8.18.2015

Def Leppard - Hysteria

Among the more pleasant aspects of my ongoing mid-life crisis is my inability to let a day go by without listening to Def Leppard's Hysteria.

(1987)

Some background: I was huge into Pyromania, Def Leppard's third album and the one that brought them enduring international fame.


I was already into metal, particularly the movement from which Def Leppard originated, the New Wave of British Heavy Metal. They branched out into more of a pop-metal sound with Pyromania, although it was a natural progression from what they were doing on their 2nd album, High and Dry

A sidenote that will be expanded upon in due course: High and Dry was produced by Robert John "Mutt" Lange, one of the 20th century's most successful producers. 


It was undoubtedly his involvement with the band that brought them to the heights of Pyromania (6 million copies sold in '83) and Hysteria (double that between '87 and '89). When he dismantled the songs the band had written and re-arranged them from the ground up on High and Dry, the band learned their lesson - don't bother finishing the song, just bring intriguing pieces to the studio, because you're going to be there for a year (or years) re-recording them to Mutt's satisfaction. Painstaking with a capital P, but with self-evident results.

There was considerable disagreement among my friends and me at the time whether Def Leppard was truly "metal" after Pyromania. Were they metal crossover pioneers? Or sellouts? This divide deepened upon Hysteria's release; increasingly, I heard that they'd sold their souls to Mutt and his uncanny commercial instincts.

Me, Pyromania was definitely a favorite of mine, "proper" metal or not. In the 90s, I'd have these same kind of arguments about what constituted hardcore vs. skacore vs. grindcore vs. your-mother-core. "Pop Metal" is how I'd personally describe the classic Def Leppard sound for what it's worth, and Pyromania and Hysteria are two of the genre's best. 


I could easily get bogged down talking about Pyromania. Man. Pyromania. Suffice it to say: it rocks. Essentially and scientifically so. If you're at a party that doesn't have Pyromania - and Purple Rain, just throwing that in there - in the stacks, find a better party.

Its massive success meant Def Leppard went into tax exile and in 1984 hunkered down in Ireland and France to record their follow-up, which they hoped would take less time than the year they spent holed up in the studio for Pyromania. It would take 3.

First, drummer Rick Allen lost his arm in an automobile accident. Traumatizing enough but to make it worse, the doctors successfully re-attached it only to remove it again a week later when the wound became infected. 


While rehabilitating he taught himself to play a modified drum kit where foot pedals substituted for what he'd otherwise have played with his left arm. Badass! I won't go through each and every setback the band endured before Hysteria was released in '87 - it's kind of hard to start with Rick losing his damn arm and transition to anything else - but there were many other obstacles. 

When the first single from Hysteria, "Women" appeared, audiences, at least on this side of the Atlantic, shrugged. The video got played on MTV a fair bit, but the song peaked at 80 in the US Billboard Top 100. My friends were among the unimpressed. Me? I loved the freaking thing. How could I not? The video featured my 3 favorite things: comic books, skateboards and Def Leppard.

"Women" didn't remind me any of the songs on Pyromania. Or High and Dry or On Through the Night, for that matter. Its Black Sabbath-tempo, layered harmonies, wicked-multi-tracked guitars, and melodies that left and returned to harmonize with all the soaring guitars and vocals - this was heady stuff. For me at 13, certainly, but for anyone with an appreciation of 20th century studio sound.

I mentioned the video. It's split between the band performing in that staple of music videos, the abandoned warehouse on the edge of town, and scenes from a comic book about a hero named "Def Leppard." 

Why, you bet we can take a closer look at the comic book.

Let me break in here to note that the lyrics to "Women" don't exactly describe the saga of a cosmic skateboarder who stumbles across an illegal Sex-Droid trade on the planet Doom. (They do, however, contain a call-and-response chorus where Phil, Steve, Rick, and Sav sing "Men! Men!" which always cracks me up) Neither would anyone confuse the guys in Def Leppard as feminist pioneers in pop metal sensibility. But hey: poetic license. 

Oh dear.

"What's that spell?
(Spell? what's that spell?)
(What's that spell?)
What's that spell?
(What's that spell?)
(Women, women)
Oh! oh! oh!
Oh! oh! oh!" 

