Jason Chambers: Think of the funniest person you know. Then take away all hints of compassion or human feeling other than anger, lust, and greed. Now, add copious volumes of testosterone, cocaine, champagne, liquor, a wide variety of pills, a shitload of money, and whores. Shake.
Meet Stephen Stelfox: Music executive in 1990′s London. He’s despicable, mean and self-centered and quite funny, as he negotiates his way toward the corner office, profitable new artist contracts, and a few beds, as the music industry changes around him. Book industry folks will find a lot of amusement in the discussions on how to tell if a new artist will be a success. I suspect that quite a few editors out there may have a similar philosophy in developing new talent. There is also a fair amount of talk about art vs business in the industry. Stephen could be selling cans of baked beans, for all he cares, as long as it gave him a huge expense account, easy access to drugs, and frequent lays.
A couple of missed or bad signings and a growing hole in his finances threaten his security, and he decides that some competitors need to be eliminated, in order to preserve his position. As his plan and his sanity unravel in the following pages, he faces a curious cop, wannabe musicians, rivals for his position, a person who is capable of doing his job, wedding-crazy stalker secretaries, and much more — all intruding on his quest for even greater wealth, and an ongoing orgy of self-gratification. Very dark, occasionally disturbing, and very funny. Not for the thin-skinned, politically correct, or faint-hearted.
Jason Rice; the music industry? What’s that? This book is a period piece, it’s like writing an 80′s style comedy now, and calling it prescient. Which is not my way of saying that this isn’t a scorch and burn festival of the highest order, I mean come on, who but Brett Easton Ellis could write something this misogynistic and over the top? Stephen is never in a sober state, his access to drugs, porn, loose women, and stupid co-workers seems unlimited. I do think Mr. Nevin has written a fine novel which when laid on the tombstone of the record industry will serve as a cautionary tale for generations to come. All of that aside I don’t think I was ever disappointed by this story, and for some strange reason I was rooting for Stephen to find his place in the sun. I’ve always been partial to English writers and their take on modern culture, especially when it takes place in London, even with a few trips to the United States where Americans are painted slightly out of touch and over the hill. I’ve never had a worry about the music business or how it works, I do know that $18 is too much to pay for a CD, I don’t care how long you put the act on the road, or how many people are listening and talking about a certain song. Stephen isn’t interested in music, he’s thrilled if he can fob off his work on someone else and drink his self into a sex crazed drug addled coma and string as many of these nights together as possible. I rooted for Stephen when his co-workers were giving each other a rough go over about certain record deals that had suddenly turned to crap, but was amazed that Stephen almost never took a hit, even though he was face down in more drugs and the finest call girls available to mankind.
“Bish, Bash, Bosh”, a very funny way to sum things up in a hurry, and this novel is filled with little English sayings that warm my heart and show a certain kind of flair for a funny vernacular that is only heard in England. Nevin is unkind to a type of music that is basically the norm over here, and the Brits seem to love, bubble gum rock, and Spice Girl knock offs. But he does love Richard Ashcroft, and what’s not to love, the guy is great. I thought the insider stuff about the music business, the corporate outings in New York City, and Texas, were outstanding, but the trip to Miami just blew me away. When Nevin describes that nearly darkened hotel room and the sliver of sunlight that trickles in through curtains I was very impressed. Everyone huddling around together in the bathroom on a paranoid drug binge while more alcohol was delivered. This section is nearly outdone by a trip to Cannes which was the first time I knew that this novel and Nevin were something truly special. The music industry is a fairly banal business of making money out of nothing, but Nevin describes with incredible flair and Gothic accuracy how fucked up it was. This is a high speed colonoscopy without anesthesia, and with any luck John Nevin and his highly literate talent will take hold here in the US.
Dennis Haritou: John Niven came to a fork in the road and decided to take the riskier path. He left the lucrative marketing and manufacturing of aesthetically worthless pop music and decided to turn himself into a serious writer. Thank you. Early in the book, I realized that the roots of John Niven’s “fabulous” style lay in the dead-eyed world of marketing copy. Quote: “With a comic, cartoonstrip “EEEK” the wheels rubberise the tarmac and we’re already popping buckles and reaching for bags.” Translation: The plane landed. If Niven can psych-up a mundane arrival like that imagine what he could do with a drug-besotted psychopath in bed with a whore. Imagine it. Then read Niven and see how much better he is doing with it than you are with your imagination.
One more: “Terrible ravenous sharks with hypodermics for teeth, the chambers of the syringes filled with plague, anthrax and Aids.” And you thought you had rough days with your co-workers. Reading this book is like falling into a Masterpiece theater special that is being broadcast in hell. Stephen Stelfox is the Caligula of the music industry. He expends enormous energy in dehumanizing everyone around him the better to rape and destroy them. You don’t end up rooting for him but you are entertained by him…just imagine Richard the Third let loose on the Spice Girls.
This wicked little number provoked me into thinking about the nature of good and evil because I felt guilty about enjoying it so much. What I came up with is that good has no use for evil but that evil needs good. Evil needs to have something that it can exploit. A world composed only of Stelfoxes would annihilate itself. Stephen is “hardcore”: totally anti-life. Kill Your Friends blows out 20th century pop culture with massively corrosive style.
JC: That’s interesting JR, I thought Cannes was great and thought that the culture shock of the NYC trip was a better scene than Miami. It’s funny how you know that Stelfox is the most brutal, vindictive, morally-vacant, asshole you could imagine, yet somehow, against my better judgment, I found myself in his corner, not unlike the anti-heroes of the criminal-centered crime novels, or, as JR suggested, Ellis’ American Psycho.
Yes, the record industry has collapsed upon itself, but at least we have this little book as a potent reminder of the idiocy and debauchery that ruled the day, now that that unrestrained depravity has moved to the literary blogging industry. If you are feeling a little evil, read this book; if you are easily offended or are a sensitive soul, run away.
Kill Your Friends pubs in January from Harper. Check back here in a couple of days for JR’s interview with John Niven.
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