. At first it almost feels less like a story and more like an encyclopedic account of a dying civilisation.
But as Anna begins recounting her daily existence, you realise that this information overload is necessary. Without it, the reader could never fully understand the grim routine and constant danger of her life. Before long, I found myself completely absorbed in Anna’s ordeal. At times it almost felt as though I were living in two worlds – Anna’s shattered reality and my own comparatively ordinary existence in between reading sessions.
It goes without saying that the book became a real page-turner for me. When I was not reading it, I almost felt untethered from Anna’s world and strangely guilty for leaving her behind. That may sound a little extreme, but such is the intensity of this novel.
The other aspect which drew me to Anna’s story was the substance of her character. She is by no means faultless, like any of us, and at times gives in to temptation, including sexual temptation. She is human after all. But it is her humble fortitude and quiet humanity amid such spiritual and physical decay that makes her so compelling.
Such is the depravity and hopelessness of the city that many people decide to take fate into their own hands and end their lives. In this world, suicide almost becomes another form of self-expression or personal control. Since authorities view human bodies as valuable energy resources, death itself becomes strangely commercialised and, at times, quietly encouraged.
One example is the “Leapers,” people who climb to high places and throw themselves to their deaths before gathered crowds. So common has self-destruction become that there are many different avenues available for those wishing to die:
Euthanasia clinics – places where people voluntarily go to die in an orderly, institutionalised manner.
Assassination clubs – organisations where individuals pay to be murdered as a way of escaping despair.
Running clubs – people literally run themselves to death through exhaustion and collapse.
Voluntary starvation or neglect – many simply stop fighting for survival altogether.
For the purpose of the extracts below, we will focus on one of these avenues in particular: the “Running Clubs.” The strange and senseless idea of running until death from exhaustion somehow feels disturbingly believable.
If we consider that even in today’s comfortable modern world people willingly push themselves through extreme endurance events and punishing physical suffering, then it is not difficult to imagine that in a dystopian world – where purpose has almost disappeared and survival itself feels meaningless – some people would be drawn toward the idea of simply running until they drop dead.
Below, Anna Blume describes the sect of the “Runners,” how they train obsessively, and how they eventually depart together on their final run toward death. This also sets the scene for the longer excerpt which follows.
So that is that for the “Runners” and “Leapers,” but it leads us to the later scene below in which Anna is undertaking her daily ritual of scavenging as an object hunter. During one of her rounds she notices a tall, middle-aged, decrepit woman struggling to push her shopping cart over loose stones. At that very moment Anna realises the woman is directly in the path of the approaching runners and is frozen in terror like a deer in headlights.
Anna immediately detaches herself from what is known as an “umbilical cord” – a rope tied between herself and her shopping cart to stop it being stolen – and rushes toward the woman to pull her away from almost certain death beneath the runners.
After this brush with death, Anna and the woman – whom we later learn is called Isabel – strike up an unlikely but spirited friendship. In many ways, Isabel ends up rescuing Anna from her own foreseeable ruin just as much as Anna’s earlier actions saved Isabel.
So, as is customary for me to write here, if you have ten minutes to spare, grab yourself a cuppa and strap yourself in. Please excuse the poor image quality and crude formatting. Without further ado, I present to you In the Country of Last Things.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. And as always, thanks for reading.
When I see Chopin’s name appear alongside a piece such as today’s, and without even discerning which one it may be, my eyes still light up in anticipation because I know I’m guaranteed to be swept away by something so divine and magical. And true to form, Chopin delivers here in Waltz in C Sharp Minor and then some.
I don’t know how anyone cannot be touched by the immaculate, yet modest sound of this. How something so seemingly elementary and unassuming in its delivery can inexplicably transform into such exquisite musical grandeur is the magic I alluded to. It is beyond my meagre understanding how he pulled off such musical artistry of the highest order.
If there’s anyone who could demonstrate through music that “The little things… there’s nothing bigger, is there?” it was Chopin in his solo piano pieces. Such economy of sound! Heck, even his piano concertos with orchestral backing reflect an ease of flow and restraint without the usual fanfare, orchestral weight and deluge of sound often found in the works of some of his contemporaries.
