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 "A gung-ho Candide with a taste for places it is wiser to avoid. . . the reports collected in 'I Wouldn't Start From Here' are graphic, comic, bemused and properly contemptuous of faith and ideology."
- Jonathan Meades, Books of the Year, Evening Standard
"An utterly sui generis report from the world's plague-spots."
- Michael Bywater, Books of the Year, New Statesman
"I can think of no more entertaining companion on a perilous journey than the ever hopeful, wildly optimistic yet clear-thinking Andrew Mueller."
- Rory MacLean, The Guardian
"A tour-de-force of hilarious, harrowing and ultimately enlightening reportage that will remind readers of the work of P.J. O'Rourke, Jon Ronson and David Foster Wallace."
- The Washington Times
"Unafraid to portray the world's warring people not just as victims and sufferers of legitimate grievances, but also as bloody-minded bastards and ill-informed fools."
- The Kathmandu Post
"A mix of dark humour and incisive political discourse."
- CNN Go
"His sardonic, self-deprecating perspective makes for unstuffy company."
- The Los Angeles Times
"Peppered with trenchant observations that reflect a nimble, cut-to-the-chase practicality, Mueller's interviews with everyone from terrorist warlords to international peacemakers are refreshingly irreverent yet astute."
- Booklist
"Travel writing in the danger zone that maintains its hipness and humanity."
- George Dunford, Books of the Year, Readings Monthly
"An addition to the genre founded by P.J. O'Rourke's 'Holidays In Hell', but it is one that pushes the boundaries."
- The Australian
"Mueller is the embodiment of what can happen with a fire in the belly and a desire to write out loud."
- Australian Book Review
"Mueller's travel writing is as incisive and entertaining as anything he's ever written about music."
- TNT
"A joy."
- Financial Times
"Delightfully laconic."
- The New Statesman
"Alternately chilling, funny and surprising, there's some great reportage here as Mueller struggles to reach an understanding of the world, quizzing the highest minister and the lowliest peasant."
- The Glasgow Herald
"His acerbic wit is matched by true empathy. . . we need this kind of gonzo journalism more than ever."
- Wanderlust
"Mueller spins what could have been the grimmest geopolitics into the finest black comedy. Like a print version of 'The Daily Show'."
- FHM
"Lively reporting from a gently humorous narrator."
- Chris Ayres, The Times
"Touching, often blackly comic reportage."
- GQ
"Brilliantly observed, articulate, often funny and immensely readable."
- The List
"Snappy, self-deprecating and sometimes outright hilarious."
- The Age
"Indelibly humorous and heartfelt."
- Sydney Sunday Telegraph
"An instructive ricochet between cities and continents and war zones."
- Time Out
"He brings to his material the mixture of rage and earthy irony that is the mark of a great satirist
. . . rewarding, thought-provoking and ludicrously funny."
- PopMatters
"Mueller's book is an excellent example of why today's brave, lucid hacks are forced to admit fear and confusion."
- South China Morning Post
"His reporting is sharp, his experiences terrifying and funny."
- Melbourne Herald-Sun
"If you enjoy your international affairs and politics with a good dose of cynicism and black humour, then this book is one to read."
- Brisbane Courier-Mail
"Often laugh-out-loud funny, the writing is utterly engaging."
- Launceston Sunday Examiner
"Mueller's irreverent reportage from abroad is fundamentally a clever cover for the author's ruminations on race, religion, revolution, rock'n'roll and other important issues since September 11, 2001."
- The West Australian
"As hilarious and sardonic a host as this ridiculous world of ours demands."
- Shortlist
"Mueller busies himself with finding the odd, the surreal and the laughable as much as the shocking and upsetting."
- New Zealand Herald
"A real eye for surreal moments of black humour. . . Mueller's work here digs much deeper than the standard newspaper travel essay."
- Sydney Sun-Herald
"His best story, about his brief, bizarre jailing in Cameroon, reads like a 21st century 'Goon Show' script."
- Good Reading
"A rollicking ride through some of the world's scariest scenarios."
- Kalgoorlie Miner
"A strikingly funny book about some seriously unfunny places."
- Perth Sunday Times
"Not bad for a guy from Wagga Wagga."
