Album Review: Valtari

Valtari by Sigur Rós (Parlophone, 2012. 54 minutes)

Sigur Rós is an Icelandic band, originally formed in 1994. The band is known for ethereal sounds, and falsetto singing by lead singer, Jónsi. The band was named after Jónsi’s sister, Sigurrós. 

Art and Song

Most bands have to find a natural compromise between the art of the song and the ability to make money. Some bands fall into the full on “pop” world, while others try to fight the mainstream and do something completely original. Sigur Rós falls into the latter category. The band has created an art-form which is completely unique, and a song style which I would argue cannot be replicated. The band, and lead singer Jónsi have formed art: something that I think will defy contemporary music and stand the test of time.

Unique Sound

Now, normally, I praise bands for evolving and moving on from their past. I have trouble doing so with Sigur Rós, as the band has carved out a niche so deep that I’m sure it’s hard to climb out. Jónsi emerged into the pop world with his solo career, but it seems as though he and fellow bandmates are happy to crawl back into their supremely distinct sound. Frankly, I have trouble blaming them for doing so. I’m even somewhat thankful that the band hasn’t begun poking around major keys and faster, upbeat themes.

Varúō

Valtari (the Icelandic word for steamroller) marks the band’s first album in four years, and carries the same sonic textures we’ve come to know from them. Minor key gloom washes over the album, with the exception of the song “Varúō”, which takes approximately four minutes to get to a smashing, ear-bleeding climax of percussive explosion. What I do enjoy most is there is little of the indie-pop charm of “Gobbledigook” on this track, and on the album in general. Perhaps Sigur Rós is intentionally and carefully crafting art now.

Varōeldur

Another song of note has a quiet, almost stereotypical soundtrack piano playing in the background on the major downbeats. “Varōeldur” spans over a behemoth six minutes in length, much like on the rest of the album. The song is deceptively simple, with guitars slowly swooning, Jónsi quitely cooing, and chimes distantly ringing in the background. It conjures an image of a sweet moment, a past love, or a favorite incident. 

Hypnosis in Sound

“Valtari”, the title track, emerges as the penultimate track, with almost eight minutes in length, slowly enveloping the listener’s ear in hypnotic sound.

“Varōeldur” and “Fjögur píanó” are similar in theme. While I do want to criticize Sigur Rós for not developing their sound any, it’s hard to. I think the fact that the band doesn’t move past their previously developed sound perhaps just proves how original the band is. While the album isn’t exactly what one would call exciting, it’s beautiful. 

A steamroller is exactly what the album is: a beautiful, slow-moving, minimalist steamroller. The band has long dealt in the expansive, repetitive, and minimalist world, where vocals gradually accumulate to a climax, and where reverb reigns. The band’s sound is artful. Valtari is perhaps more calming than anything, something to listen to while you sip a bit of scotch or cocoa and sit by a fire while you gaze outside into the beauty of the world.

Verdict: 3.5 out of 5
What do you think of the album?  Do you find it original, or something similar to the band's past? Do you enjoy the artful take of the band, or find it boring? Share your thoughts below.
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Posted by: Andrew Jacobson

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Album Review: Ashes & Fire

Ashes & Fire by Ryan Adams (Capitol Records/Pax Americana Record Company, 2011. 43 minutes)

Ryan Adams is a singer-songwriter renowned for his contributions to the alt-country genre. Originally a member of the band Whiskeytown, Adams began his solo career with Heartbreaker in 2000. A prolific songwriter with 13 albums released since 2000, Adams garnered the most commercial success with Gold. In addition to music, Adams has published Infinity Blues and Hello Sunshine, books of poetry. Adams married Mandy Moore in 2009 and took an extended hiatus—for him, at least—from music. In 2010, Adams founded a record label, PAX AM and has released has latest two releases on the label.

The Rubric of Great Art 

There are times when music pauses reality with a unique melody or a noteworthy phrase. A song penetrates the soul at far from objective depths. These moments intrigue a listener; one wants to unveil the songwriting process, connect to the artist at the most basic of levels.

What if, having queried an artist, you learn your emotional connections to a song mean little to nothing, the deep movement protruding from the sonic textures translate to nothing more than a paycheck for the artist instead of a moment from a personal diary? Would such a result alter the way you think of the song?

On one hand, I want art to forge the connection between creator and consumer. Yet, beautiful art remains exemplary regardless of authorial intent.

