With the CD-and-digital release of Uptown Special, however, as a seemingly endless parade of night-runners, minor dudes, and demimondaines have been dragged blinking into the light and encouraged to recount, or rather concoct, the “Shocking Truth about Ronno’s Uptown Years,”* Ronson’s reticence has come to seem, in hindsight, like a tactical error. As the bizarre tales and baroque inventions have proliferated, Ronson has reluctantly begun to concede that he may not have entirely succeeded in his effort, on Uptown Special, to get across, purely through music and lyrics, the story, the true story, of the time he spent “riding the Uptown Special.”
After conducting extensive interviews with Ronson in London, and with his full cooperation and encouragement, I have prepared these liner notes. They are as accurate as I can make them, given the limitations of memory and the fact that the device I used to record the interviews was afterword stolen by a man who attacked and robbed me as I was coming out of the North Sea Fish Restaurant.* I hope that in addition to popping certain people’s crazy-balloons, these notes will prove welcome to interested fans of Ronson’s music, some of whom no doubt recall the joy and the mystery you used to be able to find, routinely, in the sleeve of an LP, where the liner notes, the lyric sheet, and a thing called Meaning once played their shy, flirtatious games.
“UPTOWN’S FIRST FINALE”
THIS BRIEF INTRODUCTION, HAUNTED EQUALLY BY STEVIE Wonder’s chromatic harmonica and the ever-present specter, in summer weather or warm climates, of your engine overheating, hints at the setting of track seven, “Crack in the Pearl,” Ronson’s epic cautionary tale of poor maintenance leading to an unplanned breakdown in the desert “nine exits north of Las Vegas.”
“SUMMER BREAKING”
WHILE ITS TITLE MIGHT SUGGEST ANOTHER WARNING ABOUT the threat posed to a car’s engine by extreme temperatures (something Ronson feels cannot be overstated) and the need to regularly monitor vehicle fluids, “Summer Breaking” is concerned with another, more alarming automotive danger. In the spring of 2011, the “totally dope” (i.e., “hip” and/or “cool”) DJ/Producer/AAA Roving Ambassador was invited to bring his one-man Car Safety and Care-A-Van to West Oakland, California, where he addressed a receptive and attentive group of young people. The topic? A bizarre and extremely hazardous “pastime” known as “ghost-riding the whip” or simply “ghost-riding” in which participants deliberately abandon a slowly moving vehicle in order to dance around or even on top of it.* After introducing his “typical teenager” protagonist, a young woman engaged in the kind of unwise practices that increase the likelihood of risky behaviors like “ghost-riding the whip,” Ronson admonishes her to “be the girl you [ . . . ] pretend not to be” and “play the game” of making safe and sensible choices.
“FEEL RIGHT”
WE AMERICANS LOVE OUR CARS, BUT IN ORDER TO “FEEL right,” according to Ronson, it’s important to get out from behind the wheel sometimes and get some exercise. Extolling the health benefits of bicycle riding (“It’s exercise with thighs and hip muscles”), Mystikal also offers Ronson’s tips on bicycle safety (a perennial concern of Ronson’s music, as per his 2010 hit “The Bike Song”), delivering a vivid reminder about the importance of always wearing a helmet while biking in order to avoid serious head injury: “You gon’ fuck around and [ . . . ] knock your fruit juice loose, banana, your watermelon and pomegranate, too.”
“UPTOWN FUNK”
FAR FROM THE BACCHANALIAN DANCE FLOOR CALL-TO-ARMS it has widely been taken for, this is Ronson’s heartfelt confession of the dark period, following the release of his underappreciated 2009 album “Record Collection,” when he slipped into the depression that he now jokingly refers to as his “little uptown funk.” In fact, during this time, Ronson was seriously “funked up.” He became obsessed with the film actress Michelle Pfeiffer, suffered from repeated psychosomatic hot flashes (“Too hot!”), and shocked friends and family with his uncharacteristically disheveled and confused physical appearance, even going so far as to show up at an important function dressed in an Yves Saint Laurent suit and a pair of worn-out old canvas trainers. With the introduction, in the song’s interlude, of Mr. Julio Ruiz, the AAA’s Special Programs director, and with the purchase of a secondhand stretch Town Car, Ronson hints at his eventual recovery and renewed sense of purpose in life.
