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The Fallen: Searching for the Missing Members of The Fall
The Fall are one of the world's most iconic groups, led for the last thirty years by the inimitable and enigmatic Mark E. Smith. They have released nearly thirty studio albums, with in excess of fifty musicians passing through their ranks. They are The Fallen; this is their story. Dave Simpson has spent two years of his life tracking down everyone who has ever played in The Fall. The resultant book is full of hilarious and shocking anecdotes about life in one of the country's most intense and insane bands. It is also a biography in reflection of Mark E. Smith, a man who runs his group like a football team, for whom no one member is greater than the Fall. Featuring a host of new interviews, this is a fascinating insight for all of The Fall's devoted fanbase, which famously included John Peel, and anyone who has ever been curious about the group, and interested in the post-punk cultural landscape of Britain.
320 pages, Hardcover
First published September 1, 2008
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June 19, 2010
This is Mark E. Smith:
He’s pretty much what he appears to be: a half-crazed, edentate alcoholic. He’s also a musical genius. Or so says John Peel, and so says just about everyone who’s ever worked with Smith, including those who want to stick a knife in his guts. All I know is, I’ve been listening to The Fall on a daily basis for years, and I still can’t decide whether I like them or not. But then, nobody likes The Fall: either you hate them or they end up changing your life.
The premise of The Fallen is both gimmicky and inspired. Dave Simpson sets out to find every former member of The Fall – all fifty-something of them (at last count). Simpson goes on and on about what a tough assignment this is, but let’s be honest, Dave: throw a pint glass in Manchester and you’re bound to hit someone who spent ten minutes in The Fall (at one point, following up a lead, Simpson knocks on an ex-member’s door; he’s not home, but a neighbour pops his head out to say that he was once in The Fall, too).
For a British music journalist, Simpson is strangely ingenuous. He really seems to believe he can pluck out the heart of Smith’s mystery just by talking to a few dozen musicians. Although Smith is a slippery customer any way you look at him—as artist, Svengali and working-class eccentric—the only genuine mystery here is a purely physiological one: how is this guy still alive, let alone productive? On the evidence of this book, Smith has been more or less permanently intoxicated since about 1977. Even allowing for the possibility that he’s played up his image as a lush, he’s ingested enough lager, powders and amphetamines to kill the entire cast of Celebrity Rehab (those amateurs). And yet, here he is, a wizened, cackling gnome of 53, still putting out an album a year and touring regularly, still kicking ass or (more often) getting his own ass kicked. He’s persisted in his folly so long he’s become an institution.
Admittedly, I’ve bought into the Smith mystique myself, but just once I’d like to read a book on a cult band written by someone who’s not a drooling fanboy. Someone with a bit of critical perspective, or just a rudimentary sense of irony. Simpson’s not that guy. He’s too nice, too earnest, too infatuated with his subject. On top of which, he’s a terribly sloppy writer: how come no one at the Guardian ever took him aside and told him how to use ‘whom’? But none of this really matters because the lucky bastard has stumbled on a story so compelling that even he can’t screw it up.
Inevitably, Smith comes off as a monster. He’s the sort of lovable lout who stubs out a cigarette on an underling—while the latter’s driving down the highway at 70 miles an hour. Or he’ll have the tour bus pull over in the middle of rural Sweden, point to some hapless musician and say, ‘Right, then. Off you go.’ More than one concert degenerates into a drunken brawl—onstage. For all his cruelty and capriciousness, though, Smith inspires a sick kind of loyalty: almost to a man (and woman) his former band mates speak of him with grudging awe. Asked if they’d ever go back, most admit they would, and some are still pathetically hopeful of a return. Stockholm syndrome? Partly, but it’s more than that. Smith may be crazy as a shithouse rat, but he’s the most creative person any of them have ever met. For better or worse, he made them what they are, turning a bunch of confused kids into something like artists.
So The Fallen isn’t simply the biography of a rock band. It’s more like a sprawling family saga, with Smith as the addled patriarch at the centre of all the dysfunction. It’s messy, it’s sordid, it’s a bloody farce half the time, but there’s some scuzzy grandeur mixed in, too. It’s a great story. Or to put in Smithspeak: it’s a great fookin’ story, cock.
