I read a glorious, pointless book yesterday. It's Bad Vibes, by Luke Haines - his account/autobiography of the Britpop years. Haines was the misanthropic egotist behind The Auteurs, Baader-Meinhof and Black Box Recorder, as well as recording under his own name. In thrall to The Go-Betweens and Nick Cave, but adding his own splenetic misery, Haines uses the book to attack, well, everybody, while declining false modesty. Everyone else was shit, and he's a genius. According to him.
A whole book of this would be unbearable, were it not for one thing: Haines is right. He is a genius and most other bands were rubbish compared with him. Unfortunately for our hero, the corporate world of music isn't really set up for misanthropic musical critiques. It likes singles and populist albums. And thus the stage is set for artistic ascension, critical approval and commercial failure. Which is a problem because, as Haines unflinchingly records, he likes fame, attention, money and drugs. All of which come to those who play the game - and he can't do it. The book's brilliant because Haines doesn't spare himself from unflinching criticism and scorn for his arrogance, petulance and narcissism, while dishing it out to everybody else too.
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