“I CAN’T LOSE”
IN THE COURSE OF THE AUTUMN OF 2011, DELIVERING TALKS in cold-weather regions on proper winterization and safe driving techniques for winter weather, Ronson perfected an amusing routine focused on one of the major culprits in snow-and-ice-related traffic accidents: driver overconfidence. Between their faith in antilock brake systems and the like, and their misplaced faith in their own skill levels, many drivers feel that they “can’t lose” control of their vehicle. Ronson’s gentle but pointed mockery, reflected in this song (whose original opening line was reportedly “When I drove you last night, baby/And we hit that patch of ice”), elicited many a droll chuckle and nod of recognition in the senior centers and church basements of the Midwest and Northeast.
“DAFFODILS”
WITH A CLARITY AND A DIRECTNESS THAT REALLY REQUIRE no annotation, Ronson delivers another hard-hitting warning, this time on the dangers of mixing driving with prescription (and many over-the-counter) medications. Those who neglect manufacturers’ warnings to avoid operating heavy machinery (the “kick dragon” and “vapor wagon” of the first stanza) may find themselves driving “right off the map”—and off the road!
“CRACK IN THE PEARL”
ACCORDING TO RONSON, THE MOST AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL track on the record, a sad account of how a long-anticipated road trip to Las Vegas was ruined by his own failure to adequately maintain his vehicle and to prepare it for prolonged exposure to intense desert heat. “I didn’t flush and replace the coolant every 24,000 miles, I didn’t check the water in the radiator, I didn’t make sure the battery was fastened tightly in place, which cuts down on heat-generating vibrations. When we broke down, nine exits north of Las Vegas, we couldn’t get all the way onto the shoulder, and I didn’t even have a flare in the trunk.” He paused to shake his head ruefully. “I just totally blew it, and the whole trip that was supposed to be so great turned out to be a total drag. Not at all how I laid it out for my buddy, not how he pictured it.” It was a real road-to-Damascus moment for Ronson. “That’s when I first started to get serious about car care and safety.”
“IN CASE OF FIRE”
Exit the vehicle immediately.
If possible, turn off engine before exiting the vehicle.
Get as far away from the vehicle as possible.
Call the fire department.
Do not return to the car under any circumstances.
“LEAVING LOS FELIZ”
LIKE “UPTOWN FUNK,” A SONG THAT REFLECTS THE MALAISE and mounting sense of something lacking from his life that led Ronson to “move uptown” and seek a renewed sense of purpose by taking time off from his transatlantic music career to reconnect with the “American highway” (from Harlem to Hollywood to Jackson, Mississipi, as “Uptown Funk” itinerizes it) and spread the gospel of sensible automotive safety and maintenance practices.
“HEAVY AND ROLLING”
THE CULMINATING MOMENT OF THE ALBUM’S JOURNEY, ITS New York City homecoming, and the thematic counterweight to “Crack in the Pearl” with its account of roadside calamity, “Heavy and Rolling” is Ronson’s paean to the glories of life behind the wheel of his beloved, flawlessly maintained Town Car with its low center of gravity, rolling on tires that have been inflated according to the manufacturer’s recommendation. Rarely in the history of pop music has an artist come so close to articulating the deep, quiet satisfaction of knowing one’s vehicle is as ready as it can be for any and all of the potential hazards faced by drivers today. (2015)
The rest is rust and stardust.
—VLADIMIR NABOKOV
About the Author
MICHAEL CHABON lives in Berkeley, California, with
his wife, the novelist Ayelet Waldman, and their children.