He’s pretty much what he appears to be: a half-crazed, edentate alcoholic. He’s also a musical genius. Or so says John Peel, and so says just about everyone who’s ever worked with Smith, including those who want to stick a knife in his guts. All I know is, I’ve been listening to The Fall on a daily basis for years, and I still can’t decide whether I like them or not. But then, nobody likes The Fall: either you hate them or they end up changing your life.
The premise of The Fallen is both gimmicky and inspired. Dave Simpson sets out to find every former member of The Fall – all fifty-something of them (at last count). Simpson goes on and on about what a tough assignment this is, but let’s be honest, Dave: throw a pint glass in Manchester and you’re bound to hit someone who spent ten minutes in The Fall (at one point, following up a lead, Simpson knocks on an ex-member’s door; he’s not home, but a neighbour pops his head out to say that he was once in The Fall, too).
For a British music journalist, Simpson is strangely ingenuous. He really seems to believe he can pluck out the heart of Smith’s mystery just by talking to a few dozen musicians. Although Smith is a slippery customer any way you look at him—as artist, Svengali and working-class eccentric—the only genuine mystery here is a purely physiological one: how is this guy still alive, let alone productive? On the evidence of this book, Smith has been more or less permanently intoxicated since about 1977. Even allowing for the possibility that he’s played up his image as a lush, he’s ingested enough lager, powders and amphetamines to kill the entire cast of Celebrity Rehab (those amateurs). And yet, here he is, a wizened, cackling gnome of 53, still putting out an album a year and touring regularly, still kicking ass or (more often) getting his own ass kicked. He’s persisted in his folly so long he’s become an institution.
Admittedly, I’ve bought into the Smith mystique myself, but just once I’d like to read a book on a cult band written by someone who’s not a drooling fanboy. Someone with a bit of critical perspective, or just a rudimentary sense of irony. Simpson’s not that guy. He’s too nice, too earnest, too infatuated with his subject. On top of which, he’s a terribly sloppy writer: how come no one at the Guardian ever took him aside and told him how to use ‘whom’? But none of this really matters because the lucky bastard has stumbled on a story so compelling that even he can’t screw it up.
Inevitably, Smith comes off as a monster. He’s the sort of lovable lout who stubs out a cigarette on an underling—while the latter’s driving down the highway at 70 miles an hour. Or he’ll have the tour bus pull over in the middle of rural Sweden, point to some hapless musician and say, ‘Right, then. Off you go.’ More than one concert degenerates into a drunken brawl—onstage. For all his cruelty and capriciousness, though, Smith inspires a sick kind of loyalty: almost to a man (and woman) his former band mates speak of him with grudging awe. Asked if they’d ever go back, most admit they would, and some are still pathetically hopeful of a return. Stockholm syndrome? Partly, but it’s more than that. Smith may be crazy as a shithouse rat, but he’s the most creative person any of them have ever met. For better or worse, he made them what they are, turning a bunch of confused kids into something like artists.
So The Fallen isn’t simply the biography of a rock band. It’s more like a sprawling family saga, with Smith as the addled patriarch at the centre of all the dysfunction. It’s messy, it’s sordid, it’s a bloody farce half the time, but there’s some scuzzy grandeur mixed in, too. It’s a great story. Or to put in Smithspeak: it’s a great fookin’ story, cock.
February 1, 2011
THIS THING ABOUT IF YOU LIKE X YOU'RE BOUND TO LIKE Y ISN'T TRUE
I spend too much time trying to get myself to like The Fall even though I think they're one of the most annoying bands ever, annoying because everybody I respect loves The Fall, and yet they sound like a cruddy unfunny cacophony fronted by a violent loudmouth with obvious mental problems, the guy you'd take one look at and quietly leave the pub in case he caught your eye. Actually that all sounds pretty good on paper, but in your headphones it's more like wet gravel being shoved down the back of your shirt. This may be the think that divides me and Fall fans. They actually like that sensation. They'd pay good money for it. They probably do it to each other in the privacy of their grim rooms. They make up this gravelly oily slop in a bucket then take turns pouring it down each other's shirts.
THIS BOOK IN FORTY SECONDS
Heavy drinking, speed, knitwear, hiring, firing, no eye contact, no eye contact during the hiring or the firing, no pets, working class inverted snobbery, gluey unglued personalities, deep aversions to putting anything in your mouth apart from beer bottles, tax inspectors, shabby motorway cafes, fighting on stage, fighting in the audience, divorce, indifference to basic musical conventions bordering on the autistic, more knitwear, still no eye contact, someone sabotaging your amp while you're trying to play live, heavy drinking, some acid but mostly speed, deliberate capsizing of anything which might be mistaken for an attempt to become popular
slit my throat with a garden vegetable if we ever look like U2
and so on, round and round, for thirty years and forty members.
