I’ve just revisited a good article in the Guardian about Michael Moorcock. (When Hari Kunzru met Michael Moorcock)
It’s an intelligent piece with lots of good insight to the writer and his works. Moorcock was one of the writers I turned to regularly when I was reading sf in my teens. His imagery and ideas sparked on the flint of my brain and allowed me to disappear into worlds far more fascinating to the one I was living in. His heroes were complex and often agonising with an inner dialogue that I, as a teenager still trying to work out which way was up, could understand. His landscapes were also so deliciously weird. Reading an Elric of Melniboné while listening to Phaedra by Tangerine Dream was such a heady experience that I had no need or desire for any substances, illegal or otherwise.
I grew up with Moorcock’s writing as he began to explore less of his fantasy world and more of the fantasy in our world with books such as Gloriana, Byzantium Endures, The Laugher of Carthage, Mother London.
And I did enjoy his one album, New World’s Fair, recorded with the support of members of Hawkwind. The LP remained on my turntable for a very long time, and a few years ago I was pleased to see it available on CD. It is allowed out for a spin from time to time, and back to my teenagehood I return, for a while.