I Know This Much: From Soho to Spandau [Paperback]

I found this a fabulous autobiography. In fact I managed to read the book in one sitting as it gripped me so much.

I related so much with Gary's story of growing up in a working class family in London in the 60s/70s. Yes, my mum too insisted on net curtains and yes my family had day trips to Southend!

Great read too for those who grew up listening to Spandau Ballet and who had always wanted to read Gary's side of the story.

The final chapter where Gary relates the loss of his parents, the birth of his third son and the rebirth of Spandau Ballet is brilliantly written. You get sense that finally after an eventful, challenging and interesting life he is finally at one with who he is and what has made the man.

I read this book after seeing the re-formed Spandau Ballet on their recent tour (excellent show), and I was quite impressed. I had always thought of Gary Kemp as clearly very talented, but a bit pompous and arrogant. There are some traces of this in the book but I found it an interesting read, very well written and Gary comes across as quite a likeable bloke.
The reason I wouldn't give it 5 stars is that while the author gives the reasons for the beginning of the feud with Tony, John & Steve, that story jumps straight to the court hearing and then jumps again to the recent reconcilliation with nothing inbetween. I totally understand that he probably doesn't want to re-open old wounds with all the bandmates reconciled, but it would have been better to hear Gary's side of things after Tony wrote about it in his book.
This aside I would recommend this book to any music fan - a lot better than most musician's autobiographies I've read.

Kemp's memoir is that rare beast - a compelling, intelligently (self) written and touching book about a life in pop. There's been a few great stabs at pop culture commentary through autobiography, not least Robert Elms' The Way We Wore (which this is something of an unintentional companion piece to), but the real value of I Know This Much, aside from its glistening prose, is in witnessing someone discovering themselves.

Always something of an odd penny, the Spandau songwriter and arguably its spiritual leader was always wiser than his pop position called for, and his working class soulboy roots never really sat comfortably with his angular New Romantic entrance. This rendered him somewhat pretentious to many, and his flaunting of left-wing politics often grated when framed by his band's timely, aspirational image.

However, with the benefit of distance and maturity (and following his time in the wilderness, as Joe Strummer would say, when discussing that inevitable period between an artist's fall and his redemption), Kemp is able to reflect with great poignancy on a young man's journey into, and through the shining city of dreams. In Kemp's case that city, metaphorically, but more often literally - and literary in its evocation - is unmistakably London, and the metropolis is ever present like a ghost, framing his actions and attitude. Street styles pass like parades, the inevitability of fate is etched into the architecture that backdrops his successes and failures, and he evocatively maps his own journey from boy into man, into middle age by returning to places only to find the crowds and the faces have all moved on.

At root, though, this book is a record (and celebration) of his parents' success in raising their two balanced sons - Gary and his brother Martin. The feeling of close family warmth, and ceaseless support is palpable; and gives both Kemp and the book its strength. From the sheer and challenging poverty of his childhood, through to the sensitively handled, near tear-jerking account of his parents' death within days of each other in 2009, money and success is always comes second to recollections of his brother, mother and father. Kemp is evidently, despite his aloof lone wolf image, a highly sensitive and lovingly loyal chap, but this is an identity that he has to arrive at; and time and the ravages of age are the consequential pain of his slow lesson. The injustice suffered by his parents (not least his father who, like many of his time fell between opportunities; and as a poor working man never quite managed to break his intellect and potential free from the crushing trap of class) sit heavy with Kemp, and go some way towards explaining his love-hate relationship with fame and evident awkwardness with wealth.

I Know This Much is, as a consequence, also a slow revealing of what happens when your dreams are exceeded in the glare of global fame. And in being so it is a touching testament to spiritual growth. But growth is nothing without pain, and each man is defined by his nemesis. In career terms, for Kemp, his foe was 'the enemy' - Duran Duran. Rarely mentioned, but pitched as the proverbial Villa to his beloved Arsenal, their parrallel rise is only occassionally referenced; but when it is, there is a growing sense of antagonism born of Kemp's adolescent competitive streak, which festers into frustration as the demands of fame and fortune lead him to strive for greater and greater goals - leading to him failing both himself and the band he has become increasingly responsible for.

Whilst record labels do come in for some criticism, not least in the States, Kemp grumbles in grey tones when discussing Duran's growing lead over Spandau. Initially this comes across as bitterness, yet as his journey unfolds, Kemp is able to quantify the feeling of having to compete with his own previous successes; his inability to focus on one songwriting direction, and the self-destructive frustration it generates. Where this takes this book is interesting, and far from becoming a jaded casualty of celebrity, Kemp instead takes his tale towards the mid-career crisis that is common to all - come pipe fitter or pop star - and his gravy train eventually, inevitably derails itself in pain.

Strangely, the best parts of this book are those that top and tail the Spandau of his years. The rise through childhood, warm in the bossom of family, is genuinely heartening; and the later attempts at band reconciliation, which dance a painful two-step with the passing of his parents is truly remarkable. Across the initial pages, and again towards the end, I felt like I was witnessing the unveiling of a pop contender to 'Journey Through a Small Planet' (Emanuel Litvinoff's memoirs of growing up in the Jewish settlements of the East End) or even a 'Cider With Rosie' (Laurie Lee). Yet, unfortunately, Kemp's evocative prose tends to lose its sparkle when recounting the more traditional tales of fame and fortune; perhaps giving testament to his newfound values system.

On the downside, there are times when the author lets himself down by flagging his influence on others (not least when Kemp can't help but recall how Quentin Tarantino admitted to basing the iconic suits of Reservoir Dogs on Gary and his brother in The Krays movie), but Kemp is of an artistic temprement, and these things tend to come with the territory.

I'm curious to see whether old resentments will return, resulting in 'serious' music critics walking a wide berth around this book; or whether Kemp's contradition as a bright man with pop aspirations will muddle his art again, as this book could very easily disappoint those looking for a fluffy read, and bypass the doubters who really should do themselves a favour and witness his fantastic prose. However, I for one feel better for having read this, as it is as touching and loving, and emotionally didactic as any classic song of heartbreak. And, I reckon that will be good enough for the man himself - and a goal worth achieving.

So, in short, I Know This Much is a lovely, sometimes frustrating, but nevertheless highly recommended read for anyone interested in (a) music, (b) the impact of the Eighties as a decade of style, media and/or politics; and (c) more intimately, as a testament to the fact that age and the passing of time gets to us all, regardless.