Man, do I love this panel. And this one, too:

The song ends with the kind of harmonic dynamics (check out around the 4:20 mark) that make Hysteria such a feast for the ears. Grade: A


Hysteria was finally released 3 days before my 13th birthday, conveniently enough for me, and I spent the remaining weeks of my summer vacation listening to it over and over again. I had a nice vinyl copy, too. Let's have a song-by-song look at the rest of it. 

Keeping in mind, this is all just one guy's opinion, liberally sprinkled with biographical asides of dubious import.

2. "Rocket"

In the 80s this was the only song off the album that I didn't love. Not sure when that changed, but now I feel the same constant need to listen to it that I do for every other song on the damn thing. 


I was listening to this while cooking a few months back, and my wife walked into the kitchen and sang part of the chorus - "I'll be your satellite of love..." This seriously cracked me up, because my buddy Kevin - with whom I share any and all insights, anecdotes, funny-thoughts, or questions about anything music-related but most-particularly anything from the Dial-MTV era - have always sang that part as "SAY-A-LANE-A-LOH-OH-OH!" 

(The line is "Rocket! Ye-ah! Satellite of Love!" We just like to exaggerate it to the point of incomprehension.)

She further surprised me by saying "Oh all the stoners in high school used to listen to this." It had never occurred to me (Kevin neither, if I may speak for him) that this would be the case. And she was right - this is a fantastic song to listen to when you're smoking the wacky tabacky. Unless you live in a state where such things are still illegal, in which case, hey! That's llegal


This was the last single released off Hysteria, in January 1989, a full 18 months after the album was released. Another top 15 hit for the band.

The music video features clips of the classic rock names (Sgt. Pepper, Ziggy, Lou Reed, whose song "Satellite of Love" inspired the line-swipe above) from the lyrics are flashed during the video, along with footage of the various artists performing live or from Top of the Pops.


It also features some clips from the 1971 FA Cup Final, won by Arsenal, most notably a shot of Charlie George (club legend) hoisting the trophy above his head.


Arsenal's my Premiership team, so that suits me fine, but as the wiki notes, "this is a little odd, as 4 out of 5 members of the band at the time were from Sheffield and had made their support for Sheffield United or Sheffield Wednesday known to the public."

Dog Star Omnibus' calls to the band went unanswered. Grade: A

3. "Animal"

The second US single fared better than "Women," cracking the top 20. The music video went with a circus theme, for some reason.


I mean, the lyrics do mention that "the circus comes to town," but I'm not sure that's the right organizing principle for things. But again  - unimportant. What is important is how damn sweet-on-the-ears this song is, particularly that wonderful bridge of "I gotta' feel it in my blood, whoah-oh". I'm less sold on the middle-8 part with the modulated voice saying "Unh! Unh! AN-I-MAL!" which brings to mind the Muppets character. But it bounces back with the solo, and all is forgiven.

I am physically incapable of not clapping along with the handclaps at least once. It's like singing along with the chorus to Toto's "Africa." I defy you not to do it; if you can, that ain't discipline, it's something you should get checked out and properly diagnosed. Grade: A


The fifth single from the album, released a full year after it appeared, was Def Leppard's first US #1.

As 80s power ballads go, it's not my absolute favorite (I think that'd be "November Rain" though my buddy Mike and I occasionally threaten to get to the bottom of things re: power ballads one of these days in this here blog) but it's pretty much perfect. I don't think anyone can credibly claim otherwise - it hits all the right notes and then some.



Pretty great guitar, too, during the chorus. If you're unimpressed with how the guitars propel this album along just as much as the vocals or are unmoved by their abundant contribution to the expansive sound of Hysteria, chances are we don't belong on a road trip together. Grade: A-


Okay, so remember when I said it took people / my friends awhile to warm up to Hysteria? This was always the song that broke them down. I'd earmarked it as my favorite as early as August 1987, and I put it on most of the mix tapes I made my friends. I got the same reaction each time - "Oh wow, that song rocks." I felt some pride in this at the time. Absurdly. My pride turned to irritation by the late spring of '88, when it was released as the 3rd single and was blaring from every house party, car stereo, radio, and MTV within earshot 24-7.