ICONIC
Bollocks
MARK E SMITH - GENIUS
Bollocks
I spend too much time trying to get myself to like The Fall even though I think they're one of the most annoying bands ever, annoying because everybody I respect loves The Fall, and yet they sound like a cruddy unfunny cacophony fronted by a violent loudmouth with obvious mental problems, the guy you'd take one look at and quietly leave the pub in case he caught your eye. Actually that all sounds pretty good on paper, but in your headphones it's more like wet gravel being shoved down the back of your shirt. This may be the think that divides me and Fall fans. They actually like that sensation. They'd pay good money for it. They probably do it to each other in the privacy of their grim rooms. They make up this gravelly oily slop in a bucket then take turns pouring it down each other's shirts.
THIS BOOK IN FORTY SECONDS
Heavy drinking, speed, knitwear, hiring, firing, no eye contact, no eye contact during the hiring or the firing, no pets, working class inverted snobbery, gluey unglued personalities, deep aversions to putting anything in your mouth apart from beer bottles, tax inspectors, shabby motorway cafes, fighting on stage, fighting in the audience, divorce, indifference to basic musical conventions bordering on the autistic, more knitwear, still no eye contact, someone sabotaging your amp while you're trying to play live, heavy drinking, some acid but mostly speed, deliberate capsizing of anything which might be mistaken for an attempt to become popular
slit my throat with a garden vegetable if we ever look like U2
and so on, round and round, for thirty years and forty members.
ICONIC
Bollocks
MARK E SMITH - GENIUS
Bollocks
June 18, 2010
Unfortunately Dave Simpson shoots himself in the foot by getting all mushy about his girlfriend just as she's obviously glarin' at his side of the bed while packing to leave. Empathy is not a major trait among Fall fans, let alone twitchy-eyed misanthropic readers of music journalists in general. Then, to make matters worse, there's this ridiculous chapter comparing Mark E. Smith to religious cult leaders, based on his browsing some books on the subject -- I'm guessing it's this part (not the bit during the Julia Adamson chapter where his penis comes into question) that forced our swizzled shouter to burn the damn thing.
But seriously, this is a great book, definitely worth an audience beyond mere Fall obsessives. The main character of course is Mark E. Smith, one of those strange Ollie Reed types from Britain who spend their entire lives dissipated & drunken yet manage to generate a massive body of work, plus a strange sort of shamanic inspiration. Tracking down all forty-odd ex-members of the Fall ends up turning into an almost sociological exercise. This is the weirdest most heterodox buncha folks you'll find tethered together to one wizened dude (including a surprisingly huge number of women), everything from eggheads to bullies to wide-eyed waifs to -- well, Mark E. Smith's countless wives and sackmates. Many of these collaborators found Smith to be an inexplicable nutcase, maddening, tricky, sadistic, often funny, brilliant even. But ultimately intolerable. Yet would they go back to the Fall if invited? Many of them -- MOST of them -- say yes. This is Simpson's strangest discovery, and I don't think there's much explanation other than the paradox that Mark's caustic restrictions and disdain for noodling and improvisation are more liberating than the usual woolgathering style of music-making.
But there's more, so much more -- everything from multiple theories about Mark's dissipation (is it the drink, or the band that's done it?), to a secret visit to his house, to a brief digression on Smith-Bramah as Jagger-Richards, and of course the bit about his penis which is really a larger meditation on what made him such a slut back in the day (I still don't quite know).
Now, if only someone would hit the time-lock and bash out a similar book about James Brown and all his musical collaborators...
But seriously, this is a great book, definitely worth an audience beyond mere Fall obsessives. The main character of course is Mark E. Smith, one of those strange Ollie Reed types from Britain who spend their entire lives dissipated & drunken yet manage to generate a massive body of work, plus a strange sort of shamanic inspiration. Tracking down all forty-odd ex-members of the Fall ends up turning into an almost sociological exercise. This is the weirdest most heterodox buncha folks you'll find tethered together to one wizened dude (including a surprisingly huge number of women), everything from eggheads to bullies to wide-eyed waifs to -- well, Mark E. Smith's countless wives and sackmates. Many of these collaborators found Smith to be an inexplicable nutcase, maddening, tricky, sadistic, often funny, brilliant even. But ultimately intolerable. Yet would they go back to the Fall if invited? Many of them -- MOST of them -- say yes. This is Simpson's strangest discovery, and I don't think there's much explanation other than the paradox that Mark's caustic restrictions and disdain for noodling and improvisation are more liberating than the usual woolgathering style of music-making.
