I'm not exactly sure how this has happened but I've managed to write a book, not a very large book but a book all the same.
Glimpses, recollections, images from my past and present. Music, pets, family and work ... things I thought worthy of sharing and a way of remembering.
There's a lot of images taken the Snarski Family Archives as well as fine photographs from Denise Nestor, Scott Wajon, Andrew Watson, L.J. Spruyt, Tim McNeilage and my friends, thankfully not all of me.
If you're interested in pre-ordering a signed copy just head here ...
'You're Not Rob Snarski' is released in early February 2017.
From Melbourne to Europe and all points in between, Rob Snarski shares his observations and insights from the music world he has performed in, the people he has worked with, his family, the domesticated animals he has loved, and the things he’s had to do to pay the rent.
Snarski has played in seminal Australian bands since the 1980s: Chad’s Tree, The Blackeyed Susans, and as a guest singer with The Triffids. These recollections and photographs uncover a delicate humour in the man who remains a dedicated follower of music and the musicians he’s been influenced by.
I never intended to write a book. Never intended to compile short snippets of recollections and find appropriate photographs to sit beside them within a paper framework. A book was never part of the plan. I’d barely scraped through English in the final years of high school; comprehension was never a favourite of mine.
All this came about through a friend who read some of my reminiscing one morning on social media and insisted I send it on to a publisher he knew.
The majority of these recollections were written on a train or a plane, in a hotel room or airport lounge. There’s something about being in motion, in-between places that helps jolt my memory. Random thoughts spill out when I’m travelling from home in the hills of Tecoma to my part-time day jobs in town or when flying out from Melbourne to other destinations for music.
There are some chapters within that are possibly too private. I grappled with the notion of including them, precariously I let go, I’m still not quite sure why.
The collection is sporadic, arbitrary with a gap or two. They are my memories of events and I imagine may differ slightly to others present at the time. I couldn’t simply write about all things music and only music, as other experiences and beings shape my existence.