The Guest List | Parquet Courts
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The Guest List is a regular book column that surveys the reading habits of musicians we know and love. For this edition we spoke with Andrew Savage, the guitarist and frontman for Parquet Courts. In October the Brooklyn-based quartet released their deliciously danceable seventh album, Sympathy for Life. Andrew was nice enough to take time away from touring and answer a few questions about his favorite books, authors, and bookstores.
SwR: Are there any particular authors or books that inspired the songwriting on Sympathy for Life?
Andrew Savage: Probably, but I’m not entirely sure really. I think every type of media I consume, be it television or movies or books, probably has some influence on me that I’m not aware of. I don’t necessarily seek songwriting influences when I read. I’m sure some of the topics covered in Parquet Courts lyrics must have come from things I’ve read, especially journalism, which I’m a bit of a junkie for these days. During the period I wrote lyrics for Sympathy for Life, I wasn’t reading a ton of fiction. I guess the short answer is no, but I can’t really say that with authority because everything winds up in the subconscious.
I will say that I do enjoy reading poetry quite a bit, and I think I do get inspired by certain poets’ turns of phrase. Ones that come to mind would be Frank Stanford, CD Wright, Maggie Nelson, August Kleinzahler. But I should also say that the lyrics sheets of my favorite records have probably been the biggest influences on me. I’m not a poet, I’m a songwriter. I think poets probably cringe when songwriters declare themselves poets. I understand, even though it is snobby and largely a practice of institutional gatekeeping, so I’m just going to make a case here for us songwriters who toil over finding the perfect turns of phrase to express ourselves. Shout out to the lyrics of Cate Le Bon and Dan Stewart of the band Total Control for keeping the rest of us on our toes.
SwR: What are your favorite books about music?
AS: Ah, there are loads. Two books had a big impact at an early age. One was Please Kill Me by Gillian McCain and Legs McNeil, which made New York come alive in my teenage imagination, as I’m sure it did for many who read that book when they were thirteen. The other was Dance of Days by Mark Anderson and Mark Jenkins, which covers the DC hardcore and punk scene. I’ve since reread it and it’s a bit gossipy and not entirely well-written, but hugely informative about the goings-on in that scene, which ultimately inspired me to get involved with the DIY punk scene where I lived.
Alex Ross is one of my favorite writers. The Rest Is Noise and Wagnerism were both insanely addicting reads. Because of him and his esteemed writing, I developed a better appreciation and awareness for classical music. It’s amazing the power of persuasion that a great writer can have.
Also, Nick Mason from Pink Floyd has written a book called Inside Out, that is sort of a combination of autobiography and coffee-table book. It’s funny and highly informative and easy to digest for people who might be intimidated by books that are thick and pictureless. Similarly, Johnny Ramone’s autobiography, which is fittingly only slightly longer than a pamphlet, is appropriately hilarious and knuckleheaded.
SwR: The last few albums have turned away from purely introspective lyrics and toward social themes like the intersection of technology and capitalism. Do you find this to be true of your reading habits as well? That you tend to read more socially engaged books?
AS: I sort of think the social themes were always there, from my perspective anyway, but I understand what you mean. I don’t know if my reading habits have changed in relation to the band. My reading habits have changed, that’s for sure, but I think that has to do with broader environmental changes like the ascension of Trumpism and global neo-fascism, as well as late capitalism and our relationship with technology. Honestly outside of journalism, the function of reading for me is escapism. Not necessarily the pleasant, head-in-the-sand sort of escapism—I’m not put off by uncomfortable or unpleasant literature. I’m talking more about going to another time and place. Art has this amazing effect of helping us understand the past. I truly love that about it. When it comes to understanding the present—various social movements, political theory, environmental justice, etc.—I look more toward journalism and essays than books. Perhaps that should change. The biggest problem I have lately is finding the time to read everything I want.
SwR: What’s a book you think more people should know about?