- The Wagga Wagga Advertiser
 "Andrew Mueller's piece about my band's tour with The Hold Steady is my favourite thing ever written about us. The fact that he is a war correspondent (though he claims otherwise) and music journalist and
approaches both with a similar slant makes him one of the most interesting
writers out there to me."
- Patterson Hood, Drive-By Truckers
"The most important critical anthology on popular music from a single author in a long time, its humour and insight equal with collections by Nick Tosches or Robert Palmer."
- KEXP Seattle
"Take one part P.J. O'Rourke, a healthy dose of Lester Bangs and a dash of Hunter S. Thompson, and you've got Andrew Mueller."
- Bookgasm
"Sharply observed and wittily constructed."
- Honolulu Star-Advertiser
"New edition of the rock classic."
- NY Press
"Mueller's humour makes for some enlightening reading."
- Biloxi-Gulfport Sun-Herald
"Sharp, witty and sarcastic."
- Chicago Tribune
 "Really rather good, in a barnstorming, country-punk sort of way. . . a highly capable ensemble."
- The Quietus
"A more than capable debut - allusive country-tough songs."
- Uncut
"The Blazing Zoos are undoubtedly fun, but they also have depth. . .
everything from Mueller's extensive use of brackets to the band's loving
recreation of classic country riffs bespeaks sincerity."
- Americana UK
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WAR BY OTHER MEANS
Sport and politics
The Guardian, April 2002
THE world hears a lot about North Korea, but the world, if pressed, could probably only name three North Koreans: Kim Il Sung, the Great Leader, the founding father, who has not been formally disencumbered of his responsibilities as head of state despite being dead for some years; Kim Jong Il, the Dear Leader, son and heir of the aforementioned; and Pak Do Ik, a sprightly winger who, one improbable afternoon at Ayrsome Park during the 1966 World Cup, scored the only goal in a 1-0 victory over Italy. North Korea, then as now the most secretive country on earth, had announced themselves with one of the greatest sporting upsets of all time.
“In the dressing room at half time,” recalls Pak during an amazing film called “The Game Of Their Lives”, “the players were full of resolve. We knew what the Great Leader expected of us.” (Which, whatever one’s opinion of Stalinist totalitarianism, makes a change from “Well, I’ve hit it across the keeper and it’s gone in and at the end of the day I’ve got to be pleased with that, Garth.”)
“The Game Of Their Lives” catches up with North Korea’s 1966 side, 35 years later. The film took four years to organise, while permission to take cameras to North Korea was wrung from the authorities in Pyongyang. It was worth the wait. The old men, their suits spangled with dutifully polished medals, tell of and exemplify a life and mindset incomprehensible outside North Korea at a number of levels, whether it’s their heartfelt tears when discussing the late Great Leader, or their wistful nostalgia for Middlesbrough, the population of which adopted the North Koreans as their own during the team’s stay there.
While their Italian opponents went home to a reception of angrily flung vegetables, the North Koreans proceeded to a quarter-final with Portugal. Incredibly, they were 3-0 up at one point, before Eusebio started playing, scoring four and laying on a fifth. They’d proved their point, though, in the way that only sport can. Their country had only existed for 21 years. It had been at war with half the world, including Britain, 14 years previously, and still wasn’t recognised by the government of the United Kingdom (the Foreign Office went to extraordinary lengths to prevent the North Korean anthem being played during the tournament). But after 1966, everyone knew who they were.
Sport has never been played in a vacuum. Governments use it to prove things to each other as ruthlessly as the participants, as anyone involved in the following matches would wearily confirm.
JOE LOUIS vs MAX SCHMELING (boxing, New York, 1938)
The initial encounter between the undefeated American Louis and the German has-been Schmeling in 1936 had been sensational enough – Schmeling, there to make up the numbers, knocked Louis out in the twelfth round – but by the time of this rematch, the stakes had been raised. Louis and Schmeling’s nations were headed for war, and both governments depicted the fight as a contest of ideologies – American melting-pot democracy versus Nazi Teutonic supremacy.
Out of the ring, it wasn’t that simple. When war came, Louis was compelled to serve in an all-black unit (the US military wasn’t desegregated until 1948). Schmeling was far from the Aryan poster boy he is remembered as – though he fought as a Wehrmacht paratrooper, he never joined the Nazi party, refused to sack his Jewish manager, and helped Jewish friends escape Germany.
