I said that if my non-fiction book proposal got rejected, you wouldn't hear about it again. I lied.
Here's the skinny: the Continuum Books series 33 1/3 were soliciting submissions and proposals for their series of books on classic (and not so classic) albums. Anybody who has even a passing interest in me, my blog and my writing will be unsurprised by my choice of album. David Barker at 33 1/3 received a staggering 449 submissions for his call for book proposals. Mine was one of the 96% that were rejected. I’m cool with that.
I’ve decided to post the full text of my rejected proposal here, based on the vast amount of Jack Daniel’s I have consumed this evening (which has severely impaired my judgement), and the fact that, in the words of The Cranberries: “Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can't We?”, with the caveat that I’m removing any unique identifiers from the body of the text of my proposal, as this is still an ostensibly anonymous blog.
I can see a huge number of flaws in my proposal, but I don’t want to dwell on them here.
[Boring Stuff: the proposal was to include my name; a brief outline (up to 1000 words); a brief bio of myself explaining why I'm the best person to write about that album (up to 500 words); and a couple of sentences on which 33 1/3 book I've enjoyed the most so far, and why.] Without any further ado, here it is:
33 1/3 Book Proposal Outline
Isaac Hayes – Shaft
My proposal tackles Isaac Hayes’s seminal 1971 soundtrack album Shaft.
It’s the story of an album that changed music, cinema, popular culture…and me.
It’s the story of an influential album imbued with sensuality, self-confidence, effortless cool, black pride and sweet soul music, which has endured as an emblem of a unique era in both music and cinema.
It’s also worth covering because the 33 1/3 series has yet to showcase a soundtrack album. (For what it’s worth, it’s also my favourite album of all time.)
It’s worth remembering that the word “soundtrack” has many connotations. The soundtrack to the story of the black private dick that’s a sex machine to all the chicks also happens to be the soundtrack to the life of a writer and pop-culture obsessive growing up in North London. Music can be many things to many people.
My proposal is for a book that would be part personal memoir and part snapshot of a moment in popular culture when music, movies, fashion, literature, politics and civil rights intersected and created something special that would irrevocably change the way that black people were portrayed in the media by a decade in history that spawned more than 200 movies, and almost as many accompanying funk and soul albums.
The story of Isaac Hayes’s Shaft covers a lot of ground:
The evolution of music, with the melding of funk with a traditional film score. The versatility of the album lies in the fact that, like John Shaft himself, it works just as well on the streets and between the sheets; both with infectious funk workouts that can ignite a dancefloor, and as background music that not only works in the context of the film, but also stands alone successfully as orchestral soul music that can be thrown on any turntable.
Melvin Van Peebles and Earth, Wind and Fire may have inadvertently pioneered the idea of the soundtrack tie-in with Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song that same year, as an additional marketing tool, revenue stream and as a collectible item for fans of the movie, but the music from that film is now virtually forgotten, whereas Hayes’s innovative album has continued to endure.
It’s also the story of the next phase in the Civil Rights movement, and the evolution of popular culture with a film and an album that had success with both white and black audiences. With the album taking the number one spot on Billboard’s Black, Jazz and Pop charts, not to mention Grammys and Oscars, Shaft forged a link between film and music promotion that has never been severed, and paved the way for the success of album tie-ins which peaked with the massive success of the Bee Gees’ Saturday Night Fever soundtrack.
Then there is the ripple effect of the music and movies of the blaxploitation era that persists today, for good or ill, in hip-hop culture - Snoop Dogg riffs off Black Caesar, and the high-rolling, opulent pimp persona of Superfly and The Mack continues to be seen in artists from Ice-T to Akon.
It’s the story of Isaac Hayes, one of the leading composers and songwriters at Stax Records who lovingly moulded his album in Soulsville, and whose own persona of Black Moses would end up in the self-parody of South Park’s Chef. However, nothing will diminish his unforgettable performance of the Theme from Shaft at Wattstax in 1973.
It’s also the story of me, and an album that has followed me around like a personal talisman and a harbinger of momentous change in my life. In the early months of 1972, somewhere in North London, a heavily-pregnant woman drops the needle on that very same record and dances around her living room. Soon after, she will give birth to a boy. Neither the woman nor her son will realise the significance of this. Before I was even born, I had heard my favourite album.
The album, the movie, little cues from Hayes’s masterwork continued to appear at flashpoints in my life. On my 18th birthday, I treated myself to a double-bill of two movies that I’d never seen before at the arthouse / grindhouse Scala Cinema in King’s Cross. The movies were Shaft and Superfly. The music rises. Something inside clicks. Years later, a first date with the woman who would become my wife, and there it is again. Fast forward again to a cheap hotel room somewhere in Portugal, fighting through the static on the only channel I can tune in on the TV, and there it is. The sounds of downtown New York traffic imperceptibly give way to that gently percussive opening before melting into that wah-wah guitar refrain. The lone piano keys plink ominously in the background. The lush, mellifluous strings rise. The horn stabs come in. Through the fuzz I can still make out a man decked out in an immaculate knee-length leather coat hugging his muscular build, strutting proudly and defiantly through a sea of yellow cabs. We’re past the two and a half minute mark before the manly voice of Isaac Hayes rises up, saturated with gravel and riven with sex, proclaiming the arrival of John Shaft. Every time I hear it, it feels like the first time all over again.
When my wife was pregnant with our daughter, Shaft kept appearing to us over and over again on stray radio stations, no matter where we were or what we were tuned to. Just like me, tucked up safe and warm in the maternal womb, the music of Isaac Hayes was being passed on to another generation.
As you can see, Isaac Hayes’s Shaft is incredibly fertile material for a 33 1/3 book, and there is plenty of ground to cover. Can ya dig it?
A BRIEF BIO (AND JUST A FEW OF THE REASONS WHY I’M AWESOME)
I’m [AKA], and I’m a freelance film and (sometime) music journalist, living and working in London.
I’ve written for and contributed to a number of books, magazines and websites for over 6 years, most notably [redacted].
Why am I awesome and why am I the best person to write about Isaac Hayes and Shaft? From my proposal, you can get a taste of how important this album has been to me personally. Writing this book would be yet another milestone in the relationship between me and the album.
I like to think that my writing is passionate, clear, concise, entertaining and accessible. I have plenty to say about the album, both contextually with regards to its place in the history of music and popular culture, and personally, touching on my feelings about the album and how it has been ingrained in my DNA since birth. I feel that given the opportunity to write this book, I can provide a unique perspective on the album, whilst also embracing its significance in a wider framework. I hope I get the opportunity to do so.
THE 33 1/3 BOOK THAT I’VE ENJOYED THE MOST SO FAR
Without a doubt, my favourite 33 1/3 book is Douglas Wolk’s book on James Brown’s Live at the Apollo, because of the way that he makes that night back in 1962 almost mythical, seamlessly blending together harsh realities, maybe-truths and poetic fictions to recreate an amazing night in the history of live music. You can hear the screams and feel the sweat, the paranoia and the passion whilst reading it and it is an amazingly evocative and powerful piece of work.
(I also have a fondness for Dan LeRoy’s book on The Beastie Boy’s Paul’s Boutique, because it is beautifully written and rigorously researched, throwing up some excellent anecdotal story-telling of the making of the album. And for what it’s worth, I eagerly await Zeth Lundy’s book on Stevie Wonder’s Songs In The Key of Life, purely because I love that album so damn much, and I look forward to reading what he has to say about it).