In the Book Notes series, authors create and discuss a music playlist that relates in some way to their recently published book.
Andy Mozina’s novel Tandem is a literary thriller as propulsive as it is heartrending.
Booklist wrote of the book:
“A delicate web of intrigue. Fans of Kimberly Belle, Alex Kiester, and Greg Olear will appreciate Mozina’s ability to blend the drama of a domestic thriller with the heartbreak of loss in many forms: death, divorce, and distance.”
Tandem concerns both sides of a drunk-driving hit-and-run, following the perpetrator, Mike, still at large, and Claire, the mother of one of his victims. They’re neighbors and end up drawn to each other, for antithetical reasons, in the aftermath of the crash. It turned out to be a novel of many moods—hopeful, tragic, angry, sad, darkly satirical, crazed, absurd—and so is the music I associate with it.
During the seven years I worked on the book, I discovered YouTube would generate playlists for you (yes, it took me an embarrassingly long time to figure this out). I maintained only one dynamic list, accepting suggestions from the algorithm and adding my favorite songs to it.
Hearing music while I write a first draft is usually too distracting, but for some reason I like tunes when I’m revising. This playlist was my revision companion, and I also played it on my phone when I was taking long walks on the mean streets of Kalamazoo, MI, where the novel is set, mulling all the plot twists.
As I was trying to cull this list for LargeHearted Boy, I realized that a subset of songs would map on nicely to different moments in the novel, usually through the emotional vibe, but sometimes even because of a lyrical congruence or two. In fact, if Tandem were a movie, I know the exact moments I’d like these songs to appear on the soundtrack. So if you’re truly hardcore and would like to read Tandem set to this playlist, I’ve included a page reference where you can pause reading and play the appropriate song or keep reading while the song plays (if you have powers of concentration beyond my own).
“Here Comes Your Man,” Pixies
This song fits Mike’s jaunty mood at the beginning of the novel: a drunken divorced dude, he says good-bye to a couple he’s just had dinner with and sets out on his own, looking for love. The sarcastic lead guitar evokes a spur-jingling cowboy on his way to the hoe down. The refrain is so inane and joyous. Some of Black Francis’s most poetic lyrics and all-time-best yodeling. Yet: “a big, big stone fall and break my crown.” What’s up with that? Foreshadowing? Play it just before (or as) you start the first chapter.
“Wreck of the Hesperus,” Procol Harum
The song is inspired by a Longfellow poem of the same name that commemorates a ship lost off the coast of Massachusetts during a blizzard in 1839. Grand, wave-rolling, piano-driven music, lifted skyward by strings, horns and majestic Robin Trower guitar, with lyrics that speak of disaster at sea, dolefully sung—apropos for Mike’s “final fall from grace.” Play on page 10, just after “entering a cloud.”
“Late Night,” Syd Barret
An eerie, harrowing tune. Originally the songwriter and front man of Pink Floyd, Syd was famously forced out of the group when he had a mental breakdown, most likely brought on by too much acid, and couldn’t function. Still, he kept it together long enough to produce two solo albums, with help from his former bandmates. In the aftermath of shattering catastrophe, the broken self looks for solace. The thin, meandering guitar evokes the mind’s inability to walk a straight line. Claire is feeling devastated and alone—her hour of lead. End of chapter 4.
“Riders on the Storm,” The Doors
Mike takes a trip on a Greyhound bus as part of his elaborate plan to cover up his crime. Riding down I-80 through Indiana, overwhelmed with guilt, the lyrics of this song play in his head: “There’s a killer on the road, his brain is squirmin’ like a toad.” The rain effects and keyboard set the downbeat mood; the bass line provides brooding tension. Page 52.
“Kool Thing,” Sonic Youth
Claire would never listen to this song—she’s more into classical—but it captures a certain attitude she took away from her disappointing college romantic relationships. Backed by menacing guitars and frantic drum rolls, Kim Gordon challenges “Kool Thing” to liberate “us girls from male white corporate oppression,” which seems to put Kool Thing on his heels. He admits, “I don’t wanna,” and it’s not to his credit. Bottom of page 70.
“Caring is Creepy,” The Shins
Why does this song make me so happy? No idea. If anyone can make caring feel creepy, it’s our bad-but-often-well-intentioned co-protagonist Mike. James Mercer’s vocals and the swirling organ give this tune an uncanny, ethereal feel. The drum beat, which always makes me think of the little drummer boy, and jangling guitar are just enough to keep it grounded. End of Chapter 11.
“Lazy Eye,” Silversun Pickups
Attraction, tentative feelings, ecstatic love, going insane… “I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life,” thinks Claire, as things accelerate for her. The way the guitar licks curl around the driving bass line is crazily energizing. The song’s slow build to liftoff is incredible. After “She couldn’t speak” on page 144.
“Pyramid Song,” Radiohead
In a totally different song, Kurt Cobain sang about “the comfort in being sad” and sometimes I wonder if that’s why sad-sounding songs paradoxically make me happy. This dreamy, swooning song, sung in a slurred style by Thom Yorke, over slow piano and synthesizer, is a great song for driving M-96 between Kalamazoo and Battle Creek, past small low-slung factories and rental truck depots, at 2 in the morning on a summer night, as Mike does. Top of 160.
“Let It Be,” The Beatles
When mother Mary whispers “Let it be,” are they really words of wisdom or a cop out? Mike ponders this question from different angles for the whole book. John Lennon called this song “grand,” and it really is. In the novel, Mike listens to this song on repeat in a futile effort at self-soothing during a time of tense anticipation. Top of 162.
“Baby’s on Fire,” Brian Eno
Another song Claire would never listen to, but it could be about her, as she reaches a breaking point in her marriage. The lyrics, sung by Eno with nasally disdain, are not exactly empathetic (“Baby’s on fire, better throw her in the water”), which is maybe not a good sign. The song’s raison d’etre is Robert Fripp’s crazed and delirious three-minute guitar solo, which, by the way, is also a cure for depression and writer’s block. End of Chapter 22.
“You’re So Vain,” Carly Simon
A sentimental pick—a lot of memories hearing this song on AM radio when I was a kid. I thought it was about James Bond. Simon sings the scathing lyrics in a clear ringing voice. The tune captures Claire’s attitude toward tall, dark and handsome men, of which Mike is one. She’s getting suspicious. Top of 209.
“The Man Who Sold the World,” Nirvana (MTV Unplugged)
Covering this David Bowie song during their filmed-live MTV concert, the band laid down an amazing groove with rhythm guitar, bass, and drums in perfect synch. You can see everyone’s into it. Kurt sweats his song-concluding guitar solo, but he nails it. His world-weary voice creaks slightly at the right moments. The narrator of the song meets up with the enigmatic Man Who Sold the World, who just maybe is himself at a different time. “I thought you died alone, a long long time ago.” Play this song after you read the novel’s last words.
Andy Mozina is the author of four books of fiction, including Tandem. His stories have appeared in Tin House, McSweeney’s, The Southern Review, and elsewhere. His first collection, The Women Were Leaving the Men, won the Great Lakes Colleges Association New Writers Award. His fiction has received special citations in Best American Short Stories, Pushcart Prize, and New Stories from the Midwest. He’s a professor of English at Kalamazoo College. www.andymozina.com