Nick Hornby

O escritor de livros como Alta Fidelidade e Febre de Bola fez sua playlist de músicas que ele ouviu em 2008. O mais interessante é que o duo de Niterói The Twelves aparece na lista com seu remix do black Lips I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You. Que se não me engano tocou em um episódio da nova série de tv 90210.

Nick Hornby’s 2008 Playlist:

I haven’t actually made the playlist below, for a good reason: a couple of the songs here I don’t actually like very much, but they have flavored 2008 for me nevertheless. Music plays a big part in my leisure time, but the songs that will always come to define my year have been thrown up, as it were, by parenthood and work. I’d love to tell you that for me, ’08 will always be about TV on the Radio, or Justice. Instead, it’s going to be the Troggs and Britney.

1) We Will Rock You, Queen. This has been a memorable year for sport. There was that extraordinary 100 meters run by Usain Bolt, and possibly the greatest Wimbledon final of all time. My two youngest sons, however, watched none of it; for them, sport in 2008 was all about Gladiators, and any song deemed good enough by the show’s producers for moments of high triumphalism is regarded as great art in my house. I do have a playlist entitled “Glads” on my iPod, and that’s what we tend to listen to most in the car: “We Will Rock You,” “Another One Bites the Dust,” “… Baby One More Time,” “Tubthumping,” “Wild Thing,” over and over again. I’m sick of them all, but what can you do? My only amusement has been derived from watching the boys get the handclaps all wrong on “We Will Rock You.”

2) On The Rebound, Floyd Cramer. 2008 was the year that a film script I’ve been working on for the last three or four years, on and off, finally got made. “An Education” stars Peter Sarsgaard and Carey Mulligan — who have continued their screen relationship for the reportedly brilliant Broadway production of ‘The Seagull’ — along with Alfred Molina, Emma Thompson, Dominic Cooper, Rosamund Pike and Olivia Williams, and hopefully you’ll get to see it next year. The film is set in London in 1962, and though a lot of great R&B and rock ’n’ roll had been recorded by then, none of it made sense for the London that we were trying to depict, right before it started to swing. Floyd Cramer’s bouncy, curiously timeless piano instrumental seemed to hit the spot. (And if you need to find room for Floyd Cramer in the rock ’n’ roll canon, then try this: Chuck Leavell’s solo in the Allman Brothers’ “Jessica” probably wouldn’t have sounded the same if Leavell had never heard Floyd’s distinctive “slip-note” style.)

As anyone who has ever been involved with film production can tell you, you end up hearing the music chosen for the credit sequence hundreds of times even before the movie is ever released. When this year began, I never thought I would have developed a deep antipathy to both Chumbawamba and Floyd Cramer by the end of it: the former hadn’t crossed my mind since they attempted to foment revolution by pouring water over the deputy prime minister at the Brit Awards in ‘98, the latter I hadn’t even heard of. Life is full of surprises.

3) The Comandante, Luke Doucet. Doucet’s album “Blood’s Too Rich” sounds to me as if it comes straight out of 1977 — not the Ramones/Talking Heads/ Clash take on that year, but the Graham Parker/Dire Straits/Tom Petty version of it. Somehow, punk managed to reinvent rock music too, made it sound fresher and less pompous. Doucet is a terrific guitarist, as fluid and as melodic as Mark Knopfler back in the day; but he’s a proper songwriter, too. “The Comandante” has even been accepted as a substitute for Queen, on a good day, and now we’re approaching the awards season it must stand every chance of picking up the coveted Non-Glads Song of the Summer prize.

4) Jen and Justin, Ben Folds. You can’t hear this song at the moment, and I’m hoping you never will. … One of my side-projects this year (and it’s been more fun than I want to admit) is to attempt lyrics for Ben Folds’s next album, and even if nothing comes of it, I have learned more about the craft of songwriting from the e-mails I’ve been getting than from just about anything I’ve ever read. Most of the time I’ve been sending over words that he’s going to try to set to music; occasionally we’re working the other way around, and I’ll try to fit a lyric to an existing melody. This tune has one of Folds’s most heart-melting choruses, which, considering his melodic gifts, means it’s as pretty as a pop song can be. In his version — he got halfway through some words, and on my mp3 he hums the verses and sings the chorus — this song is about throwing up at a John Meyer concert, but I beg to differ. It doesn’t sound like that to me. My version is entitled “Claire’s Ninth,” which is why I hope you never hear a song called “Jen and Justin.” I want to WIN.

