A part of the Penguin Lines series to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the London Underground, Paul Morley's paean to the Tube's Bakerloo line is written in his typically 'modernist', sub-Jocyean rambling style.
Now, I haven't traveled on the Tube an awful lot, but whenever I have it's invariably been on the Bakerloo line, and I know it's an unlovely – and, I assumed, unloved – thing. And that, of course, is what Morley makes a virtue of. He likens it to a “floppy brown slipper” and sighs appreciatively at its unshowy, workhorse qualities.
Anyway, the book isn't about the bloody Bakerloo line, it's about Paul Morley. He's good with the stuff about the time he started working for the NME, and reminisces about how he commuted to King's Reach Tower each week, the pages of his reviews ready to hand in, and listening to his Sony Walkman on the way (he claims to have been the first person in London to have had one, thanks to a girlfriend working in Japan. I'm sure I've heard others make the same claim, though).
Once he gets onto the subject of music, he's off. Paul Morley writes about the music Paul Morley's been writing about for thirty-odd years: post-punk, Eno, and Can. You wonder that he's not bored with it; that he's said all he needs to say, but no. No, no, no, no. Au contraire! On and on he goes. And what is it with him and lists?
Anyway, he brings it all together when he discovers that a nameless track that Can recorded for the John Peel Show was given a title by one of Peel's listeners in a competition: “Up the Bakerloo (With Anne)”.
I would have been disappointed if he didn't write about music, in truth. I'm not really that interested in the Bakerloo line (though the historical titbits he provides I did find interesting), and I only picked the book off the library shelf because of Morley's name, and, in the end, I got what I didn't have to pay for.