But there's more, so much more -- everything from multiple theories about Mark's dissipation (is it the drink, or the band that's done it?), to a secret visit to his house, to a brief digression on Smith-Bramah as Jagger-Richards, and of course the bit about his penis which is really a larger meditation on what made him such a slut back in the day (I still don't quite know).
Now, if only someone would hit the time-lock and bash out a similar book about James Brown and all his musical collaborators...
December 22, 2009
The Fall are a post-punk institution: an avant-garde band of shambolic renegades controlled and manipulated by enigmatic Mancunian mastermind Mark E. Smith. Their music is dissonant, unpleasant, thunderous, venomous, cerebral, and remarkably inventive. Smith is widely recognised as being one of the most original writers in the history of rock music.
Smith presaged the legion of cryptic alt-rock wordsmiths that followed in the ‘90s and ‘00s, his influence imprinted upon the songs of Pavement, Guided By Voices, Half Man Half Biscuit and Joanna Newsom. The influence their music has had on the countless "indie" groups formed since the band’s inception in 1977 is incalculable.
The Fall have based their career around a powerful form of awkward and inscrutable cacophony, taking an anti-culture, anti-counterculture stance. The Fall dislike both sides of the cultural fence, defining themselves as themselves: impenetrable, uniquely The Fall.
To me, there have been few bands who can write songs as strange, original, breathtaking and addictive as The Fall. And so, with that preamble, we get to the topic of Dave Simpson’s fantastic book, The Fallen. Dave is your average Fall obsessive: the sort of man who knows the set-list from a 1983 gig in Oslo, or what colour shirt the fifth drummer was wearing at a gig in Brixton 1986. Fairly common behaviour among fans of the definitive cult band.
He’s also a reputable music journalist for the Guardian, but for the purposes of the book, he’s a man on a mission: to track down everyone who was ever in the Fall. The band has a high turnover rate of members to keep the music fresh, you see, and Mark E. Smith (MES) notoriously flings people out the band whenever he feels like it. The premise of Simpson's book is, essentially, an exercise in decrypting the psyche of MES, exploring the reasons why this speed-abusing, alcoholic, foul-mouthed lout is able to keep producing such staggering work.
We meet long-suffering members of the band who discuss the wall of disdain erected between MES and his musicians, the power games he uses to manipulate guitarists into producing such unique sounds, and his numerous public humiliations. Smith’s idol is clearly Captain Beefheart, from whom he takes the notion that graft, punishing labour, and making musicians uncomfortable yields the greatest results. Simpson expounds on these theories, painting MES as a cult-leader, bully, and bumbling genius. All three are equally valid.
Simpson’s book is a treat for the Fall fans who are familiar with the prominent band members and their contributions to the music. The story of the band is such a whirlwind of hilarious anecdotes, bust-ups and bizarreness, that Simpson rightly keeps a journalistic distance and crafts these tales without too much mock-incredulity. He also introduces an appropriate warning against the Curse of the Fall: those who come into close contact with the band are destined to fall spectacularly from grace.
I think of Fall in terms of the Victorian artists – suffering for their work, spending most of their lives in poverty, being underappreciated in their lifetime. Simpson compares MES to a Victorian taskmaster, another apt image. MES is certainly an unpleasant and bellicose individual – this is quite obvious – though he wields a strange magnetism. We listeners are his battered wives, refusing to let go of our tyrannous love.
The nagging question, then: does this book appeal to non-Fall fans? Yes. There are no bands in existence as interesting and worthy of your attention as The Fall. Rock books are usually fawning tales of millionaires having fun at the expense of their fans. This is the anti-rock book. It’s an avant-garde statement in its own right. Simpson, despite coming from a contrasting world to MES, would have made a great addition to the Fall.
In fact, as the book ends, he too joins the ranks of the Fallen. No spoilers, but I hope the guy’s OK.
P.S. This edition has an updated chapter. Get this edition.