It didn't help that the chicks in school who were into Madonna or what not suddenly started saying Def Leppard was their favorite band. Snort! Where ya been for the past 5 years? Can you sing the chorus to "Coming Under Fire" or "Hello America?" Do you even know who Pete Willis is?

Yeah, you read that right - it was when the popular chicks embraced Hysteria that my enthusiasm began to wane for it. Probably did that wrong.


Grade: A+. I mean, it's a perfect piece of pop metal, made for arenas and parties on yachts and dancing chicks and shirtless dudes. The lyrics make no damn sense, and gloriously so. (I'm still confused by the gender-direction of the whole thing, as well. If Frankie Goes to Hollywood or Culture Club had been singing this one, or Nicki Minaj, methinks there'd be a different spin on the pouring of any sugar.)


The title is a play on the Sheffield accent. The chorus for this one is "Are you getting it?" Not sure what we're getting or not getting - it's probably sex - but apparently the phonetic approximation of the affirmative answer is "Armageddon It."


That "Give me all of your loving" bridge is just so damn awesome. Like "Love Bites," it dips a little in the middle, but not by much and it quickly bounces back. Great guitars in this one, and great end to Side One. (Yes, damn it, Side One.) Grade: A.


Here's the only kinda-sorta out-of-place song on the whole album. Or perhaps it's the odd garnish that brings out the flavor of the stew, take your pick. It reminds me a bit of "Die Hard the Hunter" off Pyromania, conceptually not musically. The "On a countdown to zero / take a ride on this nightmare machine" bit is catchy and nicely done, and the ending sound collage of Reagan, bombs, and electronically-simulated gunfire is well-done. Grade: A-.

There was no music video for this one, so here's a picture of Joe Elliot in some crazy get-up with his then wife Karla.



Hysteria was designed on the Thriller - their old nemesis - principle, where every song could serve as a single in a pinch. It's interesting that every track on Side One was released a single but only one from Side Two (the title track - although until I sat down to revisit this album I'd assumed "Love and Affection" was as well. I was wrong). Here's one that had they released it as a single, it'd have landed big with me personally but probably not everyone else.

The lyrics on the whole album fascinate me. They're so artfully vague. Which allows them to be universally accessible, I suppose. The lyrics to this one, though, just flat-out make no sense. It opens with the band admonishing us to "Run for cover / don't shoot... / SHOOT!" whereupon a computer-voice tells us "She's so dangerous." A description that returns memorably for the bridge.

Does its lack of easy comprehension matter at all? Not in the slightest. In fact, it's probably even better for it. Home runs all around. Joe's "Shoot it! Don't shoot it!"s at the end are so fist-pumpingly awesome. Grade: A+.



9. "Run Riot"

We have reached my current favorite song from Hysteria. A sentence which amuses me all by itself. Who has two thumbs and keeps re-ranking his favorite songs from the album he got for his 13th birthday? You can't see me, but I'm doing the two-thumbs-pointed-at-self-and-nodding gesture. As Joe says after the first chorus, "Gotta' riot, babe."

That bit ("Gotta' riot, babe!") is so goddamn 80s. I can't express how awesomely awesome I find that line, nor how perfectly-80s it is delivered. I doubt that was the intent, but that's how it strikes me in 2015. 

Let's see how it fits with other notable personalities of the era -


Well, you get the idea. This song certainly doesn't need my gimmickry to sell it. It's a straight-up rocker in the vein of "Stagefright" from Pyromania but with a sound all its own. That riff that comes in after the first guitar (around the 8 second mark, and recalled just before the solo) is so cinematic to me. It's easy to picture an overhead shot of a school, doors bursting open, a flood of kids running out, or a montage of just about any kind of partying. Then Joe comes in, that pop-metal vocal range still so effortless. Grade: A+.

10. "Hysteria"


The fourth single released. Not much to say about this one - it's just such a sweet little tune. The opening guitar (recalled at just the right moment near the end), the layered harmonies, the sing-along-ability of the chorus, you name it. Just a perfect little blend of pop metal sensibility and beautifully executed. Grade: A+.

