It’s a curious thing when an artist, celebrated for their prowess in one medium, ventures into another and, well, doesn't quite hit the mark. Robert Forster, a name synonymous with the sublime melodic craft of The Go-Betweens, has gifted us with a memoir and a body of sharp music criticism. So, when his debut novel, Songwriters on the Run, arrived, I confess I had high expectations. Sadly, this tale of two musicians on the lam in 1991 Queensland, in my opinion, feels like a missed opportunity, a collection of promising threads that never quite weave into a compelling tapestry.
What makes this particularly fascinating is Forster's evident love for music and his deep understanding of the creative process. He’s a lyricist of considerable talent, and one might expect his fictional exploration of songwriting to be rich with insight. Yet, the narrative itself feels surprisingly flat. The characters, Mick Woods and Drew Lovelock, described as “rock-star-wrecked handsome” in their thirties, are meant to be embarking on a chaotic, comic odyssey. However, from my perspective, the journey often feels more like a slow crawl. The plot, involving a drug bust, a stolen car, and a frantic dash to Melbourne to find a possibly complicit manager, has all the ingredients for a rollicking crime caper. But instead of a high-octane chase, we get a series of rather sedate events.
One thing that immediately stands out is the prose. Ironically for a writer whose music is so full of melody and rhythm, the writing here often lacks a certain cadence. The dialogue, which forms a significant chunk of the book, frequently feels like it's serving as a vehicle for exposition rather than genuine character interaction. It’s as if the characters are constantly explaining the plot to each other, and by extension, to us. This is where the “nuts-and-bolts account of making art” blurb feels particularly misplaced; there’s precious little evocative detail about the actual act of creation. When Mick muses on songwriting, his advice – “Be universal, not personal. Do sneaky things like bring in characters, male or female, living in the present or past, to say and emote things you want to get across” – sounds less like the musings of a seasoned artist and more like a generic AI prompt. It’s a detail that leaves me wondering if the essence of artistic struggle and inspiration was truly captured.
What I do appreciate, however, are the flashes of Forster’s observational talent when he turns his gaze to the Australian landscape and its subcultures. His descriptions of 1980s St Kilda, with its “whippet-thing, track-suited desperados, hunting for heroin,” and the evocative imagery of a small Queensland town waking up, are moments where the writing truly sings. These passages offer a glimpse of the keen eye and sharp wit we’ve come to expect from Forster. But these are islands in a sea of rather unremarkable narrative. They feel like beautiful stones scattered on a path that ultimately leads nowhere particularly exciting.
The novel is peppered with references to music and musicians, which, given Forster’s background, is entirely expected. The mention of Creedence Clearwater Revival, for instance, feels like a charming, if slightly forced, nod. While these moments do showcase Forster’s deep well of musical knowledge and his genuine affection for the craft and its practitioners, they often feel shoehorned into the narrative. It’s as if he’s eager to share his encyclopedic knowledge, but the story itself doesn't always provide a natural space for it. This raises a deeper question: when an author’s passion for a subject threatens to overshadow the story they are trying to tell, what is the intended effect?
Ultimately, Songwriters on the Run feels like a project where the author’s expertise in one area didn't quite translate to success in another. It’s a book that, in my opinion, is more interesting for who wrote it than for what it contains. While Forster’s love for music shines through, the novel itself struggles to find its rhythm. Perhaps the expectation was too high, but from my perspective, this foray into fiction doesn't quite hit the right note.
