I am both stunned and humbled to say the least by how far and fast my list of “essential” non-fiction titles has traveled. Not just among sites and people of which I was already aware, but across entirely unexpected factions. Nuts! But at the same time, really satisfying to realize that there was indeed a need for some kind of list, even if just to open the door for additions and comments.
So now that I’m out there, literarily bare-assed, if you will, I’m going to take a stab at the fiction list. But first some additional detail about my original intentions and ground rules.
Doing this first occurred to me a couple of months ago, when a friend of mine told me that he gave his Led Zeppelin box set to his niece. She’s getting to be in her late tweens, and is showing the signs of becoming a pretty cool kid. So he figured, ‘Hey, I’ve got all this stuff ripped, I’m just going to give it to her. Corrupt the youth!’ (Just wait until she eventually figures out that he used to be in the Meatmen.)
That struck me as a terribly cool thing to do, not least because when I was growing up and trying to figure out what to listen to or to read, I had absolutely no such mentor. And when I recently asked around, I discovered few of my friends had one either. We all just dredged and scoured and wandered around (without the internet! in the driving snow! uphill both ways!) until we landed on things.
So if these lists have a subhead, it’s this: Stuff You Should Check Out If You’re Starting to Get Into This Sorta Thing. See, that’s not as catchy, is it? But it’s nonetheless the intent. To that end, I continue to insist that this should be a community effort. Think my list stinks? Give us yours! I forgot something brilliant? Cough it up! Google is going to bring the curious to this list for a long time, I suspect. Let’s make it a good one.
My 50 fiction titles are designed to feel a bit more like a Modern Library-type list. Tastes in fiction are infinitely broad, so I’ve gathered what I think are the classics in a particular mindset, remembering that many of them were considered shocking and even offensive upon their original release. Others are books I simply loved to death. Together, they’re a primer on dark, counter-cultural fiction. My remarks (no spoilers!) after the jump.
(N.B.: Yeah, I left off Henry Miller. I just can’t stand the guy. He makes Norman Mailer seem like a riot grrrl. But if you must, mentally add Tropic of Cancer and call this your list of 51.)
Knowing that I’ve been a voracious reader since I was a kid, someone recently asked me if I’d read all of the Modern Library’s top 100 list. Hm, never checked. So I took a look. Surprisingly, I’ve done pretty well. Not so surprisingly, that is one fusty, moldy list! Three DH Lawrence titles? Really?
Even worse had to be the “Reader’s List” that the site compiled in reaction to their editor’s list. Any time you have Ayn Rand and L. Ron Hubbard gobbling up the top of both the fiction and non-fiction lists (and I won’t even mention the inclusion of Howard Stern’s Private Parts), skepticism is the best policy.
Then I started to dig around. There’s gotta be a list of essential cool/strange books, right? Wrong. There are lists for just about everything — sci-fi, romance, female authors, young adults, top sellers — but not a list for “us.” Who’s “us”? Well, I’m not sure. I figure if you’re part of “us,” you probably already know.
Aside from the fact that making a top 100 or 50 or 10 of any kind of art is a fool’s errand, I have nominated myself to this task. I’ve come up with 50 non-fiction and 50 fiction titles I think are keystones to understanding subculture. Or counterculture. Or alternative thinking. Or something. In large part, I went with the Supreme Court Justice Stewart method: I know it when I see it.
It’s just a list — my own personal list, pretty heavily centered on 20th century titles, rather American — but I hope that it can serve as a primer for some, a refresher for others, a discussion for veterans, maybe even a window into another way of thinking for still others. All I know is, if a post I did on Russian prison tattoos can garner 6,000 reads and (rapidly) counting, then this one can certainly get the good word out about some great reading.
Enjoy the quickie slideshow, or hit the jump for the list in text form along with comments about each. And please, leave your own suggestions in the comments! Community effort!
Let’s just get this out of the way: I’ve been absent. I’ve faltered in my blogging responsibilities. Hey, it happens to everyone. You’re blogging away, and then suddenly you realize it’s easier to just make cheap cracks in your Facebook status updates, and it’s all over. Blogging lethargy. Lapse of faith.