11. "Excitable"

Oh man! This is in my head constantly lately. Sure I'm listening to the album everyday, so it never really gets a chance to go away, but this one in particular. "Stand up! SAY YES! Stand up! COME ON! GET IN THE GROOOOOOVE!" That and the "Whoah-oh! Whoah-oh-oh!"s throughout get me fist-pumping like I'm auditioning for Jersey Shore or its 2015 equivalent. Also: a complex routine of arm-dances and pantomimes. Appropriate since (as revealed in Animal Instinct by David Fricke) "Excitable" was an attempt on the band's part to write a "Prince sort of number."

MELLOW DOWWN...

No music video for this one, either, so here's a picture of Phil and his wife Helen.

Why this was never a single I have no idea. Grade: A+.


The album comes to a close with this little number. As with the title track, there's really not too much to say except that it's just such a damn sweet little tune. Not cotton-candy-for-your-ears sort of sweet, either - the kind of multi-layered everything-in-harmony/ music-of-the-spheres typically associated with Brian Wilson or Lindsey Buckingham. Bit of irony, too, with the lyrics describing an emotional state the music doesn't. The build-up and payoff is one of my favorite things ever. Grade: A+.

~

Rolling Stone ranked Hysteria at 464 of their 500 Greatest Albums Ever Made. Par for the course at RS, but emblematic of a wider critical failure to properly appreciate and evaluate pop metal. And Def Leppard in particular. Pyromania alone earns the band all the respect in the world. Put it together with Hysteria and I don't know, man. That people can go about their daily routine and not stop at least once or twice a day to reflect on how much cooler their lives are for having them around strikes me as damn ungrateful.

All kidding aside, though, objectively, subjectively, and quantifiabily, Hysteria is for my money pop metal's reigning champ, and I couldn't be happier to have it stuck in my head for two months running. Again. Hopefully this won't last as long as it did the first time...

One last thing: I picked up Viva! Hysteria, the double-CD-with-DVD put out in 2013 that features Def Leppard running through the album start-to-finish.

Featuring Steve Clark's replacement, Vivian Campbell.
R.I.P., Steve.

Joe Elliot can't (understandably) hit the same notes he was hitting in the 80s, and he does this odd kind of impersonation-of-his-old-voice to approximate them. I'm not sure it's wholly successful - it torpedoes parts of certain songs, particularly "Excitable" - but for what it's worth the versions of "Gods of War" and "Don't Shoot Shotgun" on there are good. The playing all around is pretty solid, actually, though it's of course no substitute for the original album experience.

The other disc is Def Leppard's "opening act," Ded Flatbird and is great. Billing themselves as "the world's greatest Def Leppard cover band," the band (in costume and alter ego) runs through a set of old classics and b-sides and deep tracks like "Rock Brigade" ("Keep your eyes on the Rock Brigade! (Rock Brigade!)") "Undefeated," "Another Hit and Run" and more. Great stuff, and worth a listen.

~
All songs written and composed by Steve Clark, Phil Collen, Joe Elliott, Mutt Lange and Rick Savage. All links active as of August 18, 2015. Hopefully on whatever date you click them, as well.

8.14.2015

Spider-Man in the 1980s: Epilogue

SPIDER-MAN in the 1980s: pt. 13 of 12


"Well, that about does her, wraps her all up. Things seem to have worked out pretty good for the Dude and Walter, and it was a pretty good story, don't ya think? Made me laugh to beat the band. Parts, anyway." - The Stranger, The Big Lebowski (1998)

I hope you've enjoyed this personalized tour of 1980s Spider-Man. Sorry to end on such a down note. In case you missed the headline from last time:

Terrible copy. They even misspelled "affect."

But hey, comics are doing just fine. As is Spider-Man. As a movie property it may still be wandering between the realms along with its X-siblings and FF, but that won't last, I bet. The industry survived the crash of the mid-90s that all of these late 80s / early 90s shenanigans that I've been describing made inevitable. Comics aren't the same anymore, of course, but don't believe for a second that all the good Spider-Man is in the past or anything.

