How often, while your mind is immersed in a mystery, does the lead character slip a favorite cd into his player while he’s driving to parts unknown? Or perhaps when he’s drinking a bad day away? When Mr. “Heroic-Lead” listens to music, he listens for the same reasons we do - to escape. But in that freedom, we crawl inside his head for a while and feel his thoughts. Ian Rankin’s “Let It Bleed” is the quintessential example as it is a classic album and an amazing book. The two are now inextricably linked in my mind. As the record streams from Rebus’ s hi-fi, it plays from my stereo. For both of us, it’s just a shot away to a period that reverberates with the moral ambiguity that was the 1960’s. Maybe it vibrates a little bit more literally from me, and a little bit more liquid for him. My brain decided to go to the source, or sources, to find out about the music of noir. Rankin was an obvious first quest. I set off to seek the creator of the mighty Rebus.
“Music
certainly establishes character in my books, and probably mood also. You can
tell a lot about Rebus in particular from his choices of listening (he's moody,
a loner, and so on, plus he comes from a certain social group - being a Stones
fan over the Beatles usually marks you out as working class, or at the very
least rebellious), and tells us his age, being a fan of Stones, Hendrix, Hawkwind,
etc, he's likely to be late 40s/early 50s.” With a constant soundtrack
in my own head as I move through my day (today, for some horrible reason, Helen
Reddy’s “Delta Dawn“), the idea of a lead character having
the same experience seems a natural extension and progression of the who we’re
dealing with within the context of a book. As Leonard Bernstein says, “Music....
can name the unnamable and communicate the unknowable.” The lead is now
a person instead of a mere character. And, upon reflection, quite a few authors
use music to establish mood and character. I was staggered at just how many
mystery and crime writers use melody in their work.
Mark Billingham’s protagonist, Tom Thorne, doesn’t have the complete Rebus rebellion streak. But, he has a dark side which fuels his own need for justice. I asked Billingham if he agrees music helps build character and mood. “Very much. Everyone connects in some way with music - even if it's just to shout at the radio for playing songs that don't have tunes - and I wanted music to be an important part of my central character Tom Thorne's life. It was also important that the music he was into was of a sort that kind of marked him out a little. I want Thorne to be as deceptive as the music he loves. As “not what he seems“. As oddball in many ways and going against the grain. He's dark, and edgy, but he'll also have a good old sob to Hank Williams after one glass of wine too many, you know? It's important that Thorne's musical taste is broadly my own. It's just about the only thing he does have in common with me (except a birthday) but I need to do such a lot of research in other areas, I want the music part to be easy. Music can be a useful shorthand in terms of establishing mood. You can also use it to subvert a mood and I find that can be equally powerful. His favourite artist, and one of mine, is Johnny Cash. He is perfect for that. He has a voice that can be tender one minute and murderous the next in a way that Phil Collins could never be.” The crime writer Ace Atkins adds, “Music plays such a huge part in American culture that it’s hard to ignore as a character. For me, writing about Memphis would be useless without providing readers with a soundtrack.”