Smith presaged the legion of cryptic alt-rock wordsmiths that followed in the ‘90s and ‘00s, his influence imprinted upon the songs of Pavement, Guided By Voices, Half Man Half Biscuit and Joanna Newsom. The influence their music has had on the countless "indie" groups formed since the band’s inception in 1977 is incalculable.
The Fall have based their career around a powerful form of awkward and inscrutable cacophony, taking an anti-culture, anti-counterculture stance. The Fall dislike both sides of the cultural fence, defining themselves as themselves: impenetrable, uniquely The Fall.
To me, there have been few bands who can write songs as strange, original, breathtaking and addictive as The Fall. And so, with that preamble, we get to the topic of Dave Simpson’s fantastic book, The Fallen. Dave is your average Fall obsessive: the sort of man who knows the set-list from a 1983 gig in Oslo, or what colour shirt the fifth drummer was wearing at a gig in Brixton 1986. Fairly common behaviour among fans of the definitive cult band.
He’s also a reputable music journalist for the Guardian, but for the purposes of the book, he’s a man on a mission: to track down everyone who was ever in the Fall. The band has a high turnover rate of members to keep the music fresh, you see, and Mark E. Smith (MES) notoriously flings people out the band whenever he feels like it. The premise of Simpson's book is, essentially, an exercise in decrypting the psyche of MES, exploring the reasons why this speed-abusing, alcoholic, foul-mouthed lout is able to keep producing such staggering work.
We meet long-suffering members of the band who discuss the wall of disdain erected between MES and his musicians, the power games he uses to manipulate guitarists into producing such unique sounds, and his numerous public humiliations. Smith’s idol is clearly Captain Beefheart, from whom he takes the notion that graft, punishing labour, and making musicians uncomfortable yields the greatest results. Simpson expounds on these theories, painting MES as a cult-leader, bully, and bumbling genius. All three are equally valid.
Simpson’s book is a treat for the Fall fans who are familiar with the prominent band members and their contributions to the music. The story of the band is such a whirlwind of hilarious anecdotes, bust-ups and bizarreness, that Simpson rightly keeps a journalistic distance and crafts these tales without too much mock-incredulity. He also introduces an appropriate warning against the Curse of the Fall: those who come into close contact with the band are destined to fall spectacularly from grace.
I think of Fall in terms of the Victorian artists – suffering for their work, spending most of their lives in poverty, being underappreciated in their lifetime. Simpson compares MES to a Victorian taskmaster, another apt image. MES is certainly an unpleasant and bellicose individual – this is quite obvious – though he wields a strange magnetism. We listeners are his battered wives, refusing to let go of our tyrannous love.
The nagging question, then: does this book appeal to non-Fall fans? Yes. There are no bands in existence as interesting and worthy of your attention as The Fall. Rock books are usually fawning tales of millionaires having fun at the expense of their fans. This is the anti-rock book. It’s an avant-garde statement in its own right. Simpson, despite coming from a contrasting world to MES, would have made a great addition to the Fall.
In fact, as the book ends, he too joins the ranks of the Fallen. No spoilers, but I hope the guy’s OK.
P.S. This edition has an updated chapter. Get this edition.
May 28, 2011
Required reading for fans who've read Renegade: The Lives and Tales of Mark E. Smith. Gets repetitive after 100+ pages but otherwise mindless rubbernecking enjoyment. The artificial narrative drive re: the difficulties of finding drummer Karl Burns seems tacked on at the end of chapters and gets a wee bit annoying, as does the continual reinforcement of the very well-established notion that life in "the weird and frightening world" (an annoyingly repeated phrase) was exciting, hyper-creative, peculiar, and always tinged with the threat of violence and/or termination, but mostly it's a fun read. Bits about Beefheart, Manchester, and cult psychology extended things nicely, although I can't really imagine non-fans of The Fall getting into this. Should be made into a documentary, definitely. Bring on the biopic! Best bit for me was that M.E.S. once put the Curse of The Fall on someone who was killed in a freak accident two days later. That's some serious hex enduction indeed! Generally, reading this has made me appreciate my stable bourgieness compared to life on the road with The Fall. (Also, whoever proofed the new epilogue should be sacked.)
June 28, 2011
I would have liked this a whole lot more if the author hadn't felt it necessary to include his own sub-Nick Hornby manchild nonsense. Definitely worth it for Fall fanatics, though.
June 30, 2011
Mark Smith. Clever man. Genius. Bully. There ain't any point reading much about the others (Exception Scanlon, S Hanley, Riley). My mum's got better anecdotes about my dad than most of this lot have about their time in The Fall.
