Rule No 1 in the writing about music game: most musicians don't have a lot to say for themselves. There are exceptions, but they are exceptions for a reason. These are the musicians who have been through the mill, musicians who have genuinely fascinating points to make, musicians who actually enjoy answering questions which have nothing to do with what their producer or engineer did in the studio.
When faced with a tape recorder, however, most musicians, even those with fantastic albums to talk about, let the cliches roll. New bands are the worst offenders. They have absolutely nothing of interest to say because, in most cases, they have done absolutely nothing of interest. They've made a CD. Anyone can make a CD. Hell, I could make a CD. What do you mean you don't think I could?
The real stories are the ones behind the music, which is why the most interesting interviewees are the tone- deaf, sneaky, conniving, slippery people who pull the strings. Give me an hour's face-to-face with Malcom McLaren or Walter Yetnikoff any day over the boys in any band. Both chaps may have egos the size of the Grand Canyon and a tendency to be grouchy and unpredictable, but both always have great stories to tell when they get warmed up.
Naturally, both turn up in the index of Where Have All the Good Times Gone?, but they're just two of innumerable rogues, rascals and scoundrels to be found in Louis Barfe's fascinating book on the rise and fall of the record industry. Once you've followed this detailed tale of how the record industry self-destructed through stupidity, ignorance, greed and incompetence, it will come as no surprise that a second rising does not appear to be on the cards.
The most illuminating aspect of Barfe's comprehensive history lesson is that the record industry has not changed. In the early 1900s, Russell Hunting was a popular recording star, getting high praise from Talking Machine News (The Ticket of its day) for his recorded skits. Hunting agreed to record some work for one company, only to find out that the label were using 24 rather than the agreed 16 recording cylinders per session.
Over 100 years later, the same model is still in place: the label ripping off the artist every which way they can. CD may have replaced LP, and we're all so digital now, but the basic business model would still be familiar to Hunting and his peers.
Where Have All the Good Times Gone? is choc-a-bloc with such stories and anecdotes. From a gripping account of the early struggle for ownership of the phonograph idea and why gramophone makers thought bicycle stores were the best outlets in which to flog their wares, to Dire Straits' erudite manager Ed Bicknell explaining how the band ended up as poster-boys for the CD revolution, the book covers a lot of ground. You will soon find out that the comings and goings of such record industry players as Goddarn Lieberson and Clive Davis are every jot as remarkable as the artists they worked with.
However, it's Barfe's observations on the digital revolution which are the most telling. Every day of the week, the chatter coming down the music industry newswires is of doom, gloom and blood on the tracks. The industry may wish to blame the technology for its sales slump, but as Barfe notes, they were simply caught Napstering.
Having grown fat and lazy on the back of selling people the same product twice thanks to the CD format, the record industry chose to maintain the status quo, with terrible consequences. By the time plummeting stock prices and reduced shareholder value necessitated dubious mergers, it was too late to react.
There are few musicians in Barfe's book, but it is still one of the most engrossing music books you'll ever read. There will always be a music industry and there will always be musicians, but the stories may never be quite this good again.
Where Have All the Good Times Gone? The Rise and Fall of the Record Industry is published by Atlantic Books
