Monday, February 18, 2008

'avin a larf


MY BOOKY WOOK
Russell Brand - Hodder & Stoughton £18.99

Ha ha ha, teeheehee, I’m a naughty boy and you can’t stop me ... indeed, we can’t. But then again, why would we want to? The Russell Brand, erm, brand has to be one of the biggest media success stories of the zeroes so far: naughty Satellite TV star, raunchy reality TV host, very funny funny man - and, apparently, sex symbol of the highest order. Gadzooks! The contumacious Goth is a gift that keeps on giving.
But beyond the mouthy persona, fright wig hair and drainpipe jeans, there lies a different Brand altogether - one that he’s not afraid to reveal, in full, frank, literary technicolour glory here.

Brand says that his biggest problem is that he’s lived an autobiography rather than a life. But if he’s been honest in his ‘Booky Wook’ (which I suspect he has – often brutally so), this isn’t a problem at all for those of us who have blithely hitched a ride on his bandwagon; after all, he’s now richly rewarded us for our commitment. While the journey he takes us on is often emotionally draining, excruciatingly embarrassing and at times distinctly uneasy (Brand rather refreshingly recounts more vile, inhumane indiscretions than moments of glory), it’s about as far removed from the usual “Aren’t I Fabulous?” memoirs that line the Waterstone’s shelves

Brand grew up in Essex, the only son of a doting mother and a car crash of a father. But – again, in sharp contrast to regular ‘Before I Was Famous’ bleatings – he’s keen to point out that divorced/dysfunctional parents are not to blame for this child’s ensuing slide into addiction and debauchery. Some who read the passage about the time when Father Brand took young Russ on a hooker-trawling trip to the Far East may beg to differ, but it becomes clear that Brand’s long-term relationship with the classic self-destruction triumvirate of sex, drugs and emotional rock’n’roll was one he forged entirely of his own accord. As a result, there are as many harrowing, sordid and/or depraved yarns from Brand’s pre-‘Big Brother’s Big Mouth’ turning point days as there are humane, gentle redemption tales in the ‘civilised zone’ afterwards. As they seamlessly combine, we’re left with a minor contemporary masterpiece as shimmeringly literate, foppishly ornate and lusciously unique as the man himself: silly, funny and thoughtful.


*UPDATE*
I know I'm late on the Brandwagon, but now I'm here, I just can't stop myself ...


As we start to look forward to looking back over the events of 2007, three topics are likely to dominate the annual conference: floods, missing Brits … and Russell Brand. The louche, loudmouthed lothario - renowned for his verbose vocabulary, hectic sex life and chaotic hair – has popped up everywhere from reality TV shows to Newsnight as the tabloids merrily bore him aloft on a tide of attention-grabbing headlines, many of which revolved around the few who haven’t shagged him either claiming to have done so or desperately craving his attentions.

Brand must be well familiar, then, with the heady reek of hysteria-fuelled hormones that greeted him as he took to the Hippodrome stage. Dolled up in his trademark, semi-Goth garb – think Robert Smith meets Amy Winehouse on the set of ‘Batman Begins’ – the dandy du jour confidently drolled his way through a 90-minute set, a combination of upmarket sleaze, pantomime dame innuendo and surreal, observational improvisations on the day’s news as presented by the Bristol Evening Post. He’s funny for sure, sexy perhaps and impressively, effortlessly compelling, displaying an underlying complexity far deeper than the cheeky chappie exterior: a confirmed Brand X for Generation Why? and already a much-loved British institution.

(I'll shut up about him now ...)

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Why shut up? I just can't get enough, meself.