This week, Elvis Costello announced the upcoming release of his “unconventional” autobiography, which is set for release in October.
In tandem with this news, Smiths co-founder Johnny Marr has just released plans for his own tome, after some hot bidding between publishers for the rights. Press releases have indirectly promised fans some long-awaited dirt on his former bandmates (including, and especially, Morrissey).
Both announcements have proudly maximised the allure of the “inside story”, forgetting that this is the basic premise of every autobiography. But claiming unconventionality in the sphere of music memoir may not be a good thing. If Elvis Costello’s not out there exploding toilets or snorting live ants, what sort of book is this going to be?
Costello contemporary Eric Clapton pieced together an autobiography in the last 10 years, but it’s a little threadbare in places. For whole years, he was in a stupor of unrequited love and heroin addiction (possibly the least desirable combination of afflictions under any circumstances). As a result, we assume he had to phone multiple close friends when writing his book to ask: “No, but really, what actually happened in 1972?”
Brian Wilson begins his retrospective by recounting a time when he ate a plurality of steaks for breakfast. Also setting the bar low is Ozzy Osborne, whose personal statements include the sentiment “Sure, I bit the head of the dove. And the bat. But I didn’t kill those 15 puppies.”
(He clarifies that maybe the stories stemmed from the farm animals he harmed instead.)
There are big things expected from Costello’s unconventional story, so. Take it away, Elvis.