AS: You know, I think there needs to be more acclaim for William Vollmann in the general readership. He’s highly respected in literary and academic circles—every time he releases a book it gets wide coverage and generally favorable reviews in places like Bookforum, New York Review of Books, etc. So it’s hard to say he’s under the radar, but he doesn’t occupy the same space that David Foster Wallace or Saunders or DeLillo or Elena Ferrante do, as far as wider cultural awareness is concerned. Curiously, I think. I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve read by him—fiction, journalism, essays, memoirs, and often a combination all of these genres—but what I might recommend for starters is his book of short stories called The Rainbow Stories. An excellent collection of short stories that is a perfect introduction to his style and subject matter.
My favorite book of all time might be Ulysses. Actually it definitely is. But that’s been widely celebrated, so it feels a bit strange to recommend it, but I often do. It sounds hyperbolic, but I think that book saved my life in a way. I love giving books as gifts, but I feel like it can be a bit cumbersome to drop a tome on somebody and demand they read this famously difficult book. So what I’ll often do is give people Dubliners, in order to get them into Joyce, at which point I inevitably recommend they seek out the big blue book next.
SwR: In addition to being a musician, you’re a visual artist. Any art books you’d care to recommend?
AS: Sure, I’d recommend Modern Mavericks by Martin Grayford, which covers the London scene of painters, specifically Lucien Freud, Francis Bacon, and David Hockney. It’s cool to see mysterious cultural giants come to life on the page. This book was a present from my friend James Oldham, Parquet Courts’s manager, who has actually turned me on to a lot of wonderful books.
For painters or any type of artist that works in color, I recommend Kandinsky’s Complete Writings on Art, published by DeCapo. Totally changed the way I saw color in art. It’s equal parts emotional and cerebral, which is typically what I want out of art.
As far as exhibition catalogs go, the best art book I bought this year was from the show at the Met. Amazing show that made me rethink the genre of portraiture entirely. I had to grab the catalog!
SwR: What are some of your favorite bookstores?
AS: Although I’m convinced they instruct their very attractive staff to be aloof and snobby, I have to give it up for Mast Books, which is in alphabet city in Manhattan. Whether you want a used classic in great condition (I’ll often go here when I want to buy a classic novel but don’t want the horrid contemporary cover design) or a newly published art book, vintage underground tabloid, or hard-to-find edition, Mast has likely got what you’re looking for or something close. It is hands down the best general collection of great books. I’ve bought more gifts here for people than anywhere in the world. Typically I walk in with a friend in mind and ask myself, “What here would they most like to read?” Also, they give all of their books a very handsome Mylar jacket. A truly incredible store.
The basic-bitch answer is Shakespeare and Co. Every time I’m in Paris, I go and buy a book and get it stamped, then read the first chapter by the Seine. It’s part consumer ritual and part pilgrimage. I love Paris—sue me!
SwR: What’s the last really good book you read?
AS: You know this answer is going to be predictable and controversial—so I give it with some hesitation—but I have to confess that I thought Knausgard’s My Struggle was incredible. I can feel the eyes rolling as I type this. I too was put off by the title, by the idea that a person from Norway, which enjoys one of the best standards of living on the globe, could in fact truly struggle. But everyone does indeed struggle, proportionately for sure, though not everyone can write about inner turmoil with such intense emotional depth and radical honesty. Furthermore, this book gives the reader the very strange sensation of becoming the author—literally I felt at times like I was this person when I read it—which is no easy task. As a writer of sorts myself, I found this phenomenon admirable. The book is tedious at times, the author is embarrassing much of the time, but that’s the point really. I totally understand the criticism, which more or less seems to be “Why does the literary establishment celebrate a completely mediocre white male and laud his exploitation as genius?” I think this is typically levelled by people who haven’t read the full work (which at six volumes, fair enough!). But ultimately it forced me to examine the concept of honesty in art. I’d like to think of myself as an honest person and an honest artist, but he made me question this. It’s another hard book to recommend, unless someone comes to you and says, “Can you recommend a tedious, painful, and oftentimes boring but ultimately rewarding novel that’s thousands and thousands of pages long?” First I’ll recommend In Search of Lost Time. Then I’ll recommend My Struggle.
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