Just ran into this witty 'beginning to shine an itty-bitty book light' post by Zoilus
which reflects the itsy planetesimals whirling in the small cosmos known today as music journalism:
"It looks like the 33 1/3 series is becoming the Velvet Underground of publishing projects: Very few people buy the books, but everybody who reads them starts their own 33 1/3 book.
They got 449 proposals in the latest round! Apparently the death of the album is occasioning a very crowded wake. I'm totally baffled by the people who propose writing books about albums that were released about 20 minutes ago ... "
[check the link to 33-1/3 and read through those list of names, but be prepared to float in a miasma. Of course, being self-centered, I kind of hope Zappa's "Freak Out" makes the cut, because that's the only one on the list I would ever be likely to pick up to look at.
In so saying, I must confess already I am concerned that whoever may have put that forward with the idea of writing about it [unless it's Barney Hoskyns or Simon Reynolds or some other such sympatico leaning towards highly intellectual and ethical metacritic] may just generally miss the boat and spend too much time listening to tales from let's say the Ichabods (one quite naturally leads to another, after all).
So, I'm concerned how that topic might end up, because I have my own point of view about things that I already suspect won't gibe exactly with more popularized and so prevailing views of history. And that concern is because this could be a fascinating research product that breathes persons and a geography back to life for a time.
Anyway, all of this tossing and turning of mine for the last few moments about a book that somebody else proposes that hasn't even been selected to be written about yet just goes to prove to me that everyone but everyone feels they have some up close and personal connection to whatever musician, let's say Zappa, if the musician happens to represent something that moves them.
That's everybody -- from the avid collector who fueled by a frightening acquisitive impulse piles up mountains of variations and boots to the dedicated archivist who can barely footnote all of them, to the only the facts ma'am name and date and place full of too many details and so desert dry historian who dutifully traces connections to the farthest most near improbable reaches before dotting an i, to the concert goer who meets an artist once and shares a few words (always remembered and quoted) to a concert goer who has never met the artist but years later insists, "Wow! (he said or sang such and such) Was he talking to ME about that?" (and doesn't share what that made him think of, much less why, because he is a scenester and though perhaps bright, is in no way capable of dotting the i much less crossing the t) to the person who intuitively feels that "he IS talking to me" to be the case and makes a mix-tape to share with a faraway friend who knows it is, too. In those cases, I would say, Yes, those artists -- they're talking and singing straight through themselves right straight to YOU! Still are! Even though you might not have been moving about and getting down in the exact same geochronicity. Simple, isn't it?
So this is a long way of saying I wonder today who might have wanted to write that particular book and why, and how if actually winning the big spin, the story might be presented, and most importantly what and who might be emphasized, and equally important what might be discarded and who might be overlooked, depending on the writer's preconceived notions. So I might take a look at that book if it wins the lotto.]