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Review: The Guardian Book of Playlists by Dorian Lynskey
By Shamini Sriskandarajah | In Writing and Books
Published by Aurum Press in association with Guardian Books
On Fridays, my workmates and I would lunch at our desks while finding out which pieces of music had made it into Dorian Lynskey’s top ten, and discussing amongst ourselves the suggestions for the next topic in the blog.
The subjects range from the heartfelt (unrequited love, friendship, and protest) to the obscure (mammals, heat, and celestial bodies). Readers Recommend is intended to be an education, which explains why obvious choices are often left out in favour of lesser known artists or songs.
Having said that, the Pet Shop Boys and Roxy Music (I have an aversion to the latter thanks to their titillating album covers) each feature five times, or six if you also count Bill Murray’s cover of ‘More Than This’. Looking through the collection of playlists, the choices seem exciting and eclectic, and you find yourself cheering when Elton John is left out in favour of Half Man Half Biscuit.
But some decisions, like some songs, bring back bilious memories – why wasn’t The Carpenters’ ‘Ticket to Ride’ included in Covers of Beatles Songs? It seemed a mandatory choice to me; I once had a Beatles versus Carpenters party inspired by Karen’s never-bettered rendering of that song. It must be something personal.
Lynskey writes in a silky, musical style, describing Manic Street Preachers’ song ‘Kevin Carter’ as ‘all stabbing punk-funk and rat-a-tat vocals’. Although his book loses some of the excitement of the Guardian column that builds up week by week, the collection of playlists and accompanying essays works well together.
Rather than the sort of reference book that you flick through passively, this makes you do something – dig out albums you’d forgotten about, listen to someone new who’s invited your interest, or make a compilation of your own. The columns have led me to interesting discoveries, such as how Dan Hicks’s song ‘How Can I Miss You When You Won’t Go Away’ has a great sense of humour but doesn’t sound like Therapy?, or how Elvis Costello, someone I’d always thought of as a smiley chap with Buddy Holly glasses, was capable of delivering a raw, disturbing song about jealousy.
A song on a compilation can turn out to be one of the most personal songs in the world. One song a friend included in her tape for me was ‘All in All’ by Dexy’s Midnight Runners. I only knew two songs by Dexy’s: ‘Come on Eileen’ and a cover of ‘Merry Xmas Everybody’ that I remember them performing on an 80s television show called Pop Goes Christmas.
Listening to ‘All in All’ for the first time, soon after my first horrible break-up, it was as though both my friend and Kevin Rowland had studied my relationship under a microscope and unravelled it for me: ‘I thought you meant better, Your experience will teach me no more lessons, From lower down you just seemed so much better’.
It’s unnerving when you hear a song that someone chose because it’s personal to them, and discover that it could have been written for you.
The subjects range from the heartfelt (unrequited love, friendship, and protest) to the obscure (mammals, heat, and celestial bodies). Readers Recommend is intended to be an education, which explains why obvious choices are often left out in favour of lesser known artists or songs.
Having said that, the Pet Shop Boys and Roxy Music (I have an aversion to the latter thanks to their titillating album covers) each feature five times, or six if you also count Bill Murray’s cover of ‘More Than This’. Looking through the collection of playlists, the choices seem exciting and eclectic, and you find yourself cheering when Elton John is left out in favour of Half Man Half Biscuit.
But some decisions, like some songs, bring back bilious memories – why wasn’t The Carpenters’ ‘Ticket to Ride’ included in Covers of Beatles Songs? It seemed a mandatory choice to me; I once had a Beatles versus Carpenters party inspired by Karen’s never-bettered rendering of that song. It must be something personal.
Lynskey writes in a silky, musical style, describing Manic Street Preachers’ song ‘Kevin Carter’ as ‘all stabbing punk-funk and rat-a-tat vocals’. Although his book loses some of the excitement of the Guardian column that builds up week by week, the collection of playlists and accompanying essays works well together.
Rather than the sort of reference book that you flick through passively, this makes you do something – dig out albums you’d forgotten about, listen to someone new who’s invited your interest, or make a compilation of your own. The columns have led me to interesting discoveries, such as how Dan Hicks’s song ‘How Can I Miss You When You Won’t Go Away’ has a great sense of humour but doesn’t sound like Therapy?, or how Elvis Costello, someone I’d always thought of as a smiley chap with Buddy Holly glasses, was capable of delivering a raw, disturbing song about jealousy.
A song on a compilation can turn out to be one of the most personal songs in the world. One song a friend included in her tape for me was ‘All in All’ by Dexy’s Midnight Runners. I only knew two songs by Dexy’s: ‘Come on Eileen’ and a cover of ‘Merry Xmas Everybody’ that I remember them performing on an 80s television show called Pop Goes Christmas.
Listening to ‘All in All’ for the first time, soon after my first horrible break-up, it was as though both my friend and Kevin Rowland had studied my relationship under a microscope and unravelled it for me: ‘I thought you meant better, Your experience will teach me no more lessons, From lower down you just seemed so much better’.
It’s unnerving when you hear a song that someone chose because it’s personal to them, and discover that it could have been written for you.
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