Paperback: 273 pages; ISBN-13: 979-8867142124
Rob Chapman
A short commendation from Alan Dearling
This is a tad unusual. It’s almost poetry in motion. Vignettes of mythical narratives. Fictional thoughts, actions and ‘what-ifs’ mixed up into a potpourri of actual reviews, diary entries, plus contemporary and much later musings of Nick and Syd at the juncture of their lives when things were ever more complex, more challenging. It’s weirdly almost a celebration of the cerebral. Of a life inside these two guys’ heads.
Yes, that seems about right. Rob has not tried to construct any sort of ‘normal’ biography, nor a critique. This is theatre. Theatre of the absurd. It’s ‘hip’ and a kind of a literary, existential ‘mind-trip’.
Here’s a snippet from the promo for this new book:
“In the summer of 1974 Nick Drake and Syd Barrett made their final ill-fated ventures into a recording studio. There has never been any evidence that they ever met or that their paths crossed in any meaningful way. Until now. Author, Rob Chapman’s parallel fictional universe imagines that the two artists did indeed have a series of encounters that year, these meetings revealing much about the inner lives of each man.”
I really enjoyed Rob’s writing style. It’s extremely pared-down. Often minimalist, short sentences, staccato. It’s also full of song, in the sense that the words seem to flow and sing to the reader. There’s a lot of Zen. It’s erudite without being too esoteric, though I guess it is that too! There are more than a few snippets of philosophy. It’s consistently odd-ball, but holds the attention. Here’s a short passage describing Syd in his home, Cambridge:
“If you arrived somewhere…you instinctively went, ‘Oh good, Syd’s here’. A tonic for the troops. A good man to go into the trenches with. Waspish wit and verbal dexterity. Word games that adhered to their own playful logic.”
Meanwhile, Syd is alternately pictured as a trifle manic and/or abstracted, as in this description of ‘Garden games in May’ at his parents’ house while they are away:
“A sugar cube tinted day. Timeless hours spent staring as water teardrops twinkle like mercury from a kitchen tap…’It will never be as beautiful again,’ says one of the gathering. ‘Until it is,’ says another… ‘Who is minding the tap?’ asked Paul. ‘Leave it to its own devices,’ responds Syd, and they both laugh, belly-up…’But we can’t leave it unattended for too long,’ cautions Paul. ‘In case we miss the drip.’ ”
The chapters featuring Nick and his meandering thoughts offer a different tonal palette. A sense of anomie, dislocation from place and people:
At the Witchseason HQ (his record company):
“He liked it there. No one bothered you… They always seemed pleased to see him and although chit-chat could be forced and halting once the initial pleasantries had been exchanged, the Italian coffee was nice and always on the brew, How’s it going Nick? A mumbled ‘Fine’. And that would be the extent of it.”
Rob Chapman’s narrative moves fleetingly, weaving in and out of the minds and lives of Syd and Nick. At times the realities and unrealities are more than a trifle confusing. Unnerving. But, perhaps that is also part of its beguiling quality. It is genuinely like looking into a glass darkly; perhaps actually more like a kaleidoscope with fractured reflections, contours and colours. Strangely, the hallucinatory quality of the writings really does capture the charms and genius of the two musicians. It’s almost like entering into the boulevard of broken dreams. Here are two further snippets from one of the most ambiguous chapters entitled: ‘A further strange encounter’.
“Dirty smogadon smog. Word slur. Hazy jive. Faces loom up and out and at ‘em atom ant…Dry mouth, spit fleck. Cleft palate. Mush mouth…Shake the bottle. Sip the water. Gulp them down again. One house point to you. One gold star. Well played Nicolaus. Jolly good show.”
“Syd, too, is in the grip of storm-tossed torment unravelling. Coordinates that mesh and spark on good days, overload and short circuit on bad ones. Disorder and dislocation become the norm…Everything a blank or blur and no idea if yesterday was Tuesday.”
If you enjoy some genuinely creative and off-kilter writing this is for you. If you are looking for biographies and discographies of Nick and Syd, this definitely is not that book. The nearest equivalent I’ve read is ‘Sway’ by Zachary Lazar, which is the imagined collision of lives and inter-locked incidents involving the Manson Family, the Rolling Stones and their entourage, and film-director, Kenneth Anger.
You can buy Rob Chapman’s book here: https://shorturl.at/P101l
I have previously enjoyed Rob’s hardback book featuring all the lyrics from Syd’s 52 songs, both solo, and with Pink Floyd.