Johnny Depp had Keith Richards: I have Robert Plant

by Jamie Freveletti

My last post was about classic rock and classic protagonists, but let's talk rock and creating a character. I've finished Keith Richards' book Life and must say that I respect him a bit more since reading his views on music, especially Chicago blues. (Full disclosure: my mother was a jazz singer in the 60's and 70's in Chicago and knew many of the people mentioned). While the whole drug

fueled lifestyle sounds painful, it seemed to be a fixture in the scene during the 60's and 70's.

By now most of us know that Johnny Depp used Mr. Richards as inspiration when creating his Jack Sparrow character. The swaying, insouciant pirate owed a lot to Depp's portrayal, and Richards eventually appeared in the movie as well.

I'm currently writing my fourth thriller featuring Emma Caldridge, and in this one she hooks up with a character that is in the music scene. Much of what I'm writing comes from my memories of being a child when my mother used to rehearse with her band at our house.

But the other day I was cruising through a book store and saw a magazine cover picture of a man with a fascinatingly craggy face, experience in his eyes-some pain too-and long, wavy hair which is a rarity on men in their sixties. His face was so arresting that I stopped and stared.

It was Robert Plant. I had to stare, because, thanks to the teen resident guitar player in my house the screen savers on our computers at home have some sort of picture of this man in various stages of his rock god years. This photo above is the current screen saver. Now this is a great photo. Whatever this man is doing, he's loving his life. There's a lot of happiness in this man's face. But the photo above, which stares back at me every morning as I load up on coffee to begin writing, is nothing compared to the photo that I saw on that magazine cover. That photo was a testament to a life lived.

That photo is here:

Whatever you want to say about this man, he's been there, done that, and is probably fascinating to talk to. Like Keith Richards, I'll bet there's a whole lot of stories this man could tell. As a writer, I'd love to hear them.

More disclosure, I like Led Zeppelin a whole lot better now then when I was a kid. The music hit way too early in my life to really match with my musical tastes--which at that point were still colored by a mother who'd sing the standards: Ella, Frank, Lena, Peggy. My favorite song as a child was "Angel Eyes" as sung by my mother. It still is. My favorite writer was Edgar Allan Poe. Still is.

So now I'm writing about my own rocker in the music scene and I'm using an amalgam of musicians that I knew growing up. They were crazy, creative, big pot smokers and God knows what else, and they loved music, the Blues, life, women, and alcohol. They were constantly cycling women through their hotel rooms. They refused to wear tuxedos on stage on New Years' Eve--almost getting the band fired, and wrote in their journals about the first time they got crabs.

They were very nice to an eight year old girl who would sit in the corner of the living room with her plastic horse models and listen to the rehearsals. Some were crazy as hell, some were talented as hell, and all are fodder for this new character that I'm creating.

Rock on.

Best Protagonists--Are they all in the past?

by Jamie Freveletti

I'm participating in a "Best Protagonists" debate over at the International Thriller Writer's blog, "The Big Thrill" and started wondering about past versus present protagonists. So far we've been fairly consistent in picking the obvious classic and unbeatable characters: Sherlock Holmes, Adam Daglieish, and Elizabeth Bennett. But note, these are all classic characters. In reading the responses I thought, what about the classics made them that way? Characterization? Voice? Or is it just that familiarity and retelling over the decades have made them become like friends to us?


But familiarity is not always the ticket. A teen in my household that I'll call the "resident guitar player" so as to preserve some of his anonymity said to me: "How come when Dad was fifteen he got the Rolling Stones and Cream, and I got the pop drivel I hear now?"


I countered with some of the bands from my formative dance years: New Order, The Cure, Talking Heads and REM. He thought about that a moment and said, "But I'm talking about rock classics. Bryne became a composer and the other guys weren't hard rock. Stones and Zeppelin are still discussed more on the radio."

And funny thing is, I agree to some extent (and I'll bet David Bryne, formerly of the Talking Heads would agree as well) that the bands that he's mentioning managed to stay together long enough to create a huge body of work that keep hitting the airwaves year after year. The other bands broke up, and their musicians went their own ways. But, like a great protagonist, a great band must have not only longevity but something so unique, so unusual, that it catches the imagination of generation after generation. I think the Rolling Stones's music will definitely bridge the years, and Sherlock Holmes already has.


But will the current batch- and by this I think I'll limit the thought to those writers that have ten or more books under their belts so that we can see a pattern, do as well?


Or in music terms, the bands that stayed together to create music year after year: the Pearl Jams, Madonnas and Red Hot Chili Peppers of the music scene post 1980?


It's exciting to think that the literature and music of this very moment could become a "classic" in the eyes of generations to come.


I certainly hope so. There is some great stuff out there. And on that note, I'm turning on my ipod to play "Burning Down the House" and "In Between Days."

And Now, A Musical Interlude. . .

by Sean Chercover

So I get an email out of the blue from some guy in Australia, who says very nice things about my writing. He says he's coming to Roy Thompson Hall in Toronto, with a show called Scotland The Brave. He asks if I'd like tickets. Hell yes, I would. I visit his website and learn that he is Australia's most prolific composer/conductor/producer/musician.

His name is Sean O'Boyle, and there are music clips on his site.

I start listening, and I'm mightily impressed. This guy is, as the kids say, the shit. He has composed and recorded jazz (plays the hell out of the clarinet), TV soundtracks, opera for children, a ton of orchestral stuff, and so on. I'm particularly struck by the beauty of his Concerto For Didgeridoo and RiverSymphony (available together on one CD) and I tell him so.

So I take Agent 99 and her parents to see Scotland The Brave, and we all have a great time. Agent 99 and I go to the after-party, where Sean gives me a CD of RiverSymphony and I give him a couple books. We drink beer and laugh a lot, and it feels like we've known each other for years. He loves crime fiction and I love music, and we trade recommendations.

This is one of the real unexpected pleasures that comes from writing. We write our books in relative seclusion, and then they go out into the world. And every once in a while, our work resonates with someone on the other side of the globe, and a connection is made.

This is a beautiful thing. So please indulge a shout-out to Sean O'Boyle and his music. This guy is worth your attention - I promise.

Here's a TV profile of the man himself (some strange '80s music video intrudes from 4:48 to 7:46 - you can skip that part):



In part 2, you can hear some of Concerto for Didgeridoo, and see some of his incredible new work with didgeridoo, vocal, and clarinet. Check it out:




Since we're on the subject of music, I think it's time to share the songs that have most recently become hits with The Mouse:











God-damn, the Clash was a great band.

Chicago Peeps - Catch you on the other end of the highway.

Peace out,
Sean