The Real and the Counterfeit

Douglas Adams is dead. Long live Douglas Adams. 

So too Virginia Andrews and Robert Ludlum. Yet they apparently continue to write, as their characters refuse to die alongside them. Just like Ian Fleming’s James Bond and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes. All dead, yet still alive in endless time, endless art.

This week’s blog questions the validity or otherwise of certain continuations compared against our expectations. For example, if we didn’t know that a book in a well-loved series was by an author other it’s original creator, could we tell? And would it matter? Clive Cussler freely admits to having collaborated with other authors on many of his novels. How many ‘name’ writers have done the same but less openly?

Taking a sideways step, comedians often complain that while one television appearance can expose them to millions of potential new fans, it can also use up material that it might have taken them years to accumulate. Once we’ve heard a funny tale, it’s gone; they can never tell that joke again. But why should this be? Why is it that we want a stand-up to tell us new jokes every time he stands up? For example, Billy Connelly still occasionally does his act in front of packed houses, but would the crowds still turn out if he were to begin his show with, ‘Here’s a story you might remember from my 1978 tour…’

Yet it’s completely the opposite with musicians. How many times have you heard people return from a live gig and say, ‘it was brilliant, they played all the old stuff’? Sure, we expect them to play a couple of new tracks so that we have time to go to the bar, but it’s the old favourites that we all turn out to hear, the songs that made us fall in love with them in the first place. So why not comedians?

The same argument can be applied to stage plays. Can you imagine going to see Shakespeare’s ‘Hamlet’, only to find that the classic ‘To be or not to be’ soliloquy had been removed because the director thought we’d have had enough of the stuff that was written around 1600? We still want to hear the words that we know and love.
 
Musicians may be forgiven for living off former glories, but they’re much less likely to survive multiple line-up changes. If Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr were to announce a tour as ‘The Beatles (featuring a couple of new recruits on guitars)’, there would be howls of outrage. We want to hear our aging heroes playing the songs that they’re famous for, but not if it means that only half of the group are involved. Please play ‘Yesterday’ at your solo gigs Paul, and we’d go crazy if Ringo turned up too, but don’t try to use the precious band name. And heaven forbid that you should allow anyone else to perform under that name. That way lawsuits lie.

Yet if a football fan goes to see Manchester United playing at Old Trafford it would be unthinkable for them to moan that George Best or Bobby Charlton weren’t pulling on the famous red shirt. There are no complaints to the Office of Fair Trading after every match; we expect the next generation of players to continue Best and Charlton’s legacy. Why is it acceptable for sports teams to dabble in the transfer market but not rock bands or authors?

Are we, the paying public, not guilty of double standards in these things?

Tribute acts are another judgemental minefield. Going to see a band like Bjorn Again may be seen as a fairly cheap and fun night out, but as the ‘real’ ABBA aren’t likely to tour again anytime soon, are the ‘fake’ versions not only the best that we have, but actually a valid version of the real thing in their own right?

And what is the London Philharmonic Orchestra if not a huge covers band? They play old music that we know and love, and they’re the best that’s available because the guys who originally wrote and performed these classics are no longer around to play them. How does that differ from an Elvis imitator?

So do we honestly want art for art’s sake or simply to relive former glories?

Next time you read a novel in a long-running series ask yourself; what have you really paid your money for?

©  Shaun Finnie 2011