But what’s ironic and almost unfathomable (and not to sound too much like a broken record and overstate the obvious) is how such humble offerings can carry over into something as penetrating, intuitively meaningful and idyllic to the listening senses as one could ever wish to hear.
I’ll turn it over now to Rousseau in his marvellous description of Waltz in C Sharp Minor presented below, which says it better than I could ever hope to in describing this music in plain old words:
Chopin’s Waltz Op. 64 No 2. The penultimate waltz he published, and one of the last works he ever composed. In contrast to the grandeur in some of his more lively waltzes, Chopin was also a master of melancholy, as captured in this waltz. Even in the major theme, I can’t help but feel something bittersweet – who knew the feeling of loneliness and longing could be so beautiful?
The Waltz in C-sharp minor is the second of the three waltzes of his Opus 64, and the companion piece to his very famous Minute Waltz. Chopin dedicated it to Madame Nathaniel de Rothschild.
The following is abridged and translated from my daughter’s book on Chopin (see image above):
Son of a Frenchman and Polish woman, Chopin was born 22 de February, 1810. Before he could learn to read he wanted to compose melodies. When he was 8-years old he played for large audiences and at 15 he was considered the finest pianist in Warsaw. Chopin wanted tranquility but in Warsaw large marching bands and the yells from angry people annoyed him. So, he decided to move to Paris where he discovered fame, luxury and high fashion. In Paris everyone celebrated the arrival of Chopin. He was renowned as the ‘Prince of Pianists‘. Chopin died in Paris at age 39. His last wishes were that they play Mozart at his funeral and let his heart rest forever in the Warsaw Cathedral.
Bold as Love might not be as popular as Hey Joe or All Along the Watchtower, but I think it stands right up there with those towering greats, at least for me. I liked how one person described Jimi Hendrix in the comments: “If he is not your favourite guitarist, then he is your favourite guitarist’s favourite guitarist.”
When he was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1992, they described him as “arguably the greatest instrumentalist in the history of rock music”. One thing seems certain: his guitar sound is instantly recognisable. That tone is so expressive, with its fuzzy overdrive and remarkable control of feedback.
Jimi’s legacy as a pioneering rock guitarist is already well established, but he still seems something of an enigma because of just how impactful he was in such a short period, helping shape and in part create the psychedelic and heavy rock scene. Born Johnny Allen Hendrix, he emerged from the American rhythm and blues (R&B) and Chitlin’ Circuit scene, having worked as a sideman for legends like Little Richard, Sam Cooke, and the Isley Brothers before achieving global fame.
One must wonder how enormous his place in contemporary music history might have been had he lived longer. Jimi’s death at just 27 seemed to ominously foreshadow the so-called “27 Club”, where the likes of Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse all died at that same young age from overdose or suicide.
Bold As Love is the title track of Axis: Bold as Love, the second album by the Jimi Hendrix Experience. As Hendrix biographer Harry Shapiro put it, it is “an Olympian battle of passions whose strategy is mapped out … self-evidently in colours”. The song sounds very much in keeping with the psychedelic rock scene scene in both lyric and sound:
Towering in shiny metallic purple armor / Once happy turquoise armies lay opposite, ready.
Then when the guitar goes unhinged in the latter stages, it echoes, bends and warps. It is like gazing through a glass prism and seeing white light dispersed into a spectrum of colours through refraction, before another prism draws it all back together again. Isaac Newton might have appreciated the trip as much as Jimi, and perhaps been just as confounded by it.
[Verse 1] Anger, he smiles Towering in shiny metallic purple armor Queen Jealousy, envy waits behind him Her fiery green gown sneers at the grassy ground Blue are the life-giving waters taken for granted They quietly understand Once happy turquoise armies lay opposite, ready But wonder why the fight is on
[Chorus] But they’re all bold as love Yes, they’re all bold as love Yeah, they’re all bold as love Just ask the axis
[Verse 2] My red is so confident, he flashes trophies of war And ribbons of euphoria Orange is young, full of daring But very unsteady for the first go ’round My yellow in this case is not so mellow In fact, I’m tryin’ to say it’s frightened like me And all of these emotions of mine keeps holdin’ me from Givin’ my life to a rainbow like you
[Chorus] But I’m, uh, yeah, l’m bold as love Yeah, yeah, well I’m bold, bold as love Hear me talkin’, girl I’m bold as love Just ask the axis He knows everything Yeah, yeah, yeah
Bruce Springsteen’s Be True was one of those songs that somehow slipped through the cracks for me over the years, only to be rediscovered while researching this project. When I relistened to it after an absence of at least three decades, the feelings I had listening to it as a teenager came flooding back. The song rekindled that aching longing for young love – the kind that feels pure and hopeful. At that age, one barely even understands what love is, yet Bruce Springsteen somehow managed to evoke vivid images and emotions of what it could, and perhaps should, look like.
