This book was a real disappointment, particularly because it covers some important ground and has, occasionally, some flashes of insight. But it is plagued by such major flaws that I cannot recommend it. The basic premise is outrageously reductive and simplistic, and the author uses this flawed approach as a means to pass judgment sweepingly on all sorts of music and musicians. Underlying his entire argument is the notion that black music and musicians properly belong to the "Underworld," and that anytime they display associations with "Topworld" white mainstream America, it is some kind of artistic and cultural travesty. Like so many of the late 19th and early 20th century figures he derides, this author wants his black musicians to be musically "black," and denigrates anybody and anything else that stands in the way of his offensive viewpoint.
The book is also plagued by flat-out misinformation (William Shakespeare Hays was black, really??), faulty reasoning, shoddy research, cheap shots left and right, and the most annoying, smart-alecky, and off-putting writing style I think I've ever encountered in a non-fiction book. The author uses profanity as if he earns points for slipping it in at every opportunity. Clearly he thinks by doing so he connects himself to the "underworld" characters he so romanticizes. The result, though, is simply obnoxious. His desire to be smugly hip becomes downright offensive at times. After pointing out Irene Castle's frustration at having to work with the "Topworld" music direction of John Philip Sousa instead of her previous bandleader James Reese Europe, the author concludes that "once you've had black, you never go back."
If you want to read a freewheeling and irreverent dissertation on similar subject matter, check out Nick Tosches's "Where Dead Voices Gather," an infinitely better and more rewarding book. For a level-headed, scholarly, and brilliant account of this material, read Tim Brooks's excellent "Lost Sounds."
