Bad Vibes
blogReading Luke Haines’s memoir, Bad Vibes, is a curiously addictive experience. I picked it up from the post office yesterday morning, read 40 pages at work during lunch, another 80 pages at home before going out, and the last 120 pages when I got back (albeit wired on Maté). It only took about four hours to read, but feels infused with the condensed effort of the six months or however long it took to write.
That inverse relationship between time to write and time to read is a rare thing to apprehend. Most writers write conversationally, which makes it seem effortless, but with Haines the rat-a-tat-tat of witty insults, snarky asides, and bitter memories becomes a barrage.
The book covers the period from 1987 (when Haines joined The Servants) to 1997 (when he formed Black Box Recorder with John Moore) and is being marketed as a scathing critique of the Britpop years. It isn’t. Not really. In the book Britpop is a background annoyance — it is “Northern cunts” littering the streets of Camden, it is witless bands treating a tour like a 9 to 5 job, it is Damon and Justine stamping over anyone who gets in the way of their success — the real subject is Haines’ mental disintegration.
Some have compared Bad Vibes to a David Peace book, signposted to such a conclusion by Peace’s puff on the front cover, but I wonder if they haven’t just read The Damned United and are confusing Peace’s writing with Brian Clough’s persona. Like Clough, Haines has an overwhelming belief in his own genius, doesn’t care who he winds up, and has a perverse self-destructive streak.
In Bad Vibes, people are treated as symbols, summed up by one characteristic which is imposed on them from above. James Banbury (“The Cellist”) is a disloyal, moneygrubbing milquetoast; Alice Readman (Girlfriend and Bassist) is long-suffering; and Phil Vinall (producer) is scatty and obsessional. They may not convey the full complexity of a human being but they make the book a lot more entertaining. For Haines is a raconteur, telling his stories economically, eliding details for maximum laughs.