For those of us who were into Bruce Springsteen at school, his music taught us things about growing up that the classroom never could. He was almost like an older brother figure – someone willing to speak openly about feelings and experiences nobody else seemed to explain. His songs seemed to say: this is what’s coming, this is why you feel the way you do, and you’re not alone in it.
There was something both reassuring and inspiring about that. Bruce had already lived through those uncertain young adult years and was writing honestly about the hopes, fears and confusions we were so curious about, yet still frustratingly ignorant of ourselves. As he famously sang in No Surrender:
“We learned more from a three-minute record, baby, than we ever learned in school.”
The live rendition of Be True below was captured during the early leg of the Tunnel of Love Express Tour at Joe Louis Arena, Detroit, MI in March 1988. This highly acclaimed performance was officially featured on his live four-track Chimes of Freedom EP, which was released to support Amnesty International.
The song was originally written and recorded as a studio outtake during the The River sessions in 1979 and initially appeared as the B-side to the Fade Away single in 1981. It was left off the River in favour of Crush on You. It’s hard not to feel Be True deserved a spot there too.
I’m glad the concert version of Be True gives more room for Clarence Clemons glorious saxophone playing and the song warrants it. It may well be my favourite Springsteen song built around the Big Man’s sax work. It has to be one of the best songs left off The River – an absolute cracking track.
[Verse 1] Your scrapbook’s filled with pictures of all your leading men Well baby, don’t put my picture in there with them Don’t make us some little girl’s dream that can’t ever come true That only serves to hurt and make you cry like you do Well baby, don’t do it to me and I won’t do it to you
[Verse 2] You’ve seen all the romantic movies, you dream and take the boys home But when the action fades you’re left all alone You deserve better than this, little girl, can’t you see you do? Do you need somebody to prove it to you? Well, you prove it to me and I’ll prove it to you
[Bridge] Now every night you go out looking for true love’s satisfaction But in the morning you end up settling for lights, camera, action
[Verse 3] And another cameo role with some bit player you’re befriending You’re gonna go broken-hearted looking for that happy ending Well girl, you’re gonna end up just another lonely ticket sold Cryin’ alone in the theater as the credits roll You say I’ll be like those other guys Who filled your head with pretty lies And dreams that can never come true Well baby, you be true to me and I’ll be true to you
Walls of the World is a tender love ballad from English songwriter Mike Batt’s second solo album, Schizophonia. I have written a mountain about his music from his next album Tarot Suite, which did so many turns on the LP turntable when I was a kid. We cherish it so fondly that you could almost consider it a family heirloom. Schizophonia, like Tarot Suite, was backed by the London Symphony Orchestra.
Today’s featured song, Writing on the Wall, is a prelude of sorts to Mike Batt’s other love ballad, Lady of The Dawn, from the follow-up record. That song is rooted in ancient, mystical and archetypal feminine folklore, while today’s track is a contemporary dedication to the woman he loves, where he’s simply letting his heart do the talking and declaring his love – writing it on the walls of the world so everyone will know.
Also remember Batt wrote one of the great love songs soon after this with Bright Eyes in 1978 for the animated film Watership Down. That one became a massive hit for Art Garfunkel, reaching No. 1 in the UK and six other countries including Australia.
Below are some excerpts from Wikipedia which sparked my attention, but only scratch the surface. Mike Batt has had such a prolific career, including work as a producer and commissions for many grand musical undertakings. His discography makes the mind boggle:
Michael Philip Batt (born 6 February 1949) is an English singer-songwriter, musician, arranger, record producer, director, and conductor. Batt has conducted the London Symphony, Royal Philharmonic, London Philharmonic, Sydney Symphony and Stuttgart Philharmonic.
