Aquarium Drunkard Book Club :: Chapter 21

Warren Zevon once said “We love to buy books because we believe we’re buying the time to read them.” But even if your towering “too read” pile can’t guarantee immortality, those pages can make life feel even more worth living. We’re back in the stacks with creative guides from Rick Rubin and Chris Schlarb, looks at the music of The Byrds and Sonny Rollins, and Amiri Baraka’s groundbreaking Black Music. Your librarians this month are Jarrod Annis, Mark Neeley, Jason Woodbury and Tyler Wilcox.

Saxophone Colossus: The Life and Music of Sonny Rollins by Aidan Levy: A massive (but very worthwhile) undertaking! Sonny Rollins is a tough one to sum up, even in a sprawling 700-page bio — and not just because he’s lived well into his 90s. Unlike Miles Davis or John Coltrane, the saxophone legend doesn’t have a singular classic LP, era or band to focus on. He’s lived through so much that it’s impossible to pigeonhole him. But Aidan Levy has done a superb job with this compulsively readable portrait of the artist as a young, middle-aged and eventually old man. What becomes apparent as the story unfolds is that Newk is an enigmatic guy — an oddball, really — who doesn’t fall prey to the usual cliches. Unknowable, maybe, but in a good way (“If you can’t be free, be a mystery,” right?). But Levy wisely doesn’t do a lot of psychoanalyzing of his subject or drift into florid prose; instead, he lets the amazing events of Rollins’ life speak for themselves, as Sonny moves through the decades in search of elusive perfection.

The Creative Act: A Way of Being, Rick Rubin: Producer and music industry mogul Rick Rubin recently made viral waves for claiming to know nearly nothing about the mechanics of music making. Putting aside his kayfabe fixations and the fact that there’s a whole TV show dedicated to scenes of him working a mixing desk—Rubin’s new book, The Creative Act: A Way of Being indeed focuses little on pre-amps and microphone selections and devotes no ink to detailing scenes from Rubin’s sessions with artists like Johnny Cash, Slayer, Danzig, the Beastie Boys, or the Chili Peppers. Instead, it’s centered on the philosophical and spiritual impulses that drive creative engagement: “As artists we are on a continual quest to get close to the universe by getting closer to self…We’re on a distant metaphysical journey from the here to the now.” In keeping with his wizened guru vibe, the book veers into self-help and optimization territory, but if you’re open to a little guidance, there’s plenty to glean. In between tactics for generating inspiration, overcoming fear of failure, and strategies for considering, editing, and finishing projects, Rubin lays out his underlying premise: creativity is an innate human quality and the best work is that which reveals the individual character of its creator. The Creative Act is dedicated to zooming in on specifics and zooming out to glimpse the whole picture, knowing how to alternate between frames, and, ultimately, getting in the flow with the universe itself. You’re crazy for this one Rick!

On Recording, Chris Schlarb: Unlike the aforementioned Rubin book, the newly released On Recording by Chris Schlarb of Psychic Temple and Big Ego Records isn’t fancy looking and won’t take up much space on your bookshelf. In fact, you can slip the slim volume right into the back pocket of your dungarees, which is helpful as you’re going to want to keep this one nearby if you’re making music. “A blood and guts look at [the record making process] from someone used to working all week and recording all weekend,” On Recording is a must-read for DIY music makers, regardless of the scope of their project. Splitting the difference between a blue collar art manifesto and “how to” guide, the book distills lessons that Schlarb has learned from hours logged in the studio—just the goods, no bullshit. Though Schlarb admits early on in its pages that there is no “right” or “wrong” way to create music, On Recording nonetheless offers practical advice for those moments when you found yourself in doubt or perplexed. Schlarb’s prose feels like a steady hand on your shoulder.

Black Music, Amiri Baraka: Jazz correspondence and reportage from the frontlines of the ’60s free jazz revolution. Assembling assembles the liner notes, reviews, and essays Amiri Baraka (LeRoi Jones) wrote between 1959-1967 (roughly from the emergence of Ornette Coleman to the death of John Coltrane), Black Music traces the evolution of free jazz, simply referred to here as “the music,” and the players gave voice to its rallying cry. Where Baraka’s seminal Blues People examines the history and development of Black music in America (at least up to the early 60s), Black Music is rooted firmly in the NOW. Even though that NOW is decidedly past, Baraka’s writing has lost none of its insight or vitally, giving you the feeling of listening in on some heavy dialogue in the East Village between sets at Slug’s. While the book contains no shortage of Baraka’s keen critical eye, his investment and excitement in the music is that of a fan, one who hears the potential for enlightenment and progress, one who takes readers with him to artist lofts and underground cafes to bear witness. In its own way Black Music also traces Baraka’s own journey—from poet, playwright, and critic to the founder of the Black Arts Movement, further championing the “New Black Music” in the pages of The Cricket (see AD Book Club Chapter 18).

The Byrds: 1964-1967: Disguised as a lavish coffee table book, this 400-page behemoth is so much more. Byrds freaks can think of it as a visual counterpart to Johnny Rogan’s exhaustive Requiem for the Timeless series, with a limitless archive of intimate (and often unpublished) moments captured by a who’s who of ’60s rock photographers, from Henry Diltz to Linda McCartney. In addition to highlights like the legendary Ciro’s residency and album cover outtakes, we get a remarkable wealth of early touring gems: the high school gymnasium gigs and Jane Fonda’s Malibu beach parties that brought the New Hollywood film milieu together with the counterculture explosion from the Sunset Strip. With the golden era timeline ending at the dissolution of the original lineup (culminating with the late David Crosby’s infamous firing during the Notorious Byrd Brothers sessions), curators McGuinn, Hillman and Crosby provide candid narration throughout, as if cracking open an old scrapbook to reminisce. As the linear timeline rolls along, insightful and often comedic, self-deprecating commentary is added by the three remaining members, with particularly interesting anecdotes about the legacies of Gene Clark and the less documented Michael Clarke.

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