I can see where you'd think that was my personal belief, but all I've tried to get across here was how the Spidey of my youth was a one-time thing. This was the last era of Spidey close enough to the character's beginnings to still be able to reference it as the active past/ active present. As I wrote here:  

"(At the time) I was unaware of occupying the sweet spot of Marvel's mk-1 continuity: not too far nor too close to the beginning. I was actively engaging with Marvel's Silver Age through things like Marvel Saga and The Official Handbook, and most of the books were, too. 80s Marvel was not encumbered by its continuity; it was illuminated by it. The inevitable entropy of all serialized fictional universes would eventually materialize at Marvel, as well, but in 1983, it was blue skies and smooth sailing."

* I hope you'll forgive me for quoting myself, but this is a wrap-up post after all so why re-invent the wheel. 

In 1990, Erik Larsen took the Spider-reins on Amazing but as the decade began, the big news was McFarlane's Spider-Man #1. Before I get to that, though, let's have a quick look at:


SPIRITS OF THE EARTH




Charles Vess had a damn good run of memorable Spider-covers throughout the 80s. Here he was given carte blanche to do whatever he wanted, so he took Spidey (and himself) to Scotland.



His talents perhaps did not lend themselves to such a project. While the landscape is often glorious, as are some of the early-pages web-slinging panels -


such as this one. Looks like fun.


his style isn't the best fit for Peter and MJ. Luckily, Peter has plenty of opportunities to switch into his Spider-duds, but ultimately the story simply doesn't justify the big graphic novel treatment. Outside of Spider-Man Zaps Mr. Zodiac - which probably needs its own series, not just a sequel - all of the Spider-Man graphic novels we've seen (Hooky, Parallel Lives, and Spider-Man vs. Wolverine) could have probably just been stand-alone issues. Not that it's bad or anything, just that Vess has done much better work elsewhere - and plenty of it. 



SPIDER-MAN 1 - 5 

McFarlane felt he had outgrown both David Micheline and the idea of working with a writer altogether. So he proposed a new Spider-book to Jim Salicrup and Tom DeFalco. They agreed, and Spider-Man #1 was born. 

Like a lot of kids, I bought multiple copies of this issue. One for reading, and two (including a McFarlane-autographed copy of the black-and-silver variant cover that my buddy Joe got for me as a present, which was damn cool of him) for the doomsday vault. We were all going to retire on these things - this was our generation's Amazing Fantasy # 15 and so on. 


So, Spider-Man #1 sold three million copies, more than any comic book before it. It wouldn't hold the record too long; McFarlane's future business partners at Image both surpassed it (Liefeld's X-Force #1 and Lee's X-Men #1). But this was a whole new ballgame, both for Spidey and for McFarlane.

How does "Torment," the 5-issue story that opens the series hold up all these years later?

Three guesses.

McFarlane delivers exactly what fans seemed to want in 1990, I'll give him that:


- Showy two-page spreads with lotsa webbing.
- Mallet-on-head narrative tricks (and in the case of the "Doom!" motif, lifted from Simonson's Surtur vs. Odin saga from Thor.)
- MJ's Medusa-like hair (and OMFG, those "And tug. And stretch" are horrendous.)
- Clusterf**k covers.
- Crazy teeth.
- More crazy MJ hair (and mismatched eyes). Though I do like the background, here.
- More crazy teeth, now with crazy tongue!
- and inexplicable capes (or in this case, the Lizard's lab coat, which apparently must trail several feet behind him when he wears it in the lab.)


The story itself is a rehash of "Kraven's Last Hunt" though without any of that story's storytelling sense, heart, or daring. (Nor its Mike Zeck-ness). But no worries, bro - it's only there as a kick-ass delivery mechanism for all the above. He even boldly asserts that in the editorial in the first issue, trumpeting the death of the writer and the new age of the artist. Who needs narrative skills when you got guns like this, gibrone?

Calypso, the onetime companion of Kraven and voodoo priestess that we saw in these pages many moons ago, returns as a grittier, edgier, barely-discernible version of herself who gets some new powers and bends the Lizard to her will, which is to do... something or other.


INTENSE!!

