I think I’ve probably spent more time reading Miki Berenyi’s insightful book than I have listening to her music.
It demonstrates the power of the critics and word of mouth, a recurrent theme in this account of her life and her time in Lush. The band’s relative prime was in the early nineties. They were signed to 4AD, home to the Cocteau Twins, Pixies and Throwing Muses.
I’d probably heard a couple of songs during that period, and they didn’t knock me sideways like the aforementioned three bands. They were less distinctive and on a limited budget, I never put my hand in my pocket to buy their records or go to their gigs. They also got a battering in the press as writers focussed on their cohort’s party habits. Known as the time as “the scene that celebrates itself”, what was in reality about providing mutual support for your mates’ bands, was characterised as smug self-centredness.
Thirty-odd years later, Berenyi’s book has been getting some great reviews, ironic when her band were portrayed as never being quite part of the in-crowd. The world is probably a bigger and maybe even kinder place now. Good stuff gets to the surface via social media and word of mouth, and that is how I’ve ended up reading Fingers Crossed, despite never owning a Lush record.
It is a fantastic read, Miki instantly joining Brix Smith, Kim Gordon and Viv Albertine in providing another commentary on life as a woman in the music business. There’s much to absorb, with her chaotic and traumatic childhood being the starting point. The child of a Japanese actress and a Hungarian journalist, neither of her parents were cut out for raising their only child.
Lush doesn’t appear until halfway through, and for a reader not familiar with their music, it perfectly splits the memoir in two. The band years are fascinating, with much gossip to enjoy, but the struggles brought on by their nearly status are never out of sight. The chapters about Perry Farrell’s Lollapalooza festival are fertile ground for anyone looking for grunge-era dirt.
Ultimately, tragedy and the musical cul-de-sac of Britpop bring Lush to an end. Berenyi is righteously angry at the double standards that the period perpetuates with sexism and drug-fuelled male egos rife.
She eruditely sums the period up as follows:
Feminism was an empty “girl power” slogan that seemed to be more about celebrating your girls BFFs and being “allowed” to get your tits out than treating women as equals. So sorry for being a party pooper, I know a ton of you had a blast, but I fucking hate Britpop and I’m glad the whole sorry shit-fest ended up imploding. I just wish it hadn’t done so much damage while it lasted.
Chapter 47 – Ladettes
Amen to that.
I’ve had another listen to Lush. In the age of streaming, you can dip in, rather than spend £10 on an album that the NME were slagging in 1995. I like what I hear. I’m not sure it is entirely for me now but it certainly didn’t deserve to be crucified for the sake of a few music paper covers at the time.
The happy ending is that Miki has settled into a North London life that doesn’t feel a zillion miles from my own – kids going to state schools, nice meals in rather than partying the night away.
She’s touring again as a trio. Making music without the pressure of it being the passage out of her current life and into an another place. The final chapter is lovely where she reflects on what has gone before and her life now.
Good for her – she deserves good fortune.
BlackCountryRock 