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PROCEEDS FROM THIS BOOK BENEFIT THE MACDOWELL COLONY
Located in Peterborough, New Hampshire, the MacDowell Colony is a contemporary arts organization that nurtures artists in seven disciplines, fosters cultural dialogue, and expands appreciation of the arts. Awarded through an open application process, MacDowell Fellowships champion a diverse group of emerging and established artists by providing residencies on MacDowell’s 450-acre property, while Edward MacDowell Medal Day and MacDowell community programs engage a wider public with the creative process. The first of its kind and the model for residency programs today, The MacDowell Colony was awarded the National Medal of Arts for inspiring many of this century’s finest artists. With more than 14,500 residencies since 1907, MacDowell fuels a growing legacy of award winning artworks exhibited, published and performed around the world. The Colony depends upon public interest, concern, and generosity to continue to provide an ideal working place for exceptional artists, and it is grateful to the many who have given their support. To learn more or to apply, visit www.macdowellcolony.org. And, thank you!
Michael Chabon, a MacDowell Fellow and the chairman of MacDowell’s Board of Directors since 2010, has requested that all royalties from Bookends be turned over to the MacDowell Colony in perpetuity.
Also by Michael Chabon
FICTION
Telegraph Avenue
The Astonishing Secret of Awesome Man
The Yiddish Policemen’s Union
Gentlemen of the Road
The Final Solution
Summerland
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay
Werewolves in Their Youth
Wonder Boys
A Model World and Other Stories
The Mysteries of Pittsburgh
Moonglow
NONFICTION
Manhood for Amateurs
Maps and Legends
Pops
Copyright
A hardcover edition of this book was published in 2018 by HarperCollins Publishers.
BOOKENDS. Copyright © 2018 by Michael Chabon. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Digital Edition JANUARY 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-285130-7
Version 11232018
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-285129-1
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* A conclusion that, needless to say, I kept to myself. God knew I already provided would-be tormentors with a visible enough target—thick eyeglasses repaired at one or both hinges by a hunk of black electrician’s tape, conversant about Vulcan anthropology—without adding to it a sparkling coat of pixie dust. Even to pronounce the word “fairy” within earshot of certain individuals would be to dangerously echo and reinforce a judgment they had long since made about me.
* I confess—we might as well get it all out on the table—that at instants in my adult life the old belief returns, with abrupt and poignant force: a sudden snap of twigs (Robert Plant’s “bustle in your hedgerow”) while I was tramping across a field near Avebury, a fleeting glint of silver among the shadows under a stand of ancient redwoods outside Ukiah, and the heart leaps. Such moments are rare, however, and the old habit of paying attention, of watching the shadowy corners of the world, has been yoked to more humdrum ends.
* Since about 1976, i.e., around the heart of the years I spent trying as hard as I could, through the smudged lenses of my taped-up glasses, to see fairies in the leafier corners of the Baltimore-Washington Corridor.
* It was not yet apparent, at the time, at least not to me, that Rowling’s ambition in the Potter series would turn out to be similarly grand, and dark.
* Pure B.S.
* The fetus was also sometimes known, per another brotherly suggestion, as Nubakaduba.
* With a record of 82–80.
* The first organized game of baseball was played in Hoboken, New Jersey, in 1846, at a park fittingly called Elysian Fields.
* Acquired, legend has it, in a trade for his Grammy statuette and a dozen pairs of limited-edition Mark Ronson Gucci sneakers. Legend, in this instance, is mistaken. I have seen the bill of sale for the car, from a New Jersey dealer specializing in sales of used livery vehicles. As for the statuette, it remains safe in its accustomed location on a credenza in Ronson’s mother’s living room, in Syosset, Long Island, next to a framed photo of Ronson at his bar mitzvah.
* According to a recent headline in the Daily Mail of London.
* Though he did have a Russian (or, I suppose, a Georgian) accent, there is no truth to reports that my assailant was wearing limited-edition Mark Ronson Gucci sneakers. Lying with my face on the sidewalk, as he ran away down Leigh Street, I had ample opportunity to observe the man’s footwear, and they looked much more like boat shoes than sneakers.
* To the accompaniment, naturally, of music played at volumes injurious to their hearing.
Bookends Page 14