I recently came across a book, Long Players, containing a collection of short pieces by various writers and luminaries on “the albums that shaped them”. Not necessarily their all-time favourites - but music which played some important part in their lives, which was in some way numinous or represented a turning point in their lives.
I skimmed the contents page. It was immediately tempting to cherry-pick, read the obvious choices first, by writers I knew about music I loved. Neil Gaiman on Bowie’s Diamond Dogs, Sarah Hall on Radiohead’s OK Computer.
I resisted the temptation and read the 50 essays in order.
As I’ve said before on here, I love good writing about music. It’s rarer than you think, espcially when you go outside the usual methods and tropes of academic criticism and arts journalism into something more subjective, more personal.
Here was music I’d never heard, brought vividly and thrillingly alive through words, some by authors I’d never previously read. Jonathan Coe’s celebration of something called A Symphony of Amaranths by “forgotten genius” Neil Ardley. Melissa Harrison’s fevered memories of listening to Movements by Booka Shade. Eimear McBride’s dive into the terrifying inspiration behind Tindersticks eponymous second album. Sandeep Parmar’s trip through Tori Amos’s Scarlet’s Walk. The late Clive James’s passionate recollection of Duke Ellington’s band recorded live at Newport Jazz Festival. Fiona Mozley’s subtly hallucinogenic evocation of Cassadaga by Bright Eyes.
All albums I’ll now seek out and listen to - although (or perhaps because) some of them inhabit genres I didn’t think I liked.
I’ll admit that for me, the high point of the collection was David Mitchell’s piece about Joni Mitchell’s Blue; a favourite album of mine seen through the eyes of one of my favourite novelists. You could call it confirmation bias I suppose, but the writing was sublime, deepening my understanding of an album I’ve known and loved since childhood. So sue me.
But taking the road less travelled was the right thing to do. It reminded me not to stick to what I know. To seek out the new, the untried, the unheard and unseen. To pick up things I might not like and try them, now. To let myself drift through things the algorithms didn’t recommend. To listen to radio stations I’ve never explored before. Because exploration is the only way we push the borders of our imagination. Whether we’re talking about art or life itself, it’s too easy to get stuck in your ways. Eat the same dish on the takeaway menu. Visit the same places. Buy the same clothes. Do what you’ve always done.
The familiar is comforting. But comfort is a dangerous addiction to acquire. Stay still for too long and your world shrinks until it squeezes the very life out of you. So, thanks, writers, and editor Tom Gatti, for the wake-up call.