Given these quandaries, Ryan Adams’ Ashes & Fire intrigues. Emotionally honest and abstemious alternative country, Ashes & Fire feels like a counseling session. In this openness, I feel a personal connection with Adams. Whether or not the person emerging from the lyrics equates to Ryan Adams in reality, the lyrical content on openness to a successful relationship and the fears of its quick demise provides the foundation for an outstanding record.

Dancing in the Dirty Rain 

Ashes & Fire opens with “Dirty Rain”. With a thin acoustic guitar and piano accompaniment from Norah Jones, Adams introduces the overarching themes of the album with his first verse:

“Last time I was here it was raining/It isn’t raining anymore/The streets were drowned, the waters waning/All the ruins washed ashore/I’m here, just looking through the rubble/Tryin’ to find out who we were/Last time I was here it was raining/It isn’t raining anymore”

With a history of self-afflicted drug abuse and alcoholism, Adams views his current successful relationship with doubt. How long will it last before the rain drowns everything of value? When Adams sings, “And you and I are out dancing in the dirty rain,” it feels like a plea to stick together through thick and thin.

To Wait in Uncertainty 

“Do I Wait?”, another highlight of Ashes & Fire, continues the theme of doubt. A descending chord progression, similar to “The Shadowlands”, my favorite Ryan Adams tune, suggests the dread of a relationship in peril. Adams commences the song with questions:

“Do I want to say the things that I say?/When I know that they are wrong?/Do I wait here forever for you?/Did you ask me to?”

As the uncertainty in the song builds, Adams’ voice feels more strained until a gorgeous guitar solo introduces the song’s climax.

The Pros and Cons of a Boundary 

The next song, “Chains of Love”, announces a shift in emotion. Perhaps the commitment of a relationship does not mean an inevitable slide into discord.

“I can see the chains of love/The chains/Talking about the chains of love/Can’t take us away”

Even though the use of a chain as a metaphor for a relationship conjures the feeling of love as a prison, Adams’ voice suggests the possibility of chains as a metaphor for healthy cementedness in a relationship.

Steadfast Despite Doubt 

With this shift in place, the back half of Ashes & Fire carries more hopefulness, culminating in the final song, “I Love You But I Don’t Know What to Say”.

Including reserved and bare instrumentation, the track acknowledges the difficulty of a relationship while maintaining the commitment of moving forward.

“I promise you/I will keep you safe from harm/And love you all the rest of my days/When the night is silent/And we seem so far away/I love you/And I don’t know what to say”

Do We Need Confessions from a Personal Diary?

Whether or not we are receiving glimpses of his personal diary, Adams writes convincing songs; they feel genuine and the hopeful-despite-scared quality resonates with any relationship.

If I met Ryan Adams tomorrow and he told me Ashes & Fire exists for a paycheck alone, the quality of the music and the emotional pull would not change. I like imagining Adams as a tortured songwriter but a good song is a good song no matter the process behind its creation. If you like emotionally honest singer-songwriters and find affinity with alt-country, check out Ashes & Fire.

Verdict: 4.5 out of 5

What do you think? Are you a fan of Ryan Adams or alternative country? Do you want your music to have a level of honesty? Does the artist’s intention matter to you? Share your thoughts below.

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Posted by: Donovan Richards

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Book Review: The Lifespan of a Fact

The Lifespan of a Fact by John D’Agata and Jim Fingal (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2012. 128 pp

John D’Agata is the author of About a Mountain and Halls of Fame, and editor of The Next American Essay and The Lost Origins of the Essay. He teaches creative writing at the University of Iowa in Iowa City, where he lives.

Jim Fingal worked for several years as a fact-checker at The Believer and McSweeney’s, where he worked on the titles What Is the What, Surviving Justice, Voices from the Storm, and others. He currently lives in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where he designs software.

Evaluating Truth

Recently, I engaged in an existential debate regarding the meaning of book evaluation. My considerations began in December as I compiled my year-end lists. Surprisingly, I found that I rate fiction higher than nonfiction. As I explored the reasons behind my presuppositions, I learned that the rating scale is calibrated differently per genre. On fiction’s side, I rated a book on entertainment value, quality of language, and character development. On nonfiction’s side, I based my rating on the truth value of the thesis. The more closely I found a nonfiction work aligned with my view of reality, the higher I rated the book.

