Take a handful of songs about some stuff, add people who write about stuff, and have those people write stories inspired by those songs. While not the most original concept, Lit Riffs is a fine, fluffy summer read.
"Maggie May" starts out with much zest and black humor, but much like its author, Lester Bangs, peters out to a maudlin, whimpering conclusion. The story starts out like a great night out, but has a flaccid finish.
"Four Last Songs," leaves you as heartbroken as the heroine. Her life begins with great promise and yet a sense of melancholy envelopes the story from the opening paragraph. The narrative concludes vividly as she feels the cool, harsh prick of the needle and slowly-spreading numbness of morphine easing her into the coldest of winters.
"Dying on the Vine" is a sad, sullen film in words. It brings the early rush of an intoxicating new love, the despair when it's gone, the anticipation that it may begin anew, and the sudden realization that -- like so much of the pop music we love -- it's as fulfilling as an adolescent wet dream.
While Lit Riffs is a collection with no overarching theme, nearly every piece features a female protagonist who struggles with issues both serious and simple, from the abuse of a spouse to picking out a simple dress. Yet the stronger, louder pieces -- the ones that seem to shout in your face or stomp on your feet -- are those that feature a male lead. The question then arises, is this more a result of the basic premise of most pop songs, or is it the writers own proclivities towards interpretation of said songs? Perhaps this is a question that should be tackled by a weightier volume, as this collection is far more light-weight than serious thought.
Read it for the promise of "Graffiti Monk," an ode to '80's NYC; the potential in "A Simple Explanation of the Afterlife;" the box office premise of "Dying on the Vine;" the incessant pulse of "Milestones;" the desolate prophecy of "The Bodies of Boys"
