There have been times in my life when I’ve felt guilty for paying more attention to the music around me than the people in front of me.
If you have too, you should read this book.
Geoffrey O’Brien looks back at his life, right from his earliest years through his memories of (mostly) recorded sound and songs.
It’s a bitter sweet book, and at times almost too moving to read.
Sometimes perhaps it’s too florid, over written. But how do you write about music anyway, except somehow “over” it?
Music is invisible, you can’t see it or hold it, although you can sometimes feel it. Whatever we say about music can never capture its’ essence. Does something so insubstantial, yet so powerful, have an essence?
So we write and write and talk and talk about music, turning over adjectives again and again that somehow never really fit. We make lists to try and capture it. But in the end music always eludes us.
I’d like to thank my friend Simon Hopkins for giving this book to me.