A quick note about Johnny Marr's Set The Boy Free

I recently read Set The Boy Free, the autobiography of guitar genius, consummate collaborator, indie god and personal hero Johnny Marr. And given that it's essentially the fifth Marr history I've read, I feel like I ought to say something about it. But I'm not sure what.

The book is well-written and entertaining for New Wave geeks like me. But nearly every section feels facile. "I joined Band X and it was great, everyone was talented and I was very happy, but a couple years later I joined Band Y, which was also filled with awesome and talented people, but two albums later I decided to go collaborate with Band Z, and that was good, too."

I wasn't looking for dirt, but I would've loved some grit. I came away with a portrait of Marr as sort of a blithe spirit, flitting from project to project without ever considering the importance of his decisions.

The book is like Marr's guitar playing itself, woven inside time, defined by a dogged refusal to take the lead.

Allusions and easter eggs in Regret Things

1. Regret Things (and my upcoming novella To Guns) feature a low-level mobster named Lars McKendrick. The name is an homage to Lar MacKendrick, one of the recurring characters in the fabulous crime fiction of Gene Kerrigan.

2. Nicki Kenfax-McJacob and her lover Catherine are based on characters from a short story I wrote in the late 90's. Those characters' physical attributes were modeled after Nikki Cox and Catherine Zeta-Jones.

3. While the character of El Viejo is a mash-up of three real-life acquaintances, his nickname is a reference to the retired Texas Ranger from Miami Vice season three, episode seven.

4. There are musical references scattered throughout Regret Things, most notably lyric lifts from Peace Frog and This Charming Man.

A summary of biographies of The Smiths

Between '82 and '87, The Smiths changed the world. They released four studio albums and another 30-plus singles that defined indie and redefined pop. And then they self-combusted.

A decade ago I read Morrissey and Marr: The Severed Alliance, Johnny Rogan's then-definitive biography of The Smiths. It was a solid book. I put it down expecting I'd never need to read another word about the band.

But about two years ago, I was looking for insight on where Johnny Marr got his artistic inspiration, creative energy and signature tone. Sick of squinting at YouTube videos of Marr live in concert, I picked up Johnny Marr: The Smiths and the Art of Gun-Slinging. The author is obviously a huge fan, but the book had neither the guitar geekdom I was hoping for or any rockstar gossip.

Desperate for inspiration, I picked up the revised edition of Songs That Saved Your Life: The Art of The Smiths 1982-87. In it Simon Goddard goes chronologically through every track in The Smiths' catalog, explaining the lyrical references and recording circumstances. Calling it exhaustive is a understatement. Any normal person would have moved on. But I'm crazy and the magnum opus was still out there, Tony Fletcher's 2012 biography A Light That Never Goes Out: The Enduring Saga of the Smiths. I bought it, but I wasn't looking forward to reading it. It's 700 pages long. It's full of meandering sentences. It includes extensive discussions of north England's housing options and manufacturing economy. And as far as rock 'n roll bad behavior, well, let's just say it ain't Dirt.

Then again, The Smiths weren't Motley Crue.

A Light That Never Goes Out is a fantastic story. I found it compulsively readable, tearing through it in just a couple weeks. (And remember, I knew how it was going to end.) It's the best portrait of The Smiths as a foursome. And it has just enough Manchester madness to satisfy fans of New Order, The Cult and all the other bands that sprang from the scene.

Knowing most people aren't going to read four bios of the same band, I'd say this: If you're a musician Songs That Saved Your Life is great, but if you're a fan read A Light That Never Goes Out.

This band changed my life

It's supposed to be The Clash, right? Fugazi? The Smiths? Or maybe Big Head Todd and the Monsters, a band that I practically followed when I was in college? It's not. The only band that changed my life was Duran Duran.

Because Duran Duran was the first band I identified with that was not introduced to me by my parents.

I was barely 10 when Wild Boys was released as a single. At the time, it didn't seem like anything seismic had occurred. I memorized the lyrics. Learned the band members' names. There may have been an air band involved.

It's only now that I realize how important those moments were.

Littler kids don't even consider the existence of a world apart from their parents. What mommy and daddy like is good, everything else is dumb. The moment children discover something on their own is the beginning of their emotional adolescence. It is the initiation of a decade-long hunt for an identity.

I am so lucky that my discovery was Duran Duran, a new wave icon with real songwriting ability that has remained relevant for three decades. The band was a gateway to New Order and Love & Rockets, which in turn led to Joy Division, Bauhaus and all sorts of wonderful hallways that today sound like The National, No Age and Broken Social Scene.

In other words, it was a good gate to open.

[Ed. - Now that it is written, I think this post is almost a companion piece to I Still Have Heroes, which talked about my lifelong love affair with Miami Vice. Go '80s.]