http://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/books/features/book-reviews-god-save-the-kinks-by-rob-jovanovic-1-2959554
God
Save The Kinks
by
Rob Jovanovic
Aurum,
336pp, £20
In the foreword to his thoroughly researched biography of one of
Britain’s greatest bands, author Rob Jovanovic argues that, despite
their lofty reputation, The Kinks remained curiously
under-appreciated for much of their career.
Never
as hip as their enduring peers The Rolling Stones and The Who, they
were always a square peg, even during their first flush of
chart-topping fame in the 1960s.
Led
by enigmatic contrarian Ray Davies, they famously pilloried Swinging
London in Dedicated Follower of Fashion, harked back to music
hall following an opening streak of pioneering proto-punk/metal hits,
and retreated into more parochial musical pastures just as their
rivals were tuning in and freaking out. A decade later, when they
were being embraced by the New Wave bands they influenced, they did
the naffest thing imaginable and became unlikely stadium rock stars
in the US.
But,
as God Save The Kinks makes clear, it’s that very refusal to
play the game, that single-minded, unfashionable vision played out
over 40 years of fluctuating fortunes, that made the band so special.
Years before Pulp prevailed with a similar shtick, The Kinks were the
original misfit underdogs: fey eccentrics with a savage bite. Indeed,
it wasn’t until the 1990s emergence of Britpop, just as The Kinks –
with typical rotten timing – fell apart, that their importance was
finally recognised.
The
most overtly English of all the British Invasion bands, their acute
character portraits of class strife and urban malaise were an obvious
influence on the likes of Blur’s Damon Albarn. Suddenly, Ray was
the godfather of Britpop.
In
the years since, The Kinks have been canonised via the usual flurry
of documentaries, lovingly rendered reissues, and music magazine
features. As evinced by his touching appearance at the Olympics
closing ceremony – a symbolic event which bookends Jovanovic’s
account – Ray has attained National Treasure status, a position
he’d doubtless profess to hate, but probably secretly enjoys.
However,
their critical resurgence also means that several fine books have
already been written about them. The problem Jovanovic faces is
whether he can inject fresh insight into a narrative which will
obviously be familiar to anyone interested in buying his book in the
first place.
“Their
little known tale can now be told,” he claims, somewhat
disingenuously, “in the words of those who were there.”
Unfortunately, the words of the leading players, notoriously inimical
siblings Ray and Dave Davies, have been culled from pre-existing
interviews and the pages of their respective memoirs (he quotes huge
swathes from Dave’s in particular). Nevertheless, he’s obviously
immersed himself in the archive, and pilfers from it wisely.
While
their often violent love/hate relationship understandably takes
centre stage, Jovanovic makes sure to give other key members their
due. The often unfairly overlooked bassist and founder member Pete
Quaife, who died in 2010, is given satisfying prominence via a
revealing interview with his brother.
Elsewhere,
in-depth interviews with various engineers, journalists,
photographers and musical collaborators provide an often dispiriting
illustration of what it was like to work with the band. Tales of
Ray’s egocentric petulance make for exhausting reading.
Yet
one also discovers renewed appreciation for his dazzling talent, and
the enormous pressure he was under during the manic 1960s and
self-indulgent 1970s. Here was a sensitive young man blessed with
genius yet cursed with restless ambition, who endured terrible
nervous breakdowns and at least one suicide attempt. Despite these
darker depths, Jovanovic provides a shaded portrait: a complex
character, Ray can switch from wicked prima donna to self-deprecating
charmer in the space of a paragraph.
Dave
also comes across as a sensitive soul, whose exasperation at Ray’s
undermining behaviour is mirrored by an obvious desire for his
approval. Truth be told, his constant whining palls after a while:
then again if you were stuck in a band with a sibling who once
threatened to cancel a tour because someone spilled his backgammon
set on the floor, you’d be whining too. “Dave,” sniffs Ray at
one point, “I’m a genius, a perfectionist.” Sighs Dave wearily,
“No you’re not, you’re an arsehole.”
A
tragicomic epic of triumph and dysfunction, this is a highly readable
account of a unique career. Although a self-confessed worshipper,
Jovanovic never fawns over his subject, writing instead with a clear
eye for detail and context. Despite a few niggling factual errors,
it’s a fine retelling of a very British legend.
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