But I got a fire under me now. Why? Well, the “You’ve Never Heard?!” feature on NPR Music’s (otherwise great) All Songs Considered blog, for one. As the site editors describe it: “This is a recurring series in which we ask our unimaginably young interns to review classic albums they’ve never heard before.” OK, sure.
You know when people say that someone-or-other is a “national treasure”? Nice accolade, but nowhere near enough to describe Lemmy Kilmister. I think of him as a kind of extraterrestrial. Maybe a superhuman visionary, dropped onto Earth by an exasperated higher power to teach us lunkheads a thing or two.
To that end, I’m thrilled to find out that the Lemmy documentary is finally premiering at SXSW in a couple of weeks. A celluloid document of one of the greatest rock ‘n’ rollers to ever walk the Earth is so long overdue it hurts.
Check out the trailer below, and heed Dave Grohl’s sage opening words: “Fuck Keith Richards…” Indeed. Sure, Keith’s lived a little, but let’s be honest: He’s also worth a solid nine figures and flies around on private jets. His most strenuous moment in recent years was hurting himself climbing palm trees in Fiji. Seriously.
Lemmy? Not in the same category, thanks. I’ve seen Motorhead plenty of times, but the most recent was at BB King’s in Times Square. It’s a tourist-y restaurant, but with a venue on the lower level that’s club-like small. From time to time they host big-name veteran acts at a punishing ticket price. Man, is it worth it, though. Once you’re in, you’re so close it feels like a private show.
It was chaos that night — I suspect a lot of that follows Lemmy around. Outside were fleets of choppers parked along 42nd Street like soldiers at attention, and once you descended to the club, it was nothing but bug-eyed, teeth-grinding biker gorillas divided around the space by gang. Gentle and alert maneuvering were required to get into place, to say the least. But when the band came out, I was slack-jawed. Dumbstruck.
You know that Charlie Murphy/Rick James thing from Chappelle’s Show, where Charlie says that he saw a glowing aura around Rick James the first time he met him? It was like that. Except Lemmy’s aura is basically a roar of black smoke, WWII memorabilia and Jack Daniels mist. And the volume in there! My face was vibrating! (As he says in this great clip of interviews, “Nobody’s talking while I’m on, I’m sorry. They’re watching the band or they’re leaving.”)
I’m tellin’ ya, it was force of nature shit, and all I’m ever on is seltzer, trust me. There he is, 60 years old, head flung back, shouting into the mic with that giant industrial fan at his feet blowing his hair back. I swear he’s not even human. I wasn’t watching a guy, I was watching a presence. Now I’m chomping at the bit to see him on the big screen.
I hear that my buddy Robbie Williams — global superstar (well, excluding the US) — has a new record coming out in the UK. I actually really love some of Robbie’s solo songs, and I especially love his sense of humor. His MTV Cribs is a classic (“I said to bring me a couple of WHORES, not a couple of OARS!”). But Robbie and I didn’t have very auspicious beginnings, I admit.
In 1995, European music conference PopKomm invited me to their August event in Cologne, Germany to speak on the topic of American college radio. I flew in, arriving at the usual US-to-Europe crack of dawn, and headed to the giant, mirrored, monolithic luxury Marriott right near the convention center where I was staying.
Checked in, wearily went to my room and ordered room service, only to discover I needed ice for my soda. So I grabbed the ice bucket with a sigh and headed into the hall. As I was ambling toward the ice machine, I saw a guy coming in the opposite direction, probably going to the same place. I was sort of closer than he was and saw no point in slowing down to let him go first, so I walked right up, got there before him, and started the machine.
Like the pop of a gun, I hear an outraged “WOT?!?” behind me. Good grief, was I tired. I jolted around. It’s the guy. Man, is he lookin’ all Euro. Like those guys on the right, not so much like the guy up there on the left. He’s livid. Out of his mind. Eyes popping out of his skull. “Don’t you know who the FUCK I AM?!?!” I looked at him, and with the confused, pure honesty of a newborn babe, I said, “Uh, no.” My Euro friend was stunned. He threw his ice bucket on the ground, called me the big ol’ c-word and stormed off.
Baffling. I figured I was just beyond bleary. Maybe the guy was closer to the machine or… I don’t know what. Why is someone getting ice at 5AM anyway?