This book fizzles out like a damp squib the closer you get to the end.....
This book fizzles out like a damp squib the closer you get to the end.....
Read
July 25, 2024One of the strangest (and most enlightening) music books I've ever read. Aside from the exhaustive and brilliant coverage of ex-Fall members, Simpson manages to convey perfectly the mania and excitement of being a Fall fan, even now, several years after the great man's death. Must-read for anyone interested in post-punk music at all.
January 12, 2020
Christ imagine letting your marriage break down because your obsessed with a band
December 16, 2018
A fascinating read through the extricated echelons of one of music's most stressful but unique and of course brilliant groups. Each interview with a Fallen member is generally engaging, with some providing greater insight than others into the mechanics of The Fall and the cryptic and ultimately unknowable psychology of MES.
Whilst the book's main flaws are for me linked primarily to a (credible or total) lack of input from a certain few members, almost all speak of a lingering love, if not a even small amount of respect, for their defacto leader. Having now been able to delve deeper into the generally well-reported subject of Mark E Smith, his behaviour and his work ethics, I can only imagine such loyalty is the result of some cult like brainwashing.
It's ultimately pleasing to learn that this trait held by the Fallen is shared by myself and likely a large number of Fall fans: an inexplicable love for a man whose values, ideals, ethics, business practices and certainly his interpersonal qualities are, for the most part, far outside the Re-Mit of what I'd look for in a passing acquaintance, let alone a hero.
Whilst the book's main flaws are for me linked primarily to a (credible or total) lack of input from a certain few members, almost all speak of a lingering love, if not a even small amount of respect, for their defacto leader. Having now been able to delve deeper into the generally well-reported subject of Mark E Smith, his behaviour and his work ethics, I can only imagine such loyalty is the result of some cult like brainwashing.
It's ultimately pleasing to learn that this trait held by the Fallen is shared by myself and likely a large number of Fall fans: an inexplicable love for a man whose values, ideals, ethics, business practices and certainly his interpersonal qualities are, for the most part, far outside the Re-Mit of what I'd look for in a passing acquaintance, let alone a hero.
April 10, 2023
This'll convert few who haven't been already down the rabbit hole into the lair of MES and his acolytes and/or pressganged mostly neighbors. While those like me need no convincing of The Fall's mesmerizing, scattershot, awe inspiring, bewildering, caustic, half-arsed and/or slapdash spell, perhaps the curious might have their puzzlement both expanded and explained in part. Dave Simpson's approach proves awkward, jumbled, and of course, repetitious. He barely mentions some of their greatest recordings (Light User Syndrome in particular), but obviously this narrative won't attract those not previously swayed by this gnomic, elusive, allusive, abusive lyrical swirl and snarl. Surely the most true to the spirit of '77 on, making music for those of us who always wanted to play, but may have never learned the "proper" way to deliver hypnotic sound.
July 24, 2023
So why would I read a book about a band whose music I can't stand? (Well, I do like Rowche Rumble--but that's it!). Because of the human interest story, that's why. Crazy cult leader, instead of having a normal cult-leader-type interest in forming a colony of true believers in Guyana or taking over German politics, happens to like music instead. So what does he do? He grabs every random warm body around him, yanks them onstage and into the studio, and makes them write and perform music. He doesn't care if they can play or not, that's trivial. Mark E. Smith (you always put the E. in, just like Robert E. Lee), doesn't even play an instrument or write tunes himself, and he's convinced the former two talents are way overrated. He terrorizes the musicians to keep them 'fresh' by playing all sort of abusive mind games with them, and when they lose that freshness, he kicks them out of the band with no warning, sometimes even booting them off the tour van in the middle of nowhere.
But the most bizarre thing about this book is that almost every one of the 40-odd (50-odd?) of The Fallen, Simpson's term for the Smith's ex-bandmates, swears they'd rejoin the band if Smith asked them to. No joke. The whole book is Simpson's scavenger-hunt to track down all these cult followers (ahem, ex-bandmates) and interview them, and Simpson manages to bag almost the entire lot, even those who were in the band for about two hours.
Simpson hints that Smith has a great talent for getting talent out of no-talents. I personally don't get it. It has long been acknowledged that when a band reaches that stage in its career when the lead singer's girlfriend joins the band on bass, it's curtains for the band. The Fall, notoriously, are acknowledged to have improved when this happened, though I can't verify this myself.
