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Our Assessment:
C : a few decent observations, but an ill-conceived book See our review for fuller assessment.
From the Reviews: - Return to top of the page - The complete review's Review:
Michael Bracewell's The Nineties (or When Surface was Depth, for the American crowd) is an odd, long book.
The American subtitle Death by Cappuccino and other Reflections on Music and Culture in the 1990's, and the various titles suggest what it might be about.
Certainly, one might expect the book to focus on the era that was the 1990s (even if it may be a bit premature to have much of a grip on that).
But Bracewell seems merely to have cobbled together his journalistic output from that decade and pretended that makes it a book about the 90s.
(H)e is one of the very few pop lyricists whose writing is judged by the highest standards of contemporary literature -- a feat unrivalled since Dylan and the BeatlesWe would suggest he consider Leonard Cohen -- and that he get a grip. The "highest standards of contemporary literature" ? Well, maybe the lyrics are judged by those standards, but then surely they would be found wanting. Don't get us wrong, we love Morrissey and the Smiths too and the songs are great. But the lyrics as anything resembling "literature" ? No, no, no. Bracewell notes that surface passes for depth -- but he doesn't seem to find that very problematic. He likes surface. He revels in surface. And he seems utterly oblivious to most depth. There's much that is analytical, on some level, but it doesn't go anywhere, as yet another portrait pops up that sounds like it were written for a Sunday section. Punk is the defining moment for Bracewell (as for so many others), and that's really what he wants to focus on. The 90s -- where he has to interview the Hanson kids, for god's sake ! -- isn't nearly as exciting. Yoko, Patti Smith -- those are the chicks he wants to hang out with (and who can blame him -- better than Britney, for sure). There is some fun and interesting stuff here -- though surprisingly little. His visits with Yoko or the Hansons or Quentin Crisp are actually really boring. Some of what it leads to -- an exploration of the youth-star phenomenon, for example (highlighting Bracewell's ongoing fascination with all things Osmond) -- has its moments, but it's not tightly enough organized or focussed or presented. Occasionally there are jarring, brilliant moments, such as when Bracewell reveals both Tracey Emin and Ulrika Jonsson's plans to write books (which should send a shiver up every reader's back). The Britpop riffs, as he lists every fad and every one-day wonder to pass his way, are occasionally entertaining (though they will leave most American readers utterly befuddled). But overall there's surprisingly little fun, entertainment, or insight to be found here. Bracewell is relentless in his writing and heaping of cultural icons (and everyone and thing is a cultural icon, apparently), making for a tough slog. Definitely not the definitive account of an era. Of possible interest to diehard Britpop fans, but otherwise: don't bother. - Return to top of the page - When Surface was Depth:
- Return to top of the page - Michael Bracewell was born in 1958. He has written several novels and works as a journalist. - Return to top of the page -
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