5) Magic, University of Chicago Voices In Your Head. Meanwhile, proof that Ben Folds doesn’t need any help from me, or anyone else, apart from however many people are in a college a capella group: a heartstopping cover of one of his most affecting songs.

6) Nike Town, Son of Dave. Seasick Steve, Son of Dave. … This has been the year that the one-man blues band came back. Who saw that coming? Everyone except me, probably. Anyway, if Son House ever played outside the Starbucks in your local mall, this is what he’d sing.

7) Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? James Brown. I wasn’t expecting to spend hours listening to James Brown this year, either, but what with one thing and another, he was very alive for me in 2008. I have bought, and nearly listened to, all five volumes of Hip-O Select’s singles reissues, over two hundred A- and B-sides released between 1956 and 1969; there was the riveting VH1 documentary “The Night James Brown Saved Boston,” and a great tribute concert at London’s Barbican, when a couple of his old band-members teemed up with a bunch of stellar African musicians. (If you have ever wanted to hear Pee-Wee Ellis playing with Cheikh Lo, and I see no reason why you wouldn’t, then tough. You missed it.) I had no idea that it was possible to forge a link between JB and Bloomsbury, but here it is, from Volume 3 of the Singles series, although unfortunately it’s an instrumental, possibly a funked-up version of the theme music for the movie. I had hoped that Brown might shout out the oeuvre as if they were the station stops in “Night Train”: “Mrs Dalloway!” “The Waves!” “I Need A Room Of My Own, Y’All!”

8) Chasing Pavements, Adele. Duffy’s cooler, and Amy is more tragic, but Chasing Pavements is one of those songs that sounds like a standard the very first time you hear it. There’ll come a time when it has been inflicted on me in Borders or the Body Shop one time too many, but right now Adele and I still have a private relationship.

9) Hang On, Dr Dog. Voice is as hard to come by in music as it is in writing, and though Dr Dog sound a little like the Band singing the Beatles, they manage to wear their influences with distinction. Actually, that’s not right: they don’t just put them on like that. They unravel them and, like, knit something new with the threads. And anyway, it’s not as if the Band and the Beatles are easy to rip off. This is is one of the loveliest new songs of the year.

10) Hot Cha, Roy Buchanan, and
11) I’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You, Black Kids (Twelves Remix)

This was the year I finally understood what mp3 blogs are, and what they do, and why they have come to run the music industry, and how any attempt to combat the old Napster/Limewire model of music piracy misses the point completely. MP3 bloggers aren’t pirates; they’re enthusiasts, who encourage you to buy music from all the usual sources; as Heather Browne puts it on one of my favorite sites (“I Am Fuel, You Are Friends”), the mp3s you can download from their blogs are “for sampling purposes, kinda like when they give you the cheese cube at Costco, knowing that you’ll often go home with having bought the whole 7 lb. spiced Brie log. They are left up for a limited time. If you LIKE the music, go and support these artists, buy their schwag, go to their concerts, purchase their CDs/records and tell all your friends.” (It’s quite clear, too, that record companies are tacitly encouraging mp3 bloggers by sending them advance copies of albums.) The only trouble is that there are so many samples out there, of just about every musical food group imaginable, that you need never buy food again.

Roy Buchanan’s “Hot Cha,” a live instrumental from the ’70s, worked the way it’s supposed to. I downloaded the song from a blog, loved it, bought the album. I hadn’t thought about Buchanan in years, and certainly would never have bothered ordering his music from Amazon if somebody in cyberspace hadn’t reminded me of him; so who can object to the illegal downloading there? Meanwhile the Twelves are, apparently, immensely fashionable Brazilian remix artists whose work isn’t even available commercially, as far as I know. (I’ve already spent as much money on the Black Kids as I can.) It’s complicated out there.

12) Roll On Babe, Vetiver. I could have gone for just about anything from Vetiver’s gentle, rich and immensely pleasurable covers album, “Thing of the Past,” which demonstrates as much good taste and musical curiosity as one — and by “one” I mean, of course, “old codgers” — could hope for. “Roll On Babe” is a Ronnie Lane song. The surprising news that folk musicians from North Carolina care about Ronnie Lane makes me happy. Every year is a good year in music, if you’re prepared to dig around.