There are a great many bands out there who claim they've been influenced by The Fall. I suppose getting hit by a sledgehammer on the big toe is an influencing experience, too. Much of the very little I've heard of the Fall's music is enough to make me flee screaming from the room, mainly because of Smith's insanely annoying voice. In fact, the only thing really wrong with the Fall, as near as I can tell, is Mark E. Smith.
Anyway, I leave you with a link to a song about the history of The Fall:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tP_Dk...
Edit: I have discovered a second song by the Fall that I like, their cover of The Mummy. I may have to slit my wrists.
But the most bizarre thing about this book is that almost every one of the 40-odd (50-odd?) of The Fallen, Simpson's term for the Smith's ex-bandmates, swears they'd rejoin the band if Smith asked them to. No joke. The whole book is Simpson's scavenger-hunt to track down all these cult followers (ahem, ex-bandmates) and interview them, and Simpson manages to bag almost the entire lot, even those who were in the band for about two hours.
Simpson hints that Smith has a great talent for getting talent out of no-talents. I personally don't get it. It has long been acknowledged that when a band reaches that stage in its career when the lead singer's girlfriend joins the band on bass, it's curtains for the band. The Fall, notoriously, are acknowledged to have improved when this happened, though I can't verify this myself.
There are a great many bands out there who claim they've been influenced by The Fall. I suppose getting hit by a sledgehammer on the big toe is an influencing experience, too. Much of the very little I've heard of the Fall's music is enough to make me flee screaming from the room, mainly because of Smith's insanely annoying voice. In fact, the only thing really wrong with the Fall, as near as I can tell, is Mark E. Smith.
Anyway, I leave you with a link to a song about the history of The Fall:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tP_Dk...
Edit: I have discovered a second song by the Fall that I like, their cover of The Mummy. I may have to slit my wrists.
July 27, 2020
Mexican Radio started as a German-language Fall cover band, and we are all pretty serious devotees to the band. When we first got together, all three of us read this book. It is full of entertaining anecdotes about the band through various periods of its history, and pretty good value for money when it comes to crazy Mark E. Smith stories! No matter how wild things got, every single person said that they didn't regret their time in The Fall and that they would do it again. That speaks miles about the complicated genius of Mark E. Smith. Check it out! Tell us your favorite version of The Fall!
And as a companion piece, listen to the episode of The Mexican Radio Radio Show on KCRW Berlin featuring Imperial Wax, the band made up of the surviving members of the last line-up of The Fall: https://soundcloud.com/mexican-radio-...
They spoke very movingly about their time with Mark E. Smith, you can see why so many ex-members really treasure having been able to work with him. And their new band is great too :)
And as a companion piece, listen to the episode of The Mexican Radio Radio Show on KCRW Berlin featuring Imperial Wax, the band made up of the surviving members of the last line-up of The Fall: https://soundcloud.com/mexican-radio-...
They spoke very movingly about their time with Mark E. Smith, you can see why so many ex-members really treasure having been able to work with him. And their new band is great too :)
January 21, 2020
Great subject, fun read, but the writing gets repetitive & bogs down in the final third (hearing “Wonderful & Frightening World” about the tenth time started to put my teeth on edge). Was enlightening about Mark E. Smith & his working methods & self destructive streak. Incredible how much great music he got out into the world one step ahead of chaos.
March 3, 2014
Simpson can't write for toffee, and the over-use of 'weird and frightening world' is aggravating. The only things worth reading are the quotes from past-members, yet Simpson seems to think his life is just as interesting. And the Karl Burns stuff was tedious and cringey.
October 22, 2018
Sometimes tedious but mostly entertaining. Got a bit tired of the phrase “The Wonderful and Frightening World” and found his personal life uninteresting. Otherwise an interesting read. Probably best for Fall diehards.
December 4, 2009
In equal parts funny, self absorbed, painful and just plain odd this is the perfect accompaniment to listening to the Fall back catalogue.
July 7, 2010
Best music book I ever read
February 9, 2018
This is an interesting companion piece to Mark E. Smith's autobiography, especially as it interacts with it in a bit of a puzzling game of which-one-came-first (as they both respond to things written in the other). It also references a lot of the same funny, frightening (wonderful?) anecdotes in The Fall lore, only from completely different angles. And the bilious, barking tone of Renegade goes a long way to explain why some of these former members still seem to suffer from some sort of PTSD, sometimes decades after they've been ousted - even if most of them are still willing rejoin at the drop of a hat if the Mighty Mark would ever deem them worthy again.
