There are few things more dangerous than discovering that you are young, talented and have access to a musical instrument. Give it a catchy name, a couple of enthusiastic friends and an audience willing to applaud almost anything, and civilisation itself is apparently at risk.

Soul Music takes the familiar Discworld habit of finding something ridiculous and asking what would happen if everyone became completely obsessed with it. This time, the culprit is music. More specifically, a particular kind of music that appears to have arrived from somewhere it really should not have.

And suddenly everyone wants to be in a band.

The story centres on Susan Sto Helit, granddaughter of Death, who is dealing with the rather awkward inheritance that comes with being related to one of the most recognisable figures in the Discworld. Meanwhile, a young musician called Imp Y Celyn discovers a mysterious guitar and sets about doing what young musicians have been doing since somebody first discovered that three chords and confidence can get you remarkably far.

The results are predictable.

Except they really are not.

What I particularly enjoyed about Soul Music is the way Pratchett uses the arrival of rock music to poke fun at the culture that grows up around it. There is a lot here about fashion, fandom, celebrity and the curious tendency of people to decide that something they enjoy must therefore be important enough to reorganise their entire lives around.

Music becomes an identity rather than merely something you listen to. Suddenly there are clothes to wear, attitudes to adopt, songs to worship and arguments to have about whether a particular band has somehow betrayed its roots.

Anyone who has ever been even vaguely interested in music will recognise the behaviour.

The joke, of course, is that the Discworld inhabitants take it all very seriously. Bands become overnight sensations. Crowds develop alarming levels of enthusiasm. People begin talking about music as though it is a religious experience, which, depending on the gig and the audience, may not actually be much of an exaggeration.

But beneath the comedy there is some sharper social commentary. Soul Music understands that popular culture can be both liberating and ridiculous. Music gives people a way to express themselves, to find friends and to feel that they belong to something. At the same time, it can create tribes, fashions and obsessions that are every bit as restrictive as the conventions they were supposedly rebelling against.

That tension makes the book more interesting than a simple collection of jokes about rock music.

There is also a strong theme of identity running through the story. Susan has inherited a role she did not ask for, while Imp is trying to work out who he is and what he wants to become. The contrast between them works particularly well. One is attempting to escape the expectations attached to her family, while the other is discovering how quickly the world can decide what sort of person he is supposed to be.

Then there is grief.

Soul Music does not allow the comedy to completely obscure the fact that Susan’s story is rooted in loss. Her journey is partly about learning how to live with something that cannot be fixed or neatly resolved. That gives the novel a surprisingly emotional centre, and Susan herself benefits from being allowed to be vulnerable without becoming helpless.

Naturally, Death is involved.

Peter Serafinowicz once again gives Death a distinctive presence in the audiobook. What works particularly well here is the sense that he can make Death sound simultaneously imposing and faintly bewildered by the behaviour of the living. There is an almost theatrical quality to the performance, which suits a character who has spent eternity observing humanity while remaining just slightly outside it.

Sian Clifford is also excellent throughout. She keeps the narration energetic without turning the story into an extended performance of shouting voices and exaggerated accents. That is particularly useful in Soul Music, where there is already plenty of noise, excitement and theatricality built into the story. Her delivery gives the comedy room to breathe while allowing the quieter passages, particularly those involving Susan, to carry their emotional weight.

And then there is Bill Nighy.

His footnote narration remains one of the great pleasures of these audiobooks. He has the remarkable ability to make even the most ridiculous aside sound as though he has just been mildly inconvenienced by having to mention it. There is no desperate attempt to sell the joke. Instead, the dry delivery makes the absurdity speak for itself, which somehow makes the whole thing considerably funnier.

I also enjoyed the way Soul Music plays with the idea of originality. The characters are convinced they are creating something new, while the reader can see how quickly familiar patterns emerge. Trends become conventions, rebellion becomes fashion and yesterday’s outsider becomes tomorrow’s establishment.

That feels rather perceptive.

Because this is ultimately what Soul Music is really interested in. Not just music, but what people do with the things they love. How they use them to construct identities, form communities and distinguish themselves from everyone else. Then, inevitably, everyone else starts doing the same thing.

The result is another thoroughly enjoyable Discworld adventure. It is funny, energetic and packed with observations about popular culture, identity and the peculiar human desire to belong while simultaneously insisting that we are all individuals.

There are jokes about music, bands, fans and celebrity throughout, but there is also a surprisingly thoughtful story about grief and finding yourself when circumstances have already decided what they think you should be.

And if you happen to come away from it wanting to pick up a guitar and form a band, I can only apologise.

Civilisation had a good run.

Buy your copy here