This debate of art versus fact becomes realized in John D’Agata’s and Jim Fingal’s, The Lifespan of a Fact. The tome announces the dialogue around a rejected essay submission on a teenager who committed suicide in Las Vegas. In 2003, an essay by John D’Agata was rejected by the magazine that commissioned it due to factual inaccuracies. In The Lifespan of a Fact, that essay appears in full with the argument between D’Agata and fact-checker, Jim Fingal, dotting the margins.

Accuracy and the Meaning of Suicide 

The essay, in short, speaks of Levi Presley, a teenager who committed suicide in 2002 by jumping off the Stratosphere in Las Vegas. While detailing a true story, D’Agata’s essay flows impressionistically around the cultural climate of Las Vegas and the meaning of suicide.

The text of The Lifespan of a Fact

By privileging artistic expression, factual accuracy becomes a secondary concern. For example, Fingal and D’Agata argue about the number of seconds it took Levi to fall from the tower:

“’We therefore know that when Levi Presley jumped from the tower of the Stratosphere Hotel at 6:01:43 p.m.—eventually hitting the ground at 6:01:52…’ Factual Dispute: Although the incident did happen at ’18:01,’ according to the Coroner’s Report, Levi Presley’s fall supposedly only took eight seconds, not nine. So the actual time frame would be more like ‘6:01:43-6:01:51.’
John?
John: Yeah, I fudged that. It doesn’t seem like it should be that big a deal, though. It’s only a second. And I needed him to fall for nine seconds rather than eight in order to help make some of the later themes in the essay work.
Jim: John, changing details about stuff like Tobasco sauce bottles and thermometers is one thing, but it seems a tad unethical to fiddle with details that relate directly to this kid’s death. In my book, it just seems wrong, especially since the coroner clearly states that Presley’s fall only took eight seconds.
John: I don’t think it’s unethical, particularly because I wasn’t alone in assuming that his fall took nine seconds. For a while his parents also assumed that he had fallen for nine seconds. In fact, that’s where I initially got the number from. Do you think I’d just change this willy-nilly to suit some sort of literary trick I wanted to pull off? His parents and I had a fairly explicit conversation about these nine seconds with Levi’s old Tae Kwon Do coach. So with that little bit of information, I began thinking about some of the ways that the number nine could play a thematic role in the essay.
Jim: OK, I’ll grant you that at one point you didn’t know the correct number, but now you do know better, so shouldn’t it change?
John: ‘Nine’ is too integral a part of the essay at this point. And I admit that I’m wrong about ‘nine’ later on anyway. So the essay’s not changing. It would ruin the essay.
Jim: It would ‘ruin’ it to make it more accurate?
John: Yup” (19).

Must History Be Accurate? 

Photo by O Palsson

Strikingly, D’Agata finds the artistic representation of the number nine more important in the essay than the fact that the actual event occurred differently. Depending on your view of art and the purpose of truth in communication, your response to such an idea will differ. For some, the truth factor matters above all else because the event is real. Fingal, the fact checker, takes this stance:

“I don’t disagree that these facts are trifling, John, but don’t you think that the gravity of the situation demands an accuracy that you’re dismissing as incidental? This isn’t just about the name of one slot machine. I mean, even if there was no inherent meaning in these details, you’re giving them meaning by calling attention to them… You are writing what will probably become the de facto story of what happened to Levi, and so every detail you choose to [alter] will become significant, because your account will be the one account anyone is ever likely to read about him. And that’s why to me this is serious business, because the record you’re creating now, however minor, will be regarded as the authoritative one, if only because there is no competing narrative anyone else is likely to read or write about this kid” (107).

Artistic License Draws Upon Deeper Themes in Life?

Others more inclined to the thematic artfulness of creative writing will contend that the truthfulness of the event does not change. Whether Levi fell for eight seconds or nine seconds, he still committed suicide. D’Agata would argue that through an essay, a life can be memorialized whether or not it tells the story with accuracy to the second.

“An essay is not a vehicle for facts, in other words, nor for information, nor verifiable experience. An essay is an experience, and a very human one at that” (111).

Ultimately, I find it difficult to choose between the two sides. Accuracy matters. Nonfiction as a genre prospers on the foundation of truthfulness. To intentionally alter facts with artistic license is to insert falsity into a true story. Yet, the narrative function of a story requires emotion. When accuracy forces a story into clunky prose and too much detail to qualify a story’s progression, is not artfulness capable of maintaining the theme and keeping a story readable?