He sailed with his family aboard his boat, Braemar, ending up in Australia after two and a half years, travelling via France, the West Indies, South America, Central America, Mexico, Los Angeles, Hawaii and Fiji.
In 1981, on the Los Angeles-Sydney leg of the sea voyage, he was commissioned to write a piece for the 50th anniversary of the Australian Broadcasting Corporation which became the musical fantasy production Zero Zero.
Batt discovered Katie Melua in 2002 while scouting for a new artist with whom to work. Melua’s album Call Off The Search (containing six of Batt’s songs including The Closest Thing to Crazy) was released in November 2003. After six weeks at number one in the UK Albums Chart, it sold six times platinum.
The sun is only shining like it always does But I never noticed it in the sky before And you don’t need to worry, ’cause I need your love, my friend There’s a strong kind of feeling when I know you’re near Nobody alive can take it away from me; And I feel like I’ve known you for a thousand years Bring it out into the light
‘Cause I think I’m gonna write it on the walls of the world So everyone will know today the love I hold for you I will write it on the walls of the world So that the sun won’t fade away the words I say to you I love you
And I know I’m not a loser when I’m on my own I could be miles away in another land And it keeps me together when I’m far from home I won’t keep it out of sight
And I think I’m gonna write it on the walls of the world So everyone will know today the love I hold for you I will write it on the walls of the world So that the sun won’t fade away the words I say to you I love you
(It’s) a surreal sort of supernatural thriller, an extremely visionary film, unlike anything I’ve seen before.
Back in 2019, I wrote an article on the supernatural horror film Mandy starring Nicolas Cage and made mention of its dark and penetrating music score. Yet I hadn’t highlighted any of composer Jóhann Jóhannsson’s tracks. Then Forging the Beast came onto my music player yesterday and I realised I should really dedicate an article to the music itself.
The score is consistent with doom and black metal influences, though it also brushes against death metal at times, even if that genre is usually far faster and more aggressive. The music focuses instead on slow, heavy, atmospheric sounds, reflecting the otherworldliness and lucid dream state which permeates the film. What’s curious is that it’s a style of music I would normally steer clear from, yet there’s an ambient quality to it which perfectly matches the movie’s aesthetic and themes.
IMDB Storyline: Taking place in 1983, Red is a lumberjack who lives in a secluded cabin in the woods. His artist girlfriend Mandy spends her days reading fantasy paperbacks. Then one day, she catches the eye of a crazed cult leader, who conjures a group of motorcycle-riding demons to kidnap her. Red, armed with a crossbow and custom Axe, stops at nothing to get her back, leaving a bloody, brutal pile of bodies in his wake.
It’s interesting how critics rated Mandy so highly, with a whopping 91% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes, while audience opinion differed markedly with a modest 68%. It goes without saying I lean heavily towards the critics on this one. I was expecting an average horror-revenge flick, but by the time the credits rolled I realised Mandy had far exceeded my expectations.
Oh, and if you haven’t seen it and intend on doing so, then lay off the previews. Just watch it roar – misspelling and pun intended. Those who have seen it, I’d be eager to know what you thought.
So from my collection from the film, I identified my 3 favourite pieces to present below, namely:
Forging the Beast,
Chainsaw Fight, and
Sand
Wikipedia:
Mandy was one of Jóhann Jóhannsson’s last music scores before his passing at 48 years. The film was dedicated to Jóhannsson. The Icelander died of heart failure, with German media stating that the toxicology report indicated that a lethal combination of cocaine and flu medication was the likely cause of his death.
He was a prolific composer having written for theatre, dance, television, and film. His other movie scores include Sicario, Arrival, and The Theory of Everything.
Joshua Lee Turner, the once teen guitar prodigy turned fully-fledged singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist, recently released a video where he performed today’s Beatles track Till There Was You alongside Alice Faye. Turner featured here recently with his superb version of Bob Dylan’s fleshed-out Wagon Wheel. When I heard their short excerpt Till There Was You at 2:31 in the video, I knew I had to find the Beatles’ version.
