Anthology of Ellen Willis’ writings a revelatory experience

book-cover-out-of-the-vinyl-deepsIn her forward to the anthology of Ellen Willis‘ writings on pop music, From the Vinyl Deeps, Sasha Frere-Jones says of Willis, “[her] pieces retain the mark of their time without being hostage to it.” It’s quite true. The tone and detail mark these as exemplary works of criticism, but more than anything, the personal details — such as “stacking all five of my Creedence albums on the stereo and [dancing] to them, one after another” in “Creedence as Therapy” — mark her work as a clear forerunner of today’s confessional style.

While Lester Bangs might have written detailed pieces wherein he was as much the focus of the piece as the supposed subject (“Innocents in Babylon” is more about him smoking weed and listening to reggae in Jamaica than it is about Bob Marley), his work is far more akin to that of Hunter S. Thompson than that of Robert Christgau. Willis, on the other hand, uses her personal life and details from it to pepper her work and give logical purpose to her emotional connections.

The pieces within the pages of From the Vinyl Deeps are important, yes, because they are the first major pieces of pop critcism by a female author, but also because they manage to so accurately convey the sense of excitement at a new album or artist. So many pieces written about Bob Dylan are at such a remove that one cannot resolve the myth and legend from the music being made. The piece that opens the book — the extraordinary portrait “Dylan,” written for Cheetah in 1967, is revelatory. It’s astounding to see the transformation Bob Dylan made in the just five years between his debut album and when the piece was written, and Willis presents it in such a sensual, feeling style that, even if (like myself) you’re not a fan of the man’s music, you find yourself rushing to listen to these songs again in a new light.

Much in the same way is a similar long-form piece about the Velvet Underground, from a 1979 book of desert island discs edited by Greil Marcus, entitled Stranded. While more academic than the Dylan piece, the analysis of the music is note-perfect. Describing the Velvet’s music as “antiart art made by antielite elitists” perfectly captures the simultaneous calculation and emotional resonance in the New York art band’s music.

When in the process of reading this book, I mentioned on Facebook that it made me want to try harder at writing. It seems almost effortless, the way Willis streams together words to present that rarest of things, a piece about music that is musical in and of itself. Are there flaws? Yes. As Willis was blazing her own trail with The New Yorker, she had the freedom to write about what she please, meaning she focused on the artists she liked most. This means lots of articles on Dylan, the Stones, the Who, and (surprisingly) the New York Dolls, but little on other artists. Still, her coverage of feminist rock acts like Ms. Clawdy and the nascent Laurel Canyon folk scene give life to musicians who would have otherwise never been heard of in this century.