Today
is Sunday, and thirty-odd years ago the whole day would have been planned
around making sure I was in the bath for the all-important “Top Ten”. My
younger brother and sister would have their baths before me. House rules. My sister
would go first and then my brother would follow. They would use the same bath
water. I was allowed fresh water. If you could see the state my brother would
get into at the weekend you would understand why.
My
brother, fully aware of my plans, would stay in the bath as long as possible.
At that age his sole mission was to do nothing more than to make my life a
misery. Only a yelled threat of punishment from mum would drag him from the
waters.
Eventually,
and usually with seconds to spare, I would close the bathroom door on the world
and settle down into a bath more bubbles than water. Water levels were
parentally controlled and letting the taps run a little longer was not worth
the penalty. I was in my late teens before we had the luxury of a shower.
Full
of anticipation at the upcoming countdown, my cassette recorder was
strategically placed beside the bath so that I could press record on all ten
songs without having to stretch too far. With ease I would cut out the cheesy
ramblings of Tony Blackburn et al and over the following seven days play the
well-worn cassette non-stop.
There’s
no waiting anymore. No anticipation. The kids of today have instant access to
an infinitesimal amount of music with the touch of a fingertip. And yes, it’s a
good thing. My own kids introduce me to a variety of weird and wonderful songs
that would never make the mainstream. Not for a lack of talent that’s for sure,
as those they listen to are the real artists of today, but more for a lack of
supposed commercial appeal. Image is as important, if not more so, as talent
these days.
At
least YouTube and other on-line platforms give these non-commercial artists a
platform. Here’s one of my favourites:
Last
night I went to watch my son’s band play at a local pub. They were anxious
about the gig as they were supporting a heavy metal band and felt their indie
tunes would be met with a stony wall of hostility from the baying crowd of
rockers. They launched into their eight-song set, only one of which was a
cover, with gusto. With each song, those at the back of the dimly-lit venue
moved forward, heads bobbing with appreciation. By the end there were people up
dancing to songs they’d never heard before.
For
me, the joy was in seeing how much fun my son and his two bandmates were having
on the stage. Even though they announced with disgust afterwards that it was
the worst they’d ever played.
The
short poem I have written today was inspired by an article I read online
yesterday. If you’re interested to read it, here is the link:
Artist vs Celebrity
I
just want to play
To
make music
I
don’t want
A
life in the spotlight
I
crave
Meaning
in the words
I
don’t need
To
sell a million records
But
I need
To
write a song that moves you
I
don’t have
An
agenda
I
have
Me
(Now
read from bottom to top)
Thank you for reading,
Fiona
1 comments:
Well-recalled, Fiona.
I do not have "the pleasure"of brothers or sisters, and we did not have a "bathroom" at all in our terraced house until I had graduated, and Blackpool Council made grants available to have internal plumbing works completed - the kitchen and boiled pans of water were necessary for ablutions.
Like you I recall the importance I attached to being able to hear pop music on the limited number of radio shows committed to "our" favourites - if you missed them, that was it for the week, except for the poor reception from Radio Luxembourg if I was allowed to "stay up" beyond 8.00 pm - what a welcome we gave to "pirste radio", especially when Radio Caroline sailed up the Irish Sea to anchor close tomThe Isle of Man.
Glad your lad is enjoying himself "in a band" - an essential "rite of passage" for any teenager.
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