The Lifespan of a Fact: More Dadaist, Less Rembrandt 

Fountain by Marcel Duchamp

For me, The Lifespan of a Fact feels like some of the early 20th century dadaist art. Much like Duchamp’s Fountain or In Advance of the Broken Arm, The Lifespan of a Fact elicits an intellectual response. In my mind, I laugh and say, “I get it.” But that response about covers the topic. The Lifespan of a Fact does not offer the depth of an intricate Rembrandt painting where each subsection of the piece carries interest to the smallest brushstroke.

My evaluation of literature remains schismatic. Fiction leans toward evaluative tactics that require consideration of writing technique and plot development. Nonfiction needs a level of truthfulness. But, The Lifespan of a Fact alters my perception in the principle of accuracy versus truthfulness. Levi Presely tragically chose to commit suicide in 2002. If D’Agata’s essay sheds light on his life in a respectable manner (of note, all profits from this book go to Levi’s family), I’m at peace with sacrificing accuracy.

Verdict: 4.5 out of 5

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Posted by: Donovan Richards

Alternative Takes:
NPR
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Film Review: Exit Through The Gift Shop

Exit Through the Gift Shop directed by Banksy (Paranoid Pictures, Revolver Entertainment, R, 87 minutes)

Starring: Thierry Guetta, Banksy, Shepherd Fairey, Invader

Graffiti as Art 

  

You’re walking down the street and suddenly you see something—graffiti. If you live in any major city, you’ve seen it, and they are not that pretty. They are normally some gang insignias or autographs marking territory; they are something you ignore. Perhaps they are something you hate to see, or something that is vulgar and repulsive.

What would happen if the graffiti were beautiful? You would stop and look at it in awe, and hopefully it would make you think. This is the beginning of the street art phenomena. The documentary, Exit Through the Gift Shop, follows figures such as Banksy (who also directed the film), as well as a nobody-film-maker-turned-street-artist, whose street name is Mister Brain Wash.

The Film Maker 

Thierry Guetta is a French immigrant living in L.A. and he makes a pretty decent living running a vintage clothing shop. But, his first love is for film. He films everything, including his cousin, “Invader”, who is an internationally known street artist. Invader tags property with tile art of space invaders (from the video game). Guetta unknowingly stumbled upon and filmed something big: the rise of street art.

Guetta also documents Shepard Fairey—an artist best known for his depictions of Andre the Giant and the Obama campaign poster of 2008—under the auspices that he is filming a documentary on the rise of street art, though all he is doing is filming street artists and throwing the film into unlabeled boxes. Finally, he is introduced to the hero of street art, a man known as Banksy.

Banksy by Oscilloscope Laboratories

The Venerated Artist 

Banksy is a prominent and secretive street artist who, at the time of filming, was preparing a show called “Barely Legal” in Skid Row in L.A. Thinking that street art is not a long-lasting phenomenon and is usually destroyed soon after completing it, Banksy sees an opportunity and has Guetta film his work as well as his show “Barely Legal”. So he gives Guetta the assignment of creating a documentary of all his film, one that tells the history of the street art movement. The result is a film entitled Life Remote Control, which is the biggest piece of garbage ever viewed. It’s a 90-minute schizophrenic film with seemingly random themes, and Banksy decides it’s unwatchable, and the Guetta might be certifiably crazy. So, Banksy takes a turn producing it into a documentary (Exit Through the Gift Shop) and gives Guetta an assignment to keep him busy: he is to produce his own street art.

Art Defiled 

Guetta decides to name himself MBW, or Mister Brain Wash (for those wondering, yes, brainwash is normally one word). Mr. Brain Wash, then, re-mortgages his business, rents copious amounts of printing supplies, and hires people to design his ideas. He then produces a show, called “Life is Beautiful” and holds it in a former CBS studio.

The show was a success, despite the fact that he copied works of other people (street artists and famous pop-artists like Andy Warhol), and can’t even describe the meaning of his art to others. Banksy and the street art community are outraged, as Brain Wash skipped a step. He never took the time to establish himself, work hard, and create art that actually meant something. Rather, he just made it happen in some defiled non-artistic way. It’s sad that someone can create “art” without really trying and understanding what they create.

