The diary and essays of Brian Eno republished twenty-five years on with a new introduction by the artist in a beautiful hardback edition.
'One of the seminal books about music . . . an invaluable insight into the mind and working practices of one of the industry's undeniable geniuses.'
GUARDIAN
At the end of 1994, Brian Eno resolved to keep a diary. His plans to go to the cinema, theatre and galleries fell quickly to the wayside. What he did do - and write - however, was astonishing: ruminations on his collaborative work with David Bowie, U2, James and Jah Wobble, interspersed with correspondence and essays dating back to 1978. These 'appendices' covered topics from the generative and ambient music Eno pioneered to what he believed the role of an artist and their art to be, alongside adroit commentary on quotidian tribulations and happenings around the world.
This beautiful 25th-anniversary hardcover edition has been redesigned in the same size as the diary that eventually became this book. It features two ribbons, pink paper delineating the appendices (matching the original edition) and a two-tone paper-over-board cover, which pays homage to the original design.
An intimate insight into one of the most influential creative artists of our time, A Year with Swollen Appendices is an essential classic.
The core of A Year with Swollen Appendices consists of a diary Brian Eno maintained throughout 1995, adding his own embellishments along the way; its titular appendices allow him to stretch out concepts from the book’s main body with short stories, interviews, and letters. What’s striking is how perpetually busy Eno is, as he flits between his overwhelming personal life and the four music projects he undertook that year (with James, U2, David Bowie, and the War Child Help album). The diary format is ideal for reflecting that ebb and flow—a trip to Egypt is recalled in meticulous detail, while his hectic home life with his two young daughters is laid-out in short, staccato bursts.
As a historical time capsule, it’s an invaluable document of slightly more innocent times. Eno outlines his frustrations with the digital realm, including many misgivings about the uselessness of CD-ROMs, while also praising the Bliss screensaver and Koan music software program. It’s illuminating and deeply amusing in equal measure; Eno has no qualms about exposing his mischievous and sometimes puerile nature, whether it’s through enlarging women’s bottoms in Photoshop or offering detailed instruction on how he peed on Duchamp’s Fountain. –Nick Neyland
