33 1/3: The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society

Andy Miller - 33 1/3: The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society

published 1 November 2003 by Continuum

It’s difficult not to feel sorry for The Kinks. Primarily known as a singles band, their beautiful yet flawed concept album, The Kinks Are The Village Green Preservation Society was two years in the making, yet couldn’t have hit the shops at a worse time. On 22nd November 1968, Village Green was released, as was a self-titled double album by a fairly popular beat combo called The Beatles. The public adored The Beatles’ forward-thinking vision, which set the tone for the future of popular music, while The Kinks’ sepia-tinged nostalgia seemed immediately antiquated. Village Green sank like a stone in the ‘60s, but has subsequently become The Kinks’ best-loved record.

Writer Andy Miller gives a detailed look into the circumstances surrounding the writing and recording of the album, and it makes for an absorbing read. This is a story of false starts, indecisive minds and difficult relationships, all held together (barely) by the songwriting genius of Ray Davies. It paints the picture of The Kinks - and Davies in particular - as outsiders, under-valued in their time, not seeing any reason to reach for higher concepts in their songs when there was still so much to explore within ordinary people.

Miller makes use of multiple sources and references, and sometimes it’s the smallest titbits of information that are the most revealing. For all their pastoral charm, The Kinks were still a group of friends from Muswell Hill who liked nothing more than a laugh: Dave Davies was known to conduct interviews with “LOVE” and “DAVE” written on his knuckles, while bassist Pete Quaife said of a particularly notorious groupie, “every group knew her, especially The Dave Clark Five”.

The story behind Village Green is an interesting one and the book is eminently readable, though Miller is prone to hyperbole on occasion (is Big Sky really “as good as anything written in the 1960s”?). It does fizzle out somewhat towards the end, however, with discussion of B-sides and unreleased tracks rather than maybe assessing the importance of Village Green today and its role in the wider world of music. The book also hints at episodes in the life of The Kinks that may make for more fascinating reading: the story of their ban from performing in America, the fractious relationship between the brothers Davies, The Kinks’ decline into polished stadium rock. An indispensable book for the story of Village Green this may be, but if you really want to get under the skin of The Kinks, there’s further reading to be done.

33 1/3: OK Computer

Dai Griffiths - 33 1/3: OK Computer

published 9 September 2004 by Continuum

Type “writing about music is like dancing about architecture” into Google and you get well over 800000 results; not bad for a quote that’s patently untrue. It’s a sound bite that’s taken on a life of its own, principally due to its inflammatory nature and “quotability”, rather than anything remotely fact-based. At its finest, writing about music is a wonderful thing; a great review, article or opinion piece can be persuasive, invigorating, challenging and entertaining, much in the same way music itself can be. One of the great things about music is that it’s near-indefinable and certain tracks mean different things to different people. This means that music doesn’t lend itself too well to academic appraisal, yet that is what Oxford Brookes lecturer, Dr. Dai Griffiths, seeks to do in his book on Radiohead’s OK Computer.

This isn’t at all to suggest that academia and pop music can’t be bedfellows - for instance, analysing a particular album and its place in the canon of the history of recorded music would be a more than valid study. However, OK Computer was only released in 1997, and while Dr. Griffith’s thesis is as engagingly written as you’d expect, it’s debatable whether breaking down each song into its constituent parts with details on bars per section, tempo and key signature is going to advance anyone’s appreciation of the album.

The books in the 33 1/3 series examine “classic” albums in detail and tend to be written by journalists or musicians rather than academics. I find it difficult not to take issue with the style of the OK Computer book, as the music I love is all about the way it makes me feel, and while I’m keen to know more about the making of a record and the circumstances around it, dissecting it as if it were a scientific experiment seems impersonally anodyne and leaves me cold. The fact that the average song length on OK Computer is greater than that of The Bends is immaterial; the reasons I like OK Computer are likely to be different to the reasons you like (or dislike) OK Computer and grouping the lyrical themes into nine distinct headings isn’t going to alter that one jot.

That said, Dr. Griffiths’ prose is very readable, and the section on the difference between CD and vinyl albums is incredibly interesting. Unfortunately, the conclusion he draws is incredibly sweeping and rushed, and his over-confident tone can be grating and smug. It’s a decent enough book and worthy reading for OK Computer obsessives, but it ultimately comes across as the wrong approach to take. With a style like that, you may as well be dancing about architecture.