I was swept away by the song. It really demonstrates the Beatles’ versatility – appealing to all sections of an audience with this Broadway ballad. For example, during their appearance at the Royal Variety Performance on November 4, 1963, they followed Till There Was You with Twist and Shout – talk about extremes!
I don’t think I’ve heard Paul McCartney’s voice sound so endearing and affecting as it does on this one. The old-time sweet melody just melts my heart, and I knew I had to write about it here at the first opportunity. It’s such a gorgeous song, filled with grace and longing, and it captures the tranquil spirit of the great 1950s show tunes.
Till There Was You reminds me a lot, in both feel and melody, of the adorable Irving Berlin song What’ll I Do, which Frank Sinatra popularised and Bob Dylan later covered. It remains one of my favourite latter-day songs from the Maestro and will feature here shortly.
Wikipedia:
Till There Was You was written by Meredith Willson, and popularised by his 1957 stage production The Music Man and its 1962 movie musical adaptation. The song became the first Top 40 hit for Anita Bryant in 1959, prior to being recorded and further popularised by The Beatles in 1963.
Till There Was You released on their second album With the Beatles (1963). It was the only song from a Broadway show released by the band.
In the The Beatles’ version, Paul McCartney is accompanied by George Harrison and John Lennon on dueling acoustic, classical guitars played in a Spanish style over a bolero bongo beat played by Ringo Starr.
The widow of Meredith Willson, the composer of The Music Man, has stated that her husband’s estate eventually received more income from the royalties of the Beatles recordings of “Till There Was You” than it originally received from the actual play.
The song was part of their pre-recording repertoire in 1962, and they performed it at the Star Club in Hamburg.
[Verse 1] There were bells on a hill But I never heard them ringing No, I never heard them at all Till there was you
[Verse 2] There were birds in the sky But I never saw them winging No, I never saw them at all Till there was you
[Bridge] Then there was music and wonderful roses They tell me in sweet, fragrant meadows Of dawn and dew
[Verse 3] There was love all around But I never heard it singing No, I never heard it at all Till there was you
[Bridge] Then there was music and wonderful roses They tell me in sweet, fragrant meadows Of dawn and dew
[Verse 3] There was love all around But I never heard it singing No, I never heard it at all Till there was you
Welcome back to my Wednesday literature segment. Today I feature the opening ten-page excerpt from The Music of Chance by Paul Auster, a novel I finished last night in just three sittings, albeit spread across a week or so. As always, if you enjoy dabbling in books, feel free to join me [here] on Goodreads.
I recently remarked to a friend that I have read few novels with a more engaging opening than The Music of Chance. With that in mind, I present both my review of the novel and an addendum containing its opening pages, which I found immersive, relatable, and left me highly anticipatory of what was to follow.
Overall, this reading project working through authors alphabetically according to the arrangement of my local library shelves – has been surprisingly rewarding. It has provided a welcome change from my decades-long habit of reading mostly classics and historical fiction, rewarding genres in their own right, but ones that can sometimes keep me within familiar territory.
The best comparison I can think of comes from cinema, a medium that regular readers will know I am particularly fond of with my Friday’s Finest segment. So, it feels a little like spending years devoted to arthouse and independent films before suddenly opening yourself up to contemporary stories with broader appeal. The change of pace has been refreshing. Rather than carefully curating every selection, I am simply following where the shelves lead and trusting the reading gods to place something interesting in my path.
It is easy to see why Music of Chance was adapted into a film so soon after its publication. While reading it, I often felt as though I were watching a movie unfold. The story moves with cinematic pace, beginning as a tale of freedom and open roads before gradually tightening into a tense and unsettling crime thriller. Auster fills the novel with vivid, everyday details and believable characters, making the strange twists of fate feel both real and unsettling.
Beneath the surface, the novel asks important questions about luck, choice, and how much control people really have over their lives. Although it was published in 1990, its story of ordinary people caught up in forces beyond their control feels just as relevant today. As is often the case with both literature and cinema, the less you know going in, the better the experience can be. For that reason, I have deliberately omitted major plot details from my brief synopsis below, unlike the one on Goodreads.