The Controversy 

Photo by Trois Tetes

This film has only succeeded in making Brain Wash look horrible, and Banksy and Shepherd Fairy look like street art heroes. And, Guetta’s cousin, Invader, doesn’t even talk to him any more. Many critics, however, think that Mr. Brain Wash doesn’t exist and the whole movie was shot by Banksy, even though Banksy himself denies it. Regardless of the controversy that exists about this film, when one compares the artwork alone, one is led to this truth: something is wrong with culture’s relationship to art. Should you view this film, don’t get distracted by the controversy—the point of the film is that art has to have a mysterious combination of quality and individualism. Hype elevates what is not quality, and it’s a dangerous place to go with art. It takes time to develop a voice. Just copying and succeeding through hype alone cannot constitute art.

This move really says more about culture than it says about Guetta or even Banksy.

I sincerely recommend Exit Through the Gift Shop, and I think anyone will enjoy it. You can decide for yourself if you think Guetta is a villain for how he has made a living on his “art”.

Verdict: 4 out of 5

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Posted by: Andrew Jacobson

Alternate Views: This Too Is Meaningless

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Book Review: The Unconsoled

The Unconsoled by Kazuo Ishiguro (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1995. 535 pp)

Born in 1954 in Nagasaki, Japan, Kazuo Ishiguro moved with his family to England in 1960. Ishiguro attended the University of Kent receiving a bachelor’s degree in 1978 and continued his education at the University of East Anglia obtaining a master’s degree in creative writing in 1980. A celebrated novelist, Ishiguro has been nominated four times for the Man Booker Prize, winning it in 1989 for his work, The Remains of the Day. Recently, Ishiguro’s novel, Never Let Me Go, was adapted to a full-length film featuring Carey Mulligan, Keira Knightley, and Andrew Garfield. Ishiguro resides in London with his wife and daughter.

The Unconsoled as Broccoli

You know how some things are good for you in the long-run though unpleasant at the moment of? Well, Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Unconsoled feels like green vegetables to me. As an overall work, the novel carries immense depth; reading it, on the other hand, was a chore.

Where Were We?

Set in an unnamed Central European city, Mr. Ryder, the tome’s protagonist, is a prestigious pianist that will give a performance he cannot remember agreeing to give.

Over the course of his three-day visit, Mr. Ryder encounters many strangers with a vague recollection of close relationship to these people. Moreover, Ryder wanders from task to task ignoring the tight schedule his handlers supposedly had given him.

An Apprehensive Narrative

In truth, this somnambulant narrative is extremely frustrating. As a punctual person acutely aware of my schedule, Ryder’s vague disregard for every appointment causes apprehension. I continuously wanted to remind him of his obligations.

Ishiguro elaborates on this confusion,

“For the truth was that my forthcoming address to this city was not only far from ready, I had yet to complete even the background research. I could not understand how with all my experience I had arrived at such a state of affairs. I remembered how that very afternoon in the hotel’s elegant atrium, I had sat sipping the strong bitter coffee, reiterating to myself the importance of planning the rest of the day with care so as to make the best use of the very limited time” (115).

On top of Ryder’s clouded recollections, his wanderings leave him unprepared for his many social functions. Forgetting to attend a banquet, Ryder is rushed to the proceedings while wearing his pajamas:

“I cleared my throat a second time and was about to embark on my talk when I suddenly became aware that my dressing gown was hanging open, displaying the entire naked front of my body. Thrown into confusion, I hesitated for a second then sat back down again” (143).

Additionally, in an almost frustrating way, Ryder always seems to find himself in the right place at the right time without any sort of foresight.

As an example, Ishiguro writes,

“As I approached the latter stages of the third movement I became conscious again of the digging noise. I was not sure whether it had ceased for a while then started up again or if it had been going on all the time, but in any case it now seemed much more conspicuous than before. The thought then suddenly occurred to me that the noise was being made by none other than Brodsky in the process of burying his dog. Indeed, I recollected his having declared on more than one occasion this morning his intention to bury his dog later in the day, and I even had a vague memory of having agreed to some arrangement whereby I played the piano while he performed the burial ceremony” (358).

A Surrealist Interpretation

As I read, The Unconsoled, its dream-like style encouraged me to comprehend it in a surrealist manner. Ryder encounters many people during his visit who resemble him in many ways. While the novel says nothing conclusive, I chose to view these interweaving characters as projections of Ryder’s psyche.