It's a steaming pile of something-or-other, but it sold marvelously, at first. McFarlane would later lament that the company stopped pushing it after the big first issue, and had they not, sales would have climbed higher and higher. (No one in the early-to-mid 90s ever blamed poor writing for sales dropping off on anything; it was always "failure to promote," "market conditions," etc. Funny, though, how things like R.L. Stine's Goosebumps or Harry Potter which took the time to invest in character, plot, and narrative sense kept right on selling gangbusters to kids when comics readership dried up.)

Fed up with Marvel and under the guise of "creator rights," McFarlane persuaded Marvel's most popular artists (Rob Liefeld, Jim Lee, Mark Silvestri, Whilce Portacio, Erik Larsen) and Jim Valentino to jump ship and start their own company, appropriately named Image Comics. Jim Lee was the real coup of all the above. He was a company man and loyal to Marvel, but when Marvel President Terry Stewart began mouthing off about how he wasn't going to pay for Jim's wife to accompany him on convention tours and official company appearances, Lee felt insulted and undervalued. It was the perfectly worst thing to say at the perfectly worst time. Marvel was more profitable than ever thanks to its superstar artists, whom it was turning around and nickel-and-diming to death.  

The full story of Image is beyond our scope here, but here's Will Jacobs and Gerard Jones' The Comic Book Heroes:

"'Artists don't need writers,' McFarlane had written, and all the Image money was going for pencillers, inkers, and colorists. Artists who'd been thrilled to get a $150 a page at Marvel or DC were being offered $300, even $400 at Image. It was like rock and roll, running on "stupid money," as some old hands were calling it. The Image moguls were setting young stud  artists up in L.A. houses, throwing money at them and making them feel like geniuses for aping the Lee-Liefeld look before they'd learned how to draw a straight line. The studs would draw a splash page, play some pick-up basketball, buy a car or two, cruise the babes at Venice, draw a two-page spread. And when a whole comic had been slapped together out of splashes, spreads, and giant panels that made no narrative sense, Lee or Liefeld would slap the big Image "I" on it and it would sell a half-million copies."


Ironically, a cover I really enjoy. Who cares if he just re-colored the Prowler's costume and added some chains and skulls.

Little did anyone realize at the time, but this was the beginning of the end. Image broke huge, other publishers broke huge, and a deluge of new product hit the shelves. The bubble  burst in the mid-90s. It had to - the comics market simply couldn't sustain the amount of titles in circulation. Not that it destroyed the industry or anything; it just expanded too fast and then withdrew into itself. The red giant became the white dwarf.

Image is still around, though many of its first creators have mostly gone on to other things. Erik Larsen has proven the most consistent of all of them; he keeps his Savage Dragon readers well-fed, month after month, even all these years later.


When I stopped collecting back in the day, I stayed away from comics for many years. It was that Jacobs/ Jones book, which I came across totally randomly at Waldenbooks during the short time I was working there, that got me interested in them again. That was also where I first discovered all of the behind-the-scenes stuff at Marvel; that was a revelation to me. I finally had the missing pieces of the puzzle as to why Marvel changed so radically during those last years of my fandom.

Outside of some targeted runs here and there, I never really returned to the world of monthly collecting, and outside of this run of posts, I never again stepped foot in the Spideyverse. Not counting the movies, obviously, or the occasional retrospective in Back Issue or wherever. I know the broad strokes and all - I know what the Clone Saga and Brand New Day refer to, I know who Miles Morales is, and I've seen plenty of great post-80s Spider-Art. I might have given the impression that all the art subsequent to Ron Frenz et al was McFarlane-esque, but that's certainly not the case. (Among many others, JRJR's return to the title in the 90s and beyond is amazing stuff.)

But, it's not "my" Spider-Man, is it? And that's perfectly fine - in many ways, it'd be weird if it still was. 


I hope I was able to give you a little glimpse into how it all felt at the time and my confusion/ frustration with where it was going when I punted. Who cares now, of course - more power to everyone, everywhere. That includes you, Messrs. Liefeld and McFarlane. 

As for me, my heart will always be with the old stuff, but likewise I wish the web-slinger well in whatever pursuits and in whatever guise his wall-crawling takes him.

 

8.11.2015

King's Highway pt. 78: Finders Keepers

Just finished - you?



