31 Songs

Through thirty-one songs that he either loves or has loved, Nick Hornby tell us what music means to his life. These personal and passionate pieces – refreshingly free of pretension – are a celebration of the joy that certain songs have given him. Together with additional writings on music from his column in the New Yorker – seen in the UK for the first time – 31 Songs is for Hornby what many of us have always wanted: a soundtrack to accompany life.

‘Good fun, fresh and vulnerable … fans of Hornby’s novels will be happy’ 
Andrew Motion, The Times

‘Smart, entertaining and moving. A manifesto on why pop is so glorious, beautiful and important’ 
Sunday Express

‘Funny, provocative, immensely readable. It is not simply about music … it is about Hornby, and us, and about being alive. His enthusiasm is such that he makes me want to be a better listener – and I can offer no better compliment. A triumph’ 
Tim Lott, Evening Standard

‘Original, well written and wholly lacking in pretension … as good a book about pop music as I have read in many years and the most accomplished of Hornby’s books so far’ 
Spectator

‘Refreshing, candid, very moving. Reminds you why you loved music before you knew enough to explain your love aways
Uncut

'Your Love Is The Place That I Come From' - Teenage Fanclub

So we were doing this thing, this launch party, for Speaking with the Angel, a book of short stories I put together to raise money for my son's school, and we - the school, the publishers of the book, me and my partner - were nervous about it. We didn't know if people would turn up, we didn't know whether the mix of readings and live music would work, we didn't know whether anyone would enjoy themselves. I arrived at the Hammersmith Palais early, and when I walked in I noticed two things simultaneously. One was that the venue looked great: there had been some big office party the night before, and there was all this glitter and tinsel everywhere; at the time, it seemed like a cheesy but effective way to symbolize magic. The other was that Teenage Fanclub, who had agreed to play an acoustic set (and had postponed a gig in Europe so that they could do so), were going through a sound check. They were playing 'Your Love Is The Place Where I Come From', one of the loveliest songs on one of my favourite-ever albums, Songs From Northern Britain. It sounded great, a perfect musical expression of the tinsel; and I knew the moment I heard it that the evening, far from being a flop, would be special. And it was - it turned into one of the most memorable events with which I have been professionally connected.

Now, whenever I hear 'Your Love Is The Place Where I Come From', I think about that night, of course - how could it be otherwise? And initially, when I decided that I wanted to write a little book of essays about songs I loved (and that in itself was a tough discipline, because one has so many more opinions about what has gone wrong than about what is perfect), I presumed that the essays might be full of straightforward time-and-place connections like this, but they're not, not really. In fact, 'Your Love Is The Place Where I Come From' is just about the only one. And when I thought about why this should be so, why so few of the songs that are important to me come burdened with associative feelings or sensations, it occurred to me that the answer was obvious: if you love a song, love it enough for it to accompany you throughout the different stages of your life, then any specific memory is rubbed away by use. If I'd heard 'Thunder Road' in some girl's bedroom in 1975, decided that it was OK, and had never seen the girl or listened to the song much again, then hearing it now would probably bring back the smell