Stephan, the talented son of never-satisfied-with-anything parents; Brodsky, the alcoholic composer loved by many for his talent and simultaneously hated for his vices; and Mr. Hoffman, the man always in search of perfection. I truly find Ryder in each. Of course, Ryder interacts with these characters making my claim rather tenuous, but I believe there is room for this interpretation.

Art Culture and the Cult of Personality

At a deeper level, The Unconsoled functions as critique of art culture and a condemnation of the cult of personality. With a world renowned pianist in town, the citizens fawn over Ryder at his every move and expect him to cater to their every whim.

Although infuriating to read, The Unconsoled possesses literary merit. Kazuo Ishiguro writes with depth and clarity. If you need some vegetables, I recommend this book. If, however, you require easier reading, I suggest you look for your literature needs elsewhere.

Verdict: 2.5 out of 5

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Book Review: Tree of Codes

Tree of Codes by Jonathan Safran Foer (London: Visual Editions, 2010. 285 pp)

Born in Washington, D.C., Jonathan Safran Foer attended Princeton University earning a degree in philosophy. While at Princeton, Foer developed a senior thesis around the life of his Holocaust surviving grandfather. Eventually, this thesis became Foer’s first published book titled, Everything Is Illuminated. The book received critical acclaim winning the National Jewish Book Award and a Guardian First Book Award. Eventually, the novel was adapted into a film starring Elijah Wood. Foer’s second novel, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close: A Novel garnered both praise and derision for its use of 9/11 as a narrative tool and its use of visual writing. Foer currently teaches in the Graduate Creative Writing Program at New York University. He is married to Nicole Krauss and they live with their two children in Brooklyn.

Mashup: A Musical Joke

Alone in my room on a winter evening a half decade ago or so, I first heard the music genre titled “mashup.” The band, Girl Talk, sampled multiple songs and layered them into a complex and new composition. While enjoyable, mashup never entered the realm of my favorite music. In my opinion, the genre feels too gimmicky. I am certain if I were to go “clubbing,” I would prefer the stylings of mashup to provide the rhythm to my dancing.

But I don’t dance; I don’t “club.” On the whole, then, mashup feels like a musical joke. It entertains me but it does not change me at a deeper level.

Tree of Codes: Art or Gimmick?

Similarly, Jonathan Safran Foer’s latest book, Tree of Codes, feels like a gimmick. With every word taken from The Street of Crocodiles by Bruno Schulz, Tree of Codes function more as a work of visual art than as a work of literature. More specifically, Foer takes Schulz’s work and creates a new story by deleting words and phrases in order to create new sentences.

While aesthetically stunning, the story takes a back seat to the way the story looks. Tree of Codes is a quick read because each page contains merely a sentence or two.

The newly rendered story meanders under a stream-of-consciousness style. Without character development or a defined plot, Tree of Codes feels more like poetry than a novel.

Gaze Upon Its Beauty

Ultimately, Foer’s visual writing is beautiful and well worth consuming. Yet, Tree of Codes feels gimmicky. Just like the mashup genre of music provides entertainment only to a certain level, Tree of Codes suffers from the same fate. The beauty of the book offers enough value that I recommend reading Tree of Codes, but don’t expect much from the content.

Verdict: 3.5 out of 5

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Book Review: A Visit from the Goon Squad

A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2010. 352 pp.)

Born in Chicago, Jennifer Egan spent her formative years in San Francisco. She majored in English literature at the University of Pennsylvania. Then, she accepted a fellowship at St. John’s College, Cambridge. Egan has received a Guggenheim Fellowship, a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship in Fiction, and a Dorothy and Lewis B. Cullman Fellowship at the New York Public Library. Her first novel, The Invisible Circus, became a feature film starring Cameron Diaz. Her latest book, A Visit from the Goon Squad, won the 2011 National Book Critics Award for Fiction, a Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, and the LA Times Book Prize for Fiction. Egan’s non-fiction has graced the pages of New York Times Magazine winning the Carroll Kowal Journalism Award and a 2009 NAMI Outstanding Media Award for Science and Health Reporting from the National Alliance on Mental Illness. Currently, she lives in Brooklyn.

