Nick Hornby
I take music very seriously, in that I cannot function without music accompanying me, whether it plays as I write my assignments or silently guides my walking patterns. I love talking about music and thinking about music and, occasionally, just basking in the glory that is the perfect Lady Gaga song. To read a book like Songbook seemed a perfect fit, and while Nick Hornby has clearly crafted a labor of love, the shades of pretentiousness that seep through the gushing prose overwhelm any sense of sheer joy this collection should have rightfully achieved. The essays in this book center on a number of pop songs that illuminate different aspects of the sensibilities of "pop" music and, in some of the more personal (and moving) essays, on his life. This writing is moving and powerfully conveys the importance of music to those who cherish it and who allow music to define and shape our views of the world. Hornby invariably stumbles, however, in attempting to justify his tastes. While this self-conscious love of undeniably pop (and often as un-hip as Rod Stewart) phenomena is unbiased, Hornby's continual need to defend his choices and showcase how truly hip he really is plagues the book. In nearly every essay, Hornby finds a way to name-drop some obscure group while frantically attempting to defend his love of the simple verse/chorus/verse structure of the everyday, brilliant pop song.
It is easy to understand why Hornby would feel overly defensive about his musical tastes; this is the man, after all, who gave us High Fidelity. Having spent an entire book discussing songs that move him despite being of a different kind of quality than, say, Mozart or even the usual critical darlings, Hornby then listens to the top ten Billboard albums of July 2001 and is insultingly dismissive of Destiny's Child and Alicia Keys, as well as all of the other artists. His broad dismissal of this music confirms the reader's building suspicions, nurtured gradually throughout the book, that Hornby is, despite his most forceful objections, a music snob. Simply put, if the song means something to him, it's wonderful; a song that does not impress him, however, cannot really have any merit. This revelation also retroactively colors Hornby's past selections, which are almost deliberately subversive and, on reflection, serve to create a sense of credibility to Hornby's music taste. At its end, the book reads more like an extended apology than a love letter, a carefully calculated argument to provide the author with hipster credibility as he claims to embrace that which is lowly and popular.
This pretentiousness ultimately pervades the essays to an extent where it is far easier to deconstruct Hornby out of this book rather than construct a fresh understanding of the merits of pop songs. Though there are some wonderful song recommendations in this book and some intriguing insights into the ebb and flow of popular genres and movements throughout the years (Hornby writes with an understanding of context that illuminates his essays), Hornby's self-consciousness ultimately overwhelms the book's more literal content notes. The autobiographical notes within these essays are more often self-serving than honest, and even the interesting historical notes are presented with a holier-than-thou air of all-knowing. Songbook is a tribute to a series of important songs and moments that have influenced Nick Hornby, and there are some insights into the history of pop culture and, indeed, critical dismissal thereof that are worth finding (particularly Hornby's assertion that critics may be more effective when they are actually fans of the artist in question). Despite two passing mentions of Hanson that defend them as a worthwhile listening enterprise (which I wholeheartedly support), Songbook falls prey to the air of pretentiousness that so often clouds memoirs, essays, and music criticism.
Grade: B-
It is easy to understand why Hornby would feel overly defensive about his musical tastes; this is the man, after all, who gave us High Fidelity. Having spent an entire book discussing songs that move him despite being of a different kind of quality than, say, Mozart or even the usual critical darlings, Hornby then listens to the top ten Billboard albums of July 2001 and is insultingly dismissive of Destiny's Child and Alicia Keys, as well as all of the other artists. His broad dismissal of this music confirms the reader's building suspicions, nurtured gradually throughout the book, that Hornby is, despite his most forceful objections, a music snob. Simply put, if the song means something to him, it's wonderful; a song that does not impress him, however, cannot really have any merit. This revelation also retroactively colors Hornby's past selections, which are almost deliberately subversive and, on reflection, serve to create a sense of credibility to Hornby's music taste. At its end, the book reads more like an extended apology than a love letter, a carefully calculated argument to provide the author with hipster credibility as he claims to embrace that which is lowly and popular.
This pretentiousness ultimately pervades the essays to an extent where it is far easier to deconstruct Hornby out of this book rather than construct a fresh understanding of the merits of pop songs. Though there are some wonderful song recommendations in this book and some intriguing insights into the ebb and flow of popular genres and movements throughout the years (Hornby writes with an understanding of context that illuminates his essays), Hornby's self-consciousness ultimately overwhelms the book's more literal content notes. The autobiographical notes within these essays are more often self-serving than honest, and even the interesting historical notes are presented with a holier-than-thou air of all-knowing. Songbook is a tribute to a series of important songs and moments that have influenced Nick Hornby, and there are some insights into the history of pop culture and, indeed, critical dismissal thereof that are worth finding (particularly Hornby's assertion that critics may be more effective when they are actually fans of the artist in question). Despite two passing mentions of Hanson that defend them as a worthwhile listening enterprise (which I wholeheartedly support), Songbook falls prey to the air of pretentiousness that so often clouds memoirs, essays, and music criticism.
Grade: B-
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