Hearts still on fire (no, really)

Launching a book in the weirdest of years

Hearts on Fire came out a year ago this week.

It’s been a weird year.

On the one hand, the book got a lot of wonderful press — a lot more media attention than most books get these days (i.e. none). I’m incredibly grateful to all that wrote about it, or had me on their podcast.

Old friends and new strangers have reached out to tell me how much they enjoyed it. One of the book’s subjects told me it was one of the best books he’s ever read about music, ever — and he apparently “reads them all” (and knowing him, I don’t doubt it). I’m sure some others are not as enthusiastic, but I haven’t heard from them — not even on the cesspool that is Twitter. And I have yet to hear anyone factually challenge something in the book, which I guess means I got it mostly right (or that the primary witnesses haven’t read it). So that’s all a big plus.

On the other hand, Covid prevented me from having the kind of large-scale book launch I’d been dreaming of for two years. My previous two books were launched with unforgettable, star-studded nights; I had hoped to top those. Massey Hall or bust, baby! After all, this book is about busting the bullshit of Canadian modesty.

But between not wanting to host a superspreader event in April 2022, and expecting any musical act I’d book to cancel last minute — and then getting Covid myself by the end of that month — it was all way too risky.

Instead, I held a small, completely masked event at Massey College (not Hall) for very close friends and people who helped with the book. Held in March 2022, shortly after I got my first physical copies, that was wonderful — and at least it was something. There was also a small event organized by the Bookshelf Cinema in Guelph where I got to see many old friends. That, too, was lovely.

For The Never-Ending Present, I toured the country. I never planned to do that this time: it’s not really economically feasible unless your book is already a bestseller. I did have a nice, small event in Montreal, at a new bookstore that only sells music books, Librairie Resonance — be sure to check it out when you’re in that town. The day after, I witnessed Arcade Fire cover the book’s title song (by Wolf Parade) in front of tens of thousands of people at Osheaga. That was thrilling.

Then things got weird.

After that, personal and professional reasons killed my desire to promote the book more proactively. I needed to make a lot of money, quickly. I was unemployed from the week the book came out until relatively recently. It was hard to justify energy spent on selling five copies at a time — which is how this biz works — when I needed an actual job.

Hence this newsletter’s existence: I started it partially to keep the book in the conversation as a living document. (There were other reasons, too.)

Then there’s the fact that one of the book’s principal subjects got #MeToo’d. That sucked a lot of air out of the room, to say the least. I still don’t like to talk about it in public. Even though there were many other artists’ anniversaries and new albums and projects that could have carried on the book’s conversation, that pretty much killed a lot of momentum. I fully recognize how selfish and insensitive that sounds.

While writing Hearts on Fire, especially because it involves so many characters, I was terrified that someone would be not just #MeToo’d but turn QAnon or be an anti-vaxxer or be a Russian stooge — and all of those things have happened, although to minor degrees, varying degrees of truth and with little traction.

Hearts on Fire is about the music and the people and the time back then — not who some of them might be now. Although I do genuinely like a whole lot of them, whose true colours shine brighter as they get older. Have you heard the new Feist album?

I’m very proud of the book and I think it’s important it exists. I hope it inspires others to talk about the artists and the time period in other books and media. I hope it gets a nod when that happens.

Full disclosure, dear subscriber: sales have not been great. Yet. The Never-Ending Present was an immediate, runaway success, one I’ve always known was a unicorn event linked to then-current headlines. I know Hearts on Fire will have a long tail — just like Have Not Been the Same did over the past 22 years.

It is funny to me, though, that The Never-Ending Present was actively blocked by its subject matter and there was a vocal section of that band’s fan base who didn’t want the book to exist at all—yet it was a massive bestseller. Meanwhile, Hearts on Fire had almost everyone’s involvement and no public smear campaign against it, and has yet to meet even my modest sales expectations one year in.

Hearts on Fire is a very big book, physically, the likes of which are unpopular these days. It’s a beast. It takes time to absorb. It’s relatively expensive: I myself don’t buy many $40 books, if any. So I get it. There won’t be a paperback any time soon, the current price of paper being one of several reasons. I was pleasantly surprised the first run was in hardcover—no one told me that before I opened the first box. It looks and feels fantastic. But maybe it should always have been a paperback? Who knows.

When I was conceptualizing Hearts on Fire, I suggested to my editor that maybe this kind of book is a dinosaur: should we break it up a bit? I thought it could be a series of four or five smaller books around certain themes/scenes. Easier to do targeted marketing. Lighter, portable—that’s what people want to read these days. Limited attention spans. More likely to get impulse purchases.

I’m glad ECW stuck to the original idea, though: big picture. Connect all the dots. One shot. Make people who only want to read about artists X, Y and Z also learn about artists A, B and C. Widen the lens. A good story is a good story. The best compliments I get are when I hear, “I never knew anything about Artist X before this book and now I’m a big fan.”

And hey—if you don’t feel like reading about Arcade Fire right now, or maybe ever, I get it. But there are at least 40 other artists in the book who are more than worth your time.

All I ever wanted to do was to keep this music and these stories alive.

Speaking of being alive, among other things, I’m incredibly grateful that I got to talk to Dallas Good of the Sadies for the book. He died two months before it came out. He was 48 and had just made the best record of his career (produced by a member of Arcade Fire!).

This is why we need to write these books now. Don’t take time for granted. Don’t wait to celebrate the things you love. That’s something I learned from writing about that last Tragically Hip tour. (Also: don’t do it for the money!)

Thank you for reading. Thank you for listening. Thank you for spreading the word.

Ask me anything, and I’ll respond in a future newsletter—for supporters like yourself. That’s what we’re here for.

Armed with skill and its frustration,

mb