The Day the Music Died

1959 might soon become 1996. When Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and J.P. Richardson died in a plane crash on February 3, 1959, singer-songwriter Don McLean  pronounced that date as “the day the music died” in his popular tune, “American Pie.”

However, the day the Telecommunications Act of 1996 became law might soon become the real day the music died. The law – which deregulated media ownership – allowed Clear Channel Communications to buy the lion’s share of the nation’s radio stations.

Showcased in the scathing documentary, Before the Music Dies, Clear Channel is arguably responsible for the decline of music in the last decade. Substituting quality for quantity, Clear Channel’s business model preached non-offensiveness. Instead of spinning the best tunes from the best artists, radio focused on keeping listeners tuned in long enough to get to commercials.

For this reason, commercial appeal replaced artistry. The music needed to have enough hooks to keep the listener from switching channels. Under this business model, legendary bands like Led Zepplin and Pink Floyd would have never grown in status since their work needed time to mature in the listener’s ears.

At the core, Jennifer Egan’s book, A Visit from the Goon Squad, touches on the death of the music industry and the disillusionment of the book’s characters as they encounter uncertain futures.

Everyone’s Connected

A Visit from the Goon Squad is a series of connected short stories. Set mostly in New York but also California, Africa, and Italy, the book centers around music executive, Bennie Salazar.  Jumping between the current time period, the late sixties, and the near future, each chapter tells the story of a character connected in some way to Bennie.

Written in a style similar to Tom Rachman’s The Imperfectionists, each chapter is devoted to another character in Egan’s imagined world. As the story progresses, characters develop in the periphery. While Rachman’s short stories and multiple characters orbited the newspaper where they work, Egan’s characters do not carry a central point of reference. Although Bennie Salazar seems to be the central character, not every protagonist from chapter to chapter knows him personally.

Questions of Art, Purpose, and Brokeness

Stylistically, A Visit from the Goon Squad inquires about the legitimacy of artistry. Does punk rock remain punk rock when it is commercialized? If art exists for the sake of money, does it cease to become art? Egan writes,

“When does a fake Mohawk become a real Mohawk? Who decides? How do you know if it’s happened?” (35).

Additionally, Egan suggests that the distance between success and failure or life and death is imperceptibly minute. Writing about Bennie’s long-lost and arguably more talented former band member, Egan pens,

“Things had gotten sort of dry for me. I was working for the city as a janitor in a neighborhood elementary school and, in summers, collecting litter in the park alongside the East River near the Williamsburg Bridge. I felt no shame whatsoever in these activities, because I understood what almost no one else seemed to grasp: that there was only an infinitesimal difference, a difference so small that it barely existed except as a figment of the human imagination, between working in a tall green glass building on Park Avenue and collecting litter in a park. In fact, there may have been no difference at all” (71).

Moreover, Egan explores the brokenness of her characters. Those characters successful in business struggle mightily in their personal lives; the characters with stable personal lives struggle with finances. Throughout the story, the characters labor toward keeping their heads above water. Referencing a failed publicist, Egan elaborates on her attempts to make ends meet no matter the ethical consequences:

“When the first installment appeared in her bank account, Dolly’s relief was so immense that it almost obliterated the tiny anxious muttering voice inside her: Your client is a genocidal dictator. Dolly had worked with shitheads before, God knew; if she didn’t take this job someone else would snap it up; being a publicist is about not judging your clients – these excuses were lined up in formation, ready for deployment should that small dissident voice pluck up its courage to speak with any volume. But lately, Dolly couldn’t even hear it” (105).

PowerPoint: A Plot Device

Of course, any book review of A Visit from the Goon Squad must mention the famous PowerPoint chapter. I have heard some label this move as pure genius. Others perceive its use in questionable terms. Personally, I found it moving, unique, and a quick way to read 80 pages. Since enough ink has been spilled on this chapter, I shall only state that it is a unique and enjoyable plot device.

Where Characters Meet

While A Visit from the Goon Squad is an enjoyable read, I found Egan’s connections between characters to be slightly forced. Where a collection of stories that locates itself within a static community provides reasonable relational connections, Egan’s characters live, work, and play in separate spheres. Although some connections made sense, it felt like Egan – at certain times – inserted characters inorganically.

Nevertheless, A Visit from the Goon Squad carries dense themes and certainly requires a reread. As the music industry crumbles around us, Egan masterfully depicts characters simultaneously breaking down. Before the music dies, I recommend reading this book.