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John Connolly is meticulous with his choices. “I pick the lyrics and songs used in the books very carefully, and most of them say something about Parker or his state of mind’ and also some of the character’s who disparage of Parker’s taste. In Dark Hollow, as Parker and Angel drive to Bangor, Angel searches through Parker’s tape collection, dismissing The Go-Betweens, The Triffids, The Gourds, Jim White and Doc Watson with a quick toss and snotty remarks. If Angel’s taste in music resembles his taste in clothes, I would much rather take a road trip with Parker. When it comes to music for mood one must never ignore the quiet man from Washington. George Pelecanos puts the need for music succinctly, “If executed well, what folks are listening to can say much about their character (class, who they are, where they've come from, etc.) The trick is to make it organic to the book.” Music is found throughout his books, changing like the weather and with the character featured in a particular chapter. Derek Strange has Al Green, War and James Brown. Terry Quinn likes Steve Earle and Springsteen but in his mellow moments, slides Shane McGowan and Johnny Winter onto his turntable. Cops never seem to be technophiles. |
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Bill Fitzhugh has a different approach. His answer is simple - “Not so much. In Fender Benders it might have put ME in a mood that made me feel like someone in Nashville but I've never read any writing that can change my mood the way that music can. Writing can do it in different ways than music, but the right chords all in a row can do something altogether different that words simply can't.” Not so much. Fender Benders is about music but doesn’t set a mood with it. Troublemaker. Nonetheless, I wonder. What do these paragons of paradoxes listen to while they write? Does it affect what they’re writing? Let’s return to Scotland and the world of Rebus. “I listen to instrumental music mostly: lyrics can get in the way. But it has to be rockist, so I go for bands like Mogwai, Godspeed You Black Emperor, Dirty Three, etc. No classical; sometimes a little laidback sax jazz. I don't feel the need to listen to different types of music for different scenes - which is to say, I won't suddenly switch to Jesus and Mary Chain because it's a car chase, or Autechre when it's a laze on the sofa...” So not Rebus. It’s rather a relief. |
Pelecanos pontificates in a similar vein. “I can't listen to music with
vocals while I write because the words collide with the words running through
my head. So I listen to instrumental music: electric jazz (70's Miles and Mahavishnu),
acid jazz, trip-hop (or whatever they're calling it this week), and movie soundtracks.
The music of Ennio Morricone has been in heavy rotation in my computer these
past three years while I was writing the Strange/Quinn trilogy, because those
books are urban westerns, and because his music is beautiful. I felt it helped
me pace the scenes. Also, I was plain into it. Bullitt/Dirty Harry-era Lalo
Schifrin was another favorite.” When I plugged some Ennio in I felt strangely
compelled to don spurs and roll my own cigarettes despite the fact that I don’t
smoke. I closed my eyes and tried to picture D.C. and couldn’t. My respect
for Pelecanos increases. 
“In terms of the ACTUAL writing, I don't listen to music at all.” Billingham responds “I find it far too easy to sing along and drum on the desk when I should be typing. I listen to music all the time when I'm not actually working, through the course of a novel and that does change book to book. When I'm stuck into a story I listen to far less seventies stuff than I would normally - immersing myself far more in country and alt. country music. Always on the lookout for something new for Thorne to discover. Right now I'm going through a major Steve Earle phase having just read a wonderful biography and so Thorne is likely to be listening to "Guitar Town" and "El Corazon" quite a lot in the book to come...” Earle’s short stories and music ride the edge that many mystery protagonists spend their fictional lives on, and that’s probably why Pelecanos’s Quinn finds shelter in Earle’s blue collar world. In a surreal twist, Earle himself has released a collection of short stories “Dog House Roses” trying to use his lyric writing skills to tell a story without a melody. Paradox? Maybe? Or just an extension of his writing ability.
Connolly concurs with the no music while actually writing rule. “I don't actually listen to music when I write. I just find it too distracting. I used to have a stereo in my office, but I got rid of it. It just made the place look cluttered.” Can’t have a cluttered office when writing about spiders, can we? But, again, music plays an important role. “Music has been inspirational, though. When I'm thinking about a book - maybe when I'm walking or driving - I sometimes use music to help me concentrate. When I despaired of ever finishing Every Dead Thing - which was often, as it took five years - I would listen to “Something I Can Never Have” by Nine Inch Nails. It's a supremely sinister piece of music, and effectively soundtracks that book. Similarly, I always associate Depeche Mode's “Home” with Dark Hollow. That was the song I listened to when I ran into trouble with it, or just needed to get in the mood to write. Parts of the Sweet Hereafter soundtrack have also helped, at times, particularly the second track.”
Fitzhugh
is in accord with silence. “I never listen to music while actually writing.