The second Louis-Schmeling fight was nevertheless the ultimate illustration of sport as war conducted by other means. If only the contest on the battlefield had been as quick – Louis demolished Schmeling in the first round without the German landing a punch.
USSR vs HUNGARY (water polo, Melbourne Olympics, 1956)
Sporting events that degenerate into violence are routinely referred to as bloodbaths, but the nature of the sport concerned means that this fixture deserves the appellation more than most. This clash took place days after the USSR had invaded Hungary, and the Hungarian team, and the predominantly Hungarian-Australian crowd, probably saw it as the only chance for revenge they were ever likely to get.
The Hungarians were winning the game and the fight when one of their players, Ervin Zador, was chinned by an opponent and helped from the pool bleeding heavily. With Hungary ahead 4-0 and the audience on the verge of water polo’s first riot, the match was abandoned. The Hungarians eventually won gold, but many of the team chose to claim asylum in Australia rather than return home in triumph.
USA vs USSR (ice hockey, Lake Placid Winter Olympics, 1980)
On its own merits, this astonishing semi-final deserves the “Miracle On Ice” title that has been attached to it ever since. However, like all the most memorable sporting contests, it was more than a sporting contest. It took place at a point in the Cold War when the United States was floundering – the Red Army were in Afghanistan, Iranians were in the American embassy in Tehran and, even more perplexingly, Jimmy Carter was in the White House.
America needed a win, but nobody expected them to get one on the rink. The state-sponsored Soviet team were the best in the world, and the Americans were college kids – this was before the millionaire superstars of the National Hockey League were permitted to play in the Olympics. In an outcome that the most cynical Hollywood producer would not dare script for fear of being pointed and laughed at by small children in parks, the USA won 4-3. Then they elected Ronald Reagan and won the Cold War. Hurrah!
DINAMO ZAGREB vs RED STAR BELGRADE (football, Zagreb, 1990)
The first shots of Yugoslavia’s wars were some months away, but the fighting started here. Red Star Belgrade’s hooligans, the Dejile (“Strong boys”), objected to the pro-independence chanting of Dinamo’s BBB (“Bad Blue Boys”), and in the ensuing riot, the police were perceived by many to take the side of Red Star – a photograph of Dinamo player Zvonomir Boban kicking a cop was to become a pin-up among Croatian troops (Boban expressed his oft-voiced commitment to his nation’s freedom by signing for AC Milan).
When Yugoslavia disintegrated, both teams continued the fight in their own ways. The Dejile were marshalled by a Belgrade hoodlum called Zjelko Raznatovic into Arkan’s Tigers – the paramilitary group who wrought mayhem across Bosnia. Many of the BBB joined the HVO (the equally unpleasant Bosnian Croat army), and Dinamo were adopted by Croatia’s preposterous president, Franjo Tudjman, who changed their name to Croatia Zagreb.
All’s well that ends well, though: Croatia Zagreb are Dinamo once more, and Arkan and Tudjman are both dead.
USA vs IRAN (Football, 1998 World Cup)
The most keenly anticipated match of France ’98, and for reasons most certainly other than the silky skills of John Harkes and Eric Wynalda. Short of pitting Israel against Palestine, it was difficult to imagine a fixture that would carry more baggage. Disappointingly for a global audience that tuned in anticipating a richly entertaining feast of two-footed Iranian hacks at the Great Satan, and off-the-ball American vengeance upon the barbarians who had tweaked the eagle’s beak, both sides turned up in winning-friends-and-influencing-people mode. At a mercilessly cheerful ceremony prior to kick-off, the Iranians gave the Americans what looked like half the contents of the national treasury. The Americans responded with pennants, and all posed for a photograph.
The game itself was a tiresomely good-natured exhibition of after-you-old-chap football that Iran won 2-1. The victors rushed to swap shirts and hugs with their opponents, who in turn applauded them from the pitch with the same bogus delight seen on the faces of losing nominees on Oscar night. Truly a reminder that the beautiful game can bring people together – in this case, the whole world, united in the belief that the Iranian and American football teams were two big bunches of girls’ blouses.
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