I'll proceed on the assumption that you have. 

THE PLOT

The plot, as it was announced to the world on Stephen King's official website back in February:

"A masterful, intensely suspenseful novel about a reader whose obsession with a reclusive writer goes far too far—a book about the power of storytelling, starring the same trio of unlikely and winning heroes King introduced in Mr. Mercedes. “Wake up, genius.” So begins King’s instantly riveting story about a vengeful reader. The genius is John Rothstein, an iconic author who created a famous character, Jimmy Gold, but who hasn’t published a book for decades. Morris Bellamy is livid, not just because Rothstein has stopped providing books, but because the nonconformist Jimmy Gold has sold out for a career in advertising. 

Morris kills Rothstein and empties his safe of cash, yes, but the real treasure is a trove of notebooks containing at least one more Gold novel. Morris hides the money and the notebooks, and then he is locked away for another crime. Decades later, a boy named Pete Saubers finds the treasure, and now it is Pete and his family that Bill Hodges, Holly Gibney, and Jerome Robinson must rescue from the ever-more deranged and vengeful Morris when he’s released from prison after thirty-five years. 

Not since Misery has King played with the notion of a reader whose obsession with a writer gets dangerous. Finders Keepers is spectacular, heart-pounding suspense, but it is also King writing about how literature shapes a life—for good, for bad, forever."

If you don't mind, I'll just unpack the above a little before proceeding.

- "A masterful, intensely suspenseful novel..." I found this to be true. Masterfully constructed, and I've got to agree with Kevin Quigley over at Charnel House (big surprise) that "the final third of the book that moves so urgently that the actual words get in the way of the reading."

- "A book about the power of storytelling, starring the same trio of unlikely and winning heroes King introduced in Mr. Mercedes..." It is, somewhat about the power of storytelling, and the legacy of authors, but not quite in the same vein as, say, Lisey's Story. Or my understanding of Lisey's Story, I should say, from reviews I've read - still haven't made my way through that one. (Somewhere in the future, there is a cabin by a lake, and I am reading it in an armchair by the window. Will blogs even exist in this future-time scenario? Only time will tell.)

As for the trio of characters from Mister Mercedes, they don't appear until almost 150 pages in. And are probably my least favorite part of the book, although that doesn't mean I didn't enjoy them, just that the saga playing out from Morris Bellamy's and Peter Saunders' povs was more compelling to me. Hodges, Jerome, and Holly intersect with that narrative pretty seamlessly, though.


- "John Rothstein, an iconic author who created a famous character, Jimmy Gold, but who hasn’t published a book for decades..." The reclusive author (in New Hampshire, no less) who is sitting on reams and reams of unpublished work that he never intends to publish certainly brings to mind J.D. Salinger. Jimmy Gold brings to mind - somewhat - Harry Angstrom from John Updike's Rabbit novels, though to me he (Jimmy - particularly his "Shit don't mean shit" mantra) sounded a little like Donald Westlake's Parker. (Someone King has already homage-d in The Dark Half.)

But none of the above are perfect fits. And neither is John D. MacDonald, to whom Finders Keepers is dedicated. Perhaps MacDonald, though, is closest. The Travis McGee books are mentioned by name, and Travis certainly resembles Jimmy Gold, as well. If Parker is too dark, Travis is too light - Jimmy Gold, from the sound of it, would fit somewhere between them. (He sounds most, perhaps, like Don Draper.) Also: rumors abounded for years that there was one (possibly more) "lost" Travis McGee book. And Travis won his houseboat, the Busted Flush, in a poker game - something referenced in Finders Keepers as "something that only happens in novels or on TV." 