This book does have its flaws - somewhere halfway Dave Simpson's writing hits a bit of a lull when the really juicy anecdotes seem to dry up from the former Fall guys and gals, dragging some of the creativity in his writing style down with it (at some point almost every other paragraph had the same Wonderful And Frightening World Of The Fall-metaphor, which started to get really grating). It recovered a bit towards the end though, when the consequences - both positive and negative - of his quest actually find their way into the final chapters in an interesting meta-manner.
While it was a bit uneven in its exhaustive quest at times, on the whole it was quite entertaining. Definitely a must-read for fans of The Fall, and I'm sure that someone who hates their music with a passion would get a kick out of this one as well.
This book does have its flaws - somewhere halfway Dave Simpson's writing hits a bit of a lull when the really juicy anecdotes seem to dry up from the former Fall guys and gals, dragging some of the creativity in his writing style down with it (at some point almost every other paragraph had the same Wonderful And Frightening World Of The Fall-metaphor, which started to get really grating). It recovered a bit towards the end though, when the consequences - both positive and negative - of his quest actually find their way into the final chapters in an interesting meta-manner.
While it was a bit uneven in its exhaustive quest at times, on the whole it was quite entertaining. Definitely a must-read for fans of The Fall, and I'm sure that someone who hates their music with a passion would get a kick out of this one as well.
July 24, 2017
It's pretty straight forward what this book is about, and naturally you're only going to get so much insight into the mind of Mark E. Smith. But, sparing the big words, it's easy to say that The Fall has always been built slightly different than other bands. Aside from a few exception, The Fall is fueled by amateurs that are more likely to be discovered on a street corner than a series of rehearsals; if anyone rehearses for The Fall. The tenures are often short, and you rarely hear about creative differences. The book explores what it is like to have a tenure in such an atypical and enigmatic world, or "Wonderful and Frightening," to try and draw some insight on how this band is put together.
February 6, 2018
Obviously the death of an artist sparks some interest in their life and times. The more recent videos of Mark E Smith make him look like a bit of an Alf Garnett figure, but I remembered I downloaded this book onto the Kindle ages ago so this gave me the impetus to read it. This book is all about obsession for the author - the obsession of the fan - for Mark E Smith the obsession of an ideal, which seems amorphous and opaque. The tales of the members of the band are ludicrous and funny from the outside, but not for the fainthearted.
March 15, 2018
I don't think I've ever listened to a record by The Fall -- definitely not a full album, though I've got a sense I might have heard an R Dean Taylor cover by them. But I'm quite interested in Mark E Smith -- or I was. Reading this book has gratified my curiosity about him. It wasn't bad. I finished it, which is more than I can say for most of what I read these days.
May 23, 2022
It was interesting to get a little more insight into the band in terms of members and specific albums and all that, but I just found the writer to be a strange character. He puts too much of himself into a book which I think should be strictly about the band. Not going to lie but I don’t really care about your relationship with your wife at all.
October 8, 2024
I can’t to this without fandom burdening me. I knew several Fall songs, but never owned an album or seen them live. I knew MES was an interesting character, to say the least.
I loved how’s the book unfolded, and inspired me to seek out the music. There are wonderful stories in here, and some shocking aspects, but overall I’m left with the wish that I had seen them play, it sounds revelatory.
I loved how’s the book unfolded, and inspired me to seek out the music. There are wonderful stories in here, and some shocking aspects, but overall I’m left with the wish that I had seen them play, it sounds revelatory.
January 17, 2019
Even if you have never heard a Fall record this is a great read. Obsessively tracking down the Fall’s ex-members is reminiscent of “Are You Dave Gorman?” in its glorious pointlessness, and Simpson can really write. Fantastic fun if you don’t take it too seriously.
May 7, 2017
A must for Fall fans. Interesting to hear their side of the stories.
May 22, 2018
2.5 stars
December 22, 2018
A weird and wonderful journey into the heart of the UK's most idiosyncratic indie band. Not surprisingly, the now late Mark E Smith didn't approve but this book is a must for all Fall fans.
March 31, 2020
Insight to the mad mad world of the magnificent Fall
April 8, 2020
Wonderful and frightening indeed.
Well worth the time.
Well worth the time.
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