The story arc begins with an avatar of a musical goddess sending a phonomancer (someone who can use music as a medium for arcane practice) on a quest to find out what has happened to one of her aspects, Britannia. Feel free to ignore this setup, though, because it has precisely nothing to do with the proceedings, other than to introduce protagonist David Kohl and give an overview of the setting. The book, for all of its fantasy trappings, is actually a fierce paean to Britpop music and an introspective exploration on what it meant and still means to its fans. David’s race to stop the dead goddess from being resurrected as a monster is a thinly veiled history of Britpop’s rise from the foundation of 1960s British guitar rock as a response to American grunge, its relatively quick decline and fall, and the state of the genre after it started feeding on itself instead of on a cultural identity. The most interesting part of the story is the consequences David faces if he cannot find Britannia in time: the destruction of his own essence, as his memories are altered and blurred until he is lost and transformed into someone completely different. Someone, for example, who hums along with Ocean Colour Scene and doesn’t mind listening to Kula Shaker. The fight to hold on to himself leads him to questions that every scene kid, no matter what the scene in question is, must eventually face. What happens when you get old, and the music you’ve loved so deeply and understood so intimately becomes a relic of the past? What’s the next step, when you can no longer define yourself by the trappings of pop culture once it inevitably leaves you behind, or vice versa?
These parables are so thinly veiled that it’s easy to get lost in the dreamlike twists and turns of the narrative, if you’re not keeping an eye on the big picture. Furthermore, even though there is a handy glossary at the back for readers that aren’t familiar with Britpop, there is still an excessive amount of musical preening. Obscure Britpop references are tossed recklessly around, with an indifference bordering on disdain for the comfort of anyone who may not be familiar with them. Or maybe I just felt that way, since I grew up on the other side of the pond, listening to reviled Seattle grunge instead of Pulp, Blur, Elastica, or Kenickie. I eventually realized that the story isn’t about excluding anyone, though. It’s simply a love letter to a musical era that passed by largely unremarked on, except for by those in the thick of it, and those who wandered in too late on the heels of “woo-hoo” and “Wonderwall.” Taken solely on those merits, this is a subtle and powerful work of storytelling.
The black-and-white art is fantastic. The pulp feel is wholly appropriate, somehow, and the realistic style conveys some remarkable articulation and emotion. The reader immediately learns almost everything about David Kohl by the expression on his face in the first page of the first volume. There are a few jarring shifts between pages and a handful of awkward action panels, but they’re balanced by some very expressive character art. Honestly, the covers alone almost make up for any other artistic problems.
Taken all together, this is a remarkable graphic novel. It’s bound to alienate some readers who either aren’t familiar with or don’t have any interest in the British guitar pop of the early 1990s, since the actual story doesn’t really hold up without at least a passing appreciation for it. But reading this with an open mind (and a tolerance for having your own musical tastes sneered at, just a little bit) opens up a surprising deep and heartfelt piece of music journalism in comic form.
Verdict: 4 / 5
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