So, there are enough allusions to make me think King may have meant MacDonald, sure, but more likely, Rothstein is simply an amalgam of all the above. And himself, as well - and we, Constant Reader, are an amalgam of Morris and Pete, as well. Sometimes not as successfully. I was pleased to see the
Boston Globe agreed with me:

 "The literary critique at gunpoint in the opening scene is only one of many moments in the novel that unites books and violence. Near the end, Bellamy trains a gun on Saubers, who momentarily placates the madman by revealing something tantalizing from one of Rothstein’s unpublished works. Intrigued, the gunman’s eyes widen, and he asks, simply: 'What happens?' The desire to know what happens next is precisely what drives readers through King’s 400-plus pages. Oddly this makes Bellamy a kind of clumsy proxy for the avid reader, albeit a twisted, nightmarish one. (...) Deeper themes about the power of fiction feel somewhat grafted onto the suspenseful story. When Saubers, for instance, has a crazy man pointing a gun at him, it seems unlikely that he would reflect on 'the core power of make-believe.'" 


"Time will pass! Tempus will fugit!  Owen's poem may fall away from your mind, in which case your verdict of is-stupid will have turned out to be correct. For you, at least. But for some of you, it will recur. And recur. And recur. Each time it does, the steady march of your maturity will deepen its resonance. Each time that poem steals back into your mind, it will seem a little less stupid, and a little more vital."

Amen, brother.

THE SEQUEL

How does it rate as a sequel, or as the middle book in a planned trilogy? Pretty good, for my money - I actually enjoyed it more than Mr. Mercedes. Mainly because I wasn't a huge fan of that book's antagonist, Brady, who appears here, as well. (More on him a moment.)

It's not as lyrical a book as Mercedes, which is funny - I don't recall that one as all that particularly "lyrical," but when I revisited my review for it just now, all the quotations from the text really jumped out at me. King, generously rewarded as he is, still doesn't get the respect he deserves as a stylist. He uses the most basic building blocks of the game - crafting a great sentence, turning the right phrase, nailing the right simile, etc. - to great effect.

This time around, I noted only one - and perhaps it's not even a King original but an expression I've never heard before: "An uncle with Roman hands and Russian fingers." Whichever it is, it's great.

Anyway, as a sequel to Mercedes, it might seem a little like some other story King had hanging around that he just hijacked for use as a Hodges, Jerome, and Holly story. But in another way, it felt a little like From Russia With Love, where Bond doesn't even come into things for many chapters. Allowing the story to build without him makes the world-of-Bond more expansive than it would be had Bond appeared from page one, and I'd say the same thing for the world of Hodges et al.

Holly is still a little too quirky, and Jerome is still a little too eagerly loved by every character in the novel. (King manages to keep his occasional touch of Stepin Fetchit Tourettes in check better than in Mercedes; Tyrone Feelgood Delight, Jerome's shuck-and-jive-parody that he lapses into, is semi-retired.) But they're all likeable characters and easy to spend time with, even if we're essentially watching them solve a mystery the reader already knows to answer to. But that's not a dealbreaker by any stretch. I'm not sure how this story could be told any other way, actually - overall, its structure makes a lot of sense.

The novel ends with the same kind of suspenseful cross-cutting that Mercedes (not to mention other King works like Needful Things or Insomnia) did.

Mustache.

THE TRILOGY

The most compelling aspect of it all is something I didn't think I'd enjoy at all - the continuation of Brady's story from Mr. Mercedes. He ended that book in a comatose state, if you recall, and he's still in one in Finders Keepers. We learn that Hodges visits him from time to time and baits him, trying to prove Brady is faking.

When this first happened, I rolled my eyes - you're not going to drag this out and bring him back now, are you? The idea didn't appeal to me, for the reasons I laid out in my Mercedes review. And yet hints are dropped in the very last couple of paragraphs of Keepers that made me reconsider everything. I'm hesitant to discuss it too much here, but if the last book of the trilogy moves things into a supernatural direction - as it is hinted it very may well might - I'm all for it.


FINAL VERDICT

Not a bad little story. It's a single, maybe a RBI, maybe not. I will say, though, that I enjoyed it more than Mr. Mercedes and if the just-mentioned supernatural-plotline picks up in pt. 3, I might even come to enjoy Mercedes more by virtue of that. 

I'll skip the King's Highway Scorecard this time around, but where would it fit in my rankings? Haven't revised them yet - probably somewhere in the 30s, not sure exactly where as of yet.

37. The Dark Tower: Drawing of the Three
36. The Dark Half
35. Pet Sematary
34. Bag of Bones
33. The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon
32. The Dead Zone
31. Revival