Synopsis of The Music of Chance:
The Music of Chance follows Jim Nashe, a former firefighter who sets out on a journey across America after receiving an unexpected inheritance. Living on the road and free from responsibilities, he drifts from place to place until a chance meeting with a young gambler changes the course of his life. Through a series of unexpected events, Paul Auster examines how easily ordinary lives can be altered by chance.
Such was my immersion in, and enjoyment of, the reading experience that by the latter part of the novel I had already decided I would give the book either a 4- or 5-star review. Much would depend on the ending: whether it lived up to the rest of the novel, how satisfying it was, and whether it addressed the questions hanging over certain twists, the fate of the protagonists, and the motivations and backstories of other characters intrinsic to the story.
Unfortunately, I didn’t think the sudden and seemingly haphazard ending was in any way edifying because it left so many questions unanswered, with mysterious plot points and the motivations and backstories of secondary characters left hanging without any real resolution or even minimal exploration to round things off. Basically, to me the 217-page book felt about 100 pages too short and, because of that, I felt perturbed and prematurely left out there myself – much like the story.
Only after the ending did I learn about the absurdist and existential nature of the book, a bit like The Stranger by Camus or what have you, but that masterpiece worked because, as you read it, you knew that was what it was about. We are not “supposed” to identify either with or against Meursault. He simply demonstrates, through every thought and action, the absurdity of the world.
On the other hand, in The Music of Chance, right up until the end you don’t read it – or at least I didn’t – as an absurdist novel because the protagonist is identifiable and wholly relatable. Then, with the ending, he suddenly becomes more like a Camus character and you are just supposed to eat it up and say, “Oh well, that’s that. It’s absurdism.” Well, not on my watch, dear reader.
Despite all that, I would still highly recommend The Music of Chance because of everything else I mentioned prior to my discussion of the ending, which stood in stark contrast to what I felt was an unsatisfying conclusion after such a stellar introduction and compelling story thereafter.
So, as is customary for me to write here, if you have ten minutes to spare, grab yourself a cuppa and strap yourself in. Please excuse the poor image quality and crude formatting. But you know?…you can only be good at so many things. Without further ado, I present to you The Music of Chance. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. Oh, and as always, thanks for reading.
I mentioned in The Beatles’ Dizzy Miss Lizzy post how you could hear similarities with today’s featured track, Good Golly, Miss Molly. It quickly became apparent to me that I hadn’t posted about this timeless early rocker. So here I am, backpedalling with this pumping song that has such a killer vibe. Pure Rock ‘n’ Roll.
Few, if any, songs are as fervent and immediately arresting as this from the infancy of Rock ‘n’ Roll. Around this time, Jerry Lee Lewis was one of Little Richard’s key contemporaries, sharing a similarly high-energy, percussive rock-and-roll style and formidable piano technique. And would you believe it? In November 1962, Jerry Lee Lewis released his own version of Good Golly Miss Molly.
When I hear Little Richard’s Good Golly, Miss Molly, I feel like I’m smack bang in one of those clandestine Black nightlife venues known as juke joints or at one of the famous rent parties, dancing with my girl in sheer reckless abandon. I never got to experience such places, of course, but listening to this is probably the closest my senses can transport me to one of those cracking festivities.
You can see why white kids out in the middle of nowhere, having lived a sheltered and conservative 1950s existence, went bonkers when they first heard this. The likes of Bob Dylan and John Lennon spring to mind. Those with the nerve tried to emulate pioneering artists such as Little Richard, Chuck Berry, Fats Domino and Jerry Lee Lewis, to name but a few.
The following was mostly abridged from the Wikipedia article below:
The song, a jump blues, was written by John Marascalco and producer Robert “Bumps” Blackwell. Little Richard first recorded it in 1956, but it wasn’t released until 1958.
The Valiants’ version of it was released first (in 1957), but Little Richard’s original had the hit and for good reason being the far superior, reaching No. 4. The song became a rock ‘n’ roll standard and has subsequently been recorded by hundreds of artists.
Little Richard himself later claimed that he took Ike Turner’s piano intro from his influential 1951 rock and roll song “Rocket 88“, and used it for “Good Golly, Miss Molly”
Observation Blogger 