Later that morning, as I left the hotel, throngs of teenagers outside indicated that I was staying in the same hotel as some band called Take That. As I walked away, I saw one squealing teen with a poster, and… wait a second… “Excuse me, who is this guy?” “IT’S ROBBIE!!! ROBBIE ROBBIE ROBBIE!!!” Oh geez. I cut off a guy from Take That at the ice machine.
@MarthaQuinn Yes! Ocasek also banned drinking during recording. Relisten to the album and you'll hear their quiet fear and desperation.Saturday, 11.17.12 21:28
Whoa, @MarthaQuinn ?! Fave VJ! Ocasek story is from GBV. They observed during sessions for Do The Collapse. Paulina does not imbibe, alas.Saturday, 11.17.12 04:07
@marcmaron Listening to the Bourdain ep, and you say you went somewhere in Cle on his rec. Where? Can't understand! Stop mumbling! Tsk!Friday, 01.20.12 15:44
#colt45 RT @BbStarD My stomach was feeling weird for the past few days, now it's back to normal. I think...Saturday, 01.07.12 12:58
RT @Folder_Rock: Greetings, I am shopping the legendary punk/metal band "The Mentors ". Looking for $___ plus food.Wednesday, 12.14.11 14:02
RT @editaurus: I'll pit my instincts for championing bands that go on to be very unpopular against anybody's.Tuesday, 11.29.11 02:49
RT @Holy_Mountain: I always think that RHOBH & RHONJ are new types of NWOBHMSunday, 10.16.11 03:49
RT @DonRickles: I loved Frank Sinatra, he used to slap me to relaxFriday, 08.05.11 14:30
Off to pick the bones of another Borders among the packs of roaming Luddites.Friday, 08.05.11 14:20
RT @Holy_Mountain: I should've known that a resurgence in vest wearing would follow a soft rock revival.Saturday, 06.25.11 03:36
RT @Holy_Mountain: "We would get grief for not being into Elvis Costello, who just seemed like a smug version of James Taylor." - Billy ...Wednesday, 04.20.11 16:50
RT @robhuebel: Was hiking today and guy w/ headphones behind me was singing "Little Miss Can't Be Wrong". I am now wearing his skin.Monday, 04.18.11 13:45
RT @jimmycarr: It’s the anniversary of the Titanic sinking. Fortunately, we’ve made sure that would never happen today by melting all th ...Friday, 04.15.11 13:16
Is that a metaphor for something? Ha. @dailycoyote Just when I wondered whether MC had become suddenly dull...Wednesday, 04.13.11 01:53
RT @chunklet: Happy 25th Birthday to Norton Records (one of the great rock labels of any generation ever). Keep it up Billy and Miriam.Monday, 04.11.11 16:41
RT @RepWeiner: Maybe I'm just dense, but how does defunding the biggest provider of contraceptives reduce abortions?Friday, 04.08.11 18:07
RT @RepWeiner: Lets stop saying the differences are small. The GOP refuses to deal unless we defund Planned Parenthood.Thursday, 04.07.11 15:27
OK… so… um, hi there, “Internet.” What’s up?
Knowing that I’ve been a voracious reader since I was a kid, someone recently asked me if I’d read all of the 
been absent. I’ve faltered in my blogging responsibilities. Hey, it happens to everyone. You’re blogging away, and then suddenly you realize it’s easier to just make cheap cracks in your Facebook status updates, and it’s all over. Blogging lethargy. Lapse of faith.
You know when people say that someone-or-other is a “national treasure”? Nice accolade, but nowhere near enough to describe Lemmy Kilmister. I think of him as a kind of extraterrestrial. Maybe a superhuman visionary, dropped onto Earth by an exasperated higher power to teach us lunkheads a thing or two.
I hear that my buddy Robbie Williams — global superstar (well, excluding the US) — has a 
Like the pop of a gun, I hear an outraged “WOT?!?” behind me. Good grief, was I tired. I jolted around. It’s the guy. Man, is he lookin’ all Euro. Like those guys on the right, not so much like the guy up there on the left. He’s livid. Out of his mind. Eyes popping out of his skull. “Don’t you know who the FUCK I AM?!?!” I looked at him, and with the confused, pure honesty of a newborn babe, I said, “Uh, no.” My Euro friend was stunned. He threw his ice bucket on the ground, called me the big ol’ c-word and stormed off.
