31 Songs (Paperback)

There is nothing quite so incomprehensible as love: 31 Songs is Nick Hornby's account of a selection of the music that lives deep in his heart and it is beside the point that most of us would make radically different selections. He makes some useful distinctions--these are not songs he loves for their associations so much as particular songs through which he learned more about his capacity for loving songs in general. Along the way, he talks movingly and intelligently about other matters on which those songs impinge--his relationship with his autistic son, his limited but real capacity for spirituality--but the songs rather than Hornby and his life are his real subject. It would be almost impossible to read this book and not get caught up in at least some of Hornby's enthusiasms--where you read thrillers trying not to cheat by looking at the end, here you spend time hoping the discography will be as good as the rest of it, and of course it is. The book is a serious attempt to define what it is about rock and pop that speaks to us in ways other types of music might not; those who either do not share Hornby's tastes or who have more eclectic ones will find it a useful and enlightening explication of what rock and pop do. --Roz Kaveney

Nick Hornby is in an enviable position. His back catalogue boasts Fever Pitch, a phenomenally successful debut work about life as an Arsenal supporter, which is about to filmed for the second time, as well as three popular novels, two of which are also movies. His publishers clearly think he has earned the right to indulge another of his passions in print: music. In 31 Songs Hornby writes short essays about the songs that have had an impact on his life. He is careful not simply to connect the tracks to specific moments, contending that the book should be about music rather than memories. Inevitably, however, any book that reflects the author's personal tastes is bound to be as much about the man as the subject. One wonders how he found 31 records to listen to, judging by his guide to reviewing music which rejects anything by anyone pretty, very old or very young, or with an intimidating name, among many other criteria. The choices that did pass such rigorous scrutiny to make it into Hornby's life and into the book are quite wide-ranging, if predominantly white. Hornby opens with Teenage Fanclub, before moving on to Bruce Springsteen's 'Thunder Road', the song he has listened to the most since its release in 1975. The author identifies with the singer's apparent message about finding fame - 'I'm getting out of here to win' - even if he does not share his background or context. Hornby also laments the way in which fame changes other people's attitudes, with critics who once used words such as 'fresh' and 'original' suddenly changing their opinions when the mainstream shows an interest. Perhaps the most peculiar choice is 'Puff, The Magic Dragon' by Gregory Isaacs. It is the only reggae track in the collection and, while the man known as 'The Cool Ruler' may be worthy of the honour, it is unlikely that many people would select his version of the popular children's song. And yet this is perhaps the most affecting of all the essays because it focuses on Hornby's autistic son, Danny. Danny can barely speak but he has developed a number of words/sounds for things that he cannot do without. Music ('goggo') is one of these essential items, and although his tastes are very narrow, formed and seemingly petrified at a very young age, Hornby is optimistic that music may help to connect his son to the world around him. Elsewhere in the book, Hornby makes the case for independent record shops, dancing despite being terminally English, and a new National Anthem (Ian Dury's 'Reasons To Be Cheerful, Part 3'). The music ranges from 'Needle In A Haystack' by The Velvelettes to the epic, industrial-strength noise of 'Frankie Teardop' by the delightfully named Suicide. The chances are that you will not recognize all of the songs, and the test will be how many Hornby will inspire you to seek out. He is an engaging writer, but this does sometimes feel like a handsomely packaged collection of Sunday supplement articles. The funniest thing in the book is Hornby's contention that because 'it is, if you like, an organic book' it costs more because organic things are always more expensive. If one can get past the price, and the breathtaking cheek of Hornby's justification for it, this is an always interesting, sometimes contentious, occasionally inspiring look at a man through the musical company he keeps. (Kirkus UK)