I have a dilapidated building on the back of my property that I call The Way
Back. I've got my album and cd collection back there with my seventies-era Klipsch
Heresy speakers, turntables, cd players, mixing board, etc. I go back there
a few nights a week to drink whiskey, smoke a cigar, and listen to music while
I think about the current book, make notes on it. Figure out what has to happen
next. But I don't do any writing out there. Right now, working on Radio Activity
(which is set in a 'classic rock' radio station), I'm listening to all the great
stuff from '67 to '77 that classic rock radio stations never play.” I
think if Rankin ever entered the Way Back with Fitzhugh, we wouldn’t see
either of them for months.
“I never turn down blues or any music with good harmonica,” Vicki Hendricks notes. “It's the dark side of life that appeals to me, as it does in my writing, I guess. On the writing of the current novel in progress Cruel Poetry, I've listened to Santana's Supernatural over and over for hours and hours. Sometimes I set the CD player to repeat “Smooth” and never change it, because it has just the attitude I want. One of the characters in the novel has Cuban parents, but was born in New Jersey. I can't remember if I created the character before or after I started listening to the Santana CD, so now it's all inseparable, and the Latin flavor in the form of dialogue permeates the manuscript, as well as the obsessive plea for love to someone who is so “smooth“.”
With music playing such a prominent role in many of their novels, another question occurred to me. Have any been musicians?
Rankin would have been an excellent rock star. “I've never been a musician;
too lazy. Bought a guitar at 12, but wouldn't take lessons, so never learned
anything. Joined a new wave band at 18. Only lasted a year. Band was called
The Dancing Pigs (they pop up in 'Black and Blue', as a mega-successful band,
a kind of U2 or REM). I was vocalist; wrote the lyrics. Good fun, but we never
got anywhere.” It is amazingly easy to picture Rankin as lead vocalist.
The author photo on the early novels gives credence to the Dancing Pigs story
but Rankin in person and animated drives it home. 
Billingham has a similar account. “I was in a band at school and at college as the lead singer. I don’t play an instrument but have always been a songwriter. The first things I ever wrote were songs which I continued to do through the late eighties and nineties as half of a musical comedy act.” This merry man chose, instead, to become one of the best new crime writers to come out of the UK.
Fitzhugh is frank in regards to his musicianship. “The only instrument I can play is the stereo. But I'm very good on it. When I worked in radio it used to be axiomatic that djs were just frustrated musicians. Maybe. I would love to be able to play piano or guitar but I absolutely lack the facility to understand music (keys, chords, scales, etc.) But for some reason I can listen to the end of a song and think of another one that will sound great after it. This was a useful skill when radio was about music. It is no longer of any value commercially.” But, what an asset he must be at wedding receptions.
Atkins has aspirations. “I’m working on it. I think I’ve
stayed away from the pursuit of music because it might cloud the writing. But,
I’m working on honing my harmonica skills so I might be able to play for
an audience bigger than my dogs. So far, it only makes my dogs howl.”
It’s better than making them run away. When I sang, my dog used to wince.
But, for the most part, dogs are a polite and affable audience. Much more forgiving
than their human counterparts, as we learn from the Connolly chronicles. “I
was never a musician. I don't have a note in my head, and I dance like an ironing
board. Despite that, my friend Mark once convinced me to enter our local talent
competition with him. We called ourselves the Rabid Hounds, and covered Bob
Dylan's Isis on synthesizer (me), and harmonica and guitar (Mark), despite the
fact that we had never even handled any of these instruments before the night
of the show. There is a tape of our performance - before about 300 people -
which consists mainly of booing with a godawful racket playing in the background.
About two minutes into it (following a plaintive appeal by our local priest,
who was MCing the show, for us to come off on the grounds that we'd had our
fun, as he put it) they turned the power off on us, so we completed the song
acoustically. It wasn't much better, but at least nobody could hear it quite
as well. We received nil (no points) from any of the three jurors. It was, apparently,
a record. Even the 75-year-old comic - who couldn't remember the punchlines
to his own jokes, and had to be prompted by the audience - got more than us.”
Hans Christian Andersen said “Where words fail, music speaks.” Let’s
be thankful that words rarely fail Connolly. And as for Pelecanos? “I’m
Just a rabid fan.” Ironic. 
© 2003 Jennifer Jordan