~ The Music Shop, by Rachel Joyce ~
Another charming love story from Rachel Joyce (author of the Harold Fry and Queenie novels, and Perfect), this time, set within the backdrop of music.
Frank is our protagonist, a large, dear man who has time for everyone, who is generous and big hearted, immensely perceptive and understanding, and has an instinctive knowledge of just what music each person needs, to comfort and heal. There are a cast of flawed but likable characters on Unity Street where Frank’s record (vinyl only) store is located – the prickly Maud the tattooist, Father Anthony the priest who runs the small spiritual supplies shop, the Williams twins who are undertakers, Kit the record shop’s assistant, and even a waitress, from the Singing Teapot café. Into this setting, comes Ilse Brauchmann (“IlsA BrOWKmann” p52). The woman with the pea green coat and huge eyes.
From a background where Frank has not had the experience of much normality, and feeling betrayed and/or abandoned by his mother in a number of ways, Frank is extremely lovable without himself daring to love any more. The attraction between Ilse and Frank is immediate, and yet he dares do little about it. He feels safe meeting with her because she has a fiancée,
He was out of the washing machine of love and happily hanging out to dry. He went to bed every night, he woke every morning, and there it was, his love, waiting for him, exactly as he had left it.
p218
He deludes himself that it is just a business arrangement, his giving her classes about music, while of course he is courting her by the music he introduces her to.
Frank’s description of music is lyrical, rapturous, intense. I will quote from just one of the classes he gives Ilse, and at length, because this novel is as much about music as it is about the romance – and while I have found Frank’s descriptions very enjoyable, I could see them irritating those who may not like hearing music thus described, or who do not empathise with his descriptions!
’Once you have heard “Beata viscera” you’ll never forget it. It’s just a single human voice but it feels like stepping on to a bird’s back. The moment it starts, you’re flying. It takes you up, it swoops you down, and then it lifts you so high you’re a pinprick in the sky. But if you close your eyes and really listen, it holds you safe the whole way, Until I heard “Beata viscera”, I had no idea human beings could be so beautiful. Everytime you hear a bird, you’ll think of this’.
p175
`So this is the last five minutes of Act One. OK? It’s the opposite of “Beata viscera”. It’s not a ride to heaven, we’re going to hell. And Puccini puts everything in this. He’s got Scarpia telling us how much he wants Tosca, he’s got a church service going on in the background, he’s got bells, cannons, the lot. It’s like the big showdown between God and man – and God barely gets a look in. By the end, Scarpia is singing the Te Deum along with everyone else, and it’s fucking scary, you see, because this is the moment you realize Scarpia has put himself above God. There’s no hope left. The curtain falls, and trust me, you need a drink’
p175-6
’This one is about groove. The beat repeats and repeats and repeats. Then just when you’re not looking, BAM! It’s a sock in the jaw. It’s Muhammad Ali doing a rope-a-dope with George Foreman. Have you heard if Rumble in the Jungle? […] It was the biggest boxing fight in history. Ali hadn’t a chance. He offered himself like a human punchbag, and then just as Foreman was beginning to wilt he pulled out a right hand that sent Foreman to the floor. That’s what James Brown does to you in Ain’t It Funky’
p176
’Right. “Stairway to Heaven”. This one kind of unravels in layers. I mean, it’s all there, right from the beginning. It’s big, and it knows its big, but you’re only allowed to have it piece by piece. […] It starts small. Single guitar. Robert Plant sings like he’s remembering. After that, more layers keep adding. By the time Jimmy Page comes in with his guitar, the thing’s flying. It’s epic. You’d do anything for it not to stop. It’s like a really good orgasm—‘
p177
The story goes like any good romance, where there are some preliminary misunderstandings, the couple cannot be together at first, there is pain, they are parted, and then they find each other again in the end. But it is not really about a clichéd story line. It is about a rather endearing cast of characters – even if slightly stock characters – it is about the shared love for music in their lives, it is about being flawed and vulnerable and learning to find joy and beauty. And like many of Joyce’s novels, she has a soft spot in her heart for elderly people, always bringing them forward and making them visible, depicting them with particular tenderness. A light, very readable novel.
If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it…(Twelfth Night)
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