Archive for the ‘rock and roll’ Category


What kind of music do you like? Me – I’m sort of non-denominational when it comes to music although there are certain genres that I hate more than others. Rap for example is complete crap, not to mention a total rip. Every ‘song’ sounds the same and every singer sounds the same. Thinks – maybe there is only one song and one singer. Come to think of it since they all dress the same they may very well be the same person – Milly Vanilli probably. Just about anyone could be a rapper I should think. After all, it’s not necessary to have a good voice you just have to wear your baseball cap on sideways and pants that fall around your knees and a size ‘Jumbo’ baseball shirt and use lots of unnecessary expletives while thumbing your crotch. Oh and bling. Bling is essential. If you haven’t got a cross the size of the Titanic’s boat anchor around your neck you are not a rapper – simple as that. You don’t have to be black, although it helps, but you can always have pretty black dancers wearing shorts that would fit Barbie [or possibly Nicole Ritchie] waving their boobs and bums around behind you – and of course setting the Women’s Movement back a few hundred years. This is no doubt a subtle device to distract the audience from the fact that you can’t sing, you can’t dance and what you’re saying doesn’t make any sense. Oh sorry – some would say it’s actually social commentary, all about growing up dirt poor and black in the Ghetto and a mum who holds down six jobs and a sister who is a Ho. Well that might be true for some – very few – rappers but it’s certainly not for people like P. Diddy or Puff Daddy or Diddy Puff or whatever he’s calling himself now. You know the one. He has his own clothing line – just like everyone else in the music biz it seems. Gwen Steffani has LAMB, Diddy has SEAN JEAN, Madonna has something or other – can’t remember now, possibly ‘SLAPPER’ – and Paris Hilton designs sparkly little doggy collars for her sparkly little doggies – or perhaps her boyfriends, it’s hard to be sure.


Another genre of music that I hate is country. Oi! Whining nasal voices and fiddles and big hair – probably Stetsons, and cowboy boots so pointed that they can only fit people with one toe. Lyrics about losing your wife to your best friend and running over your dog and being thrown in the gutter – very uplifting stuff. However if things get too rough, or you get too drunk, you can always invite Jesus to Take the Wheel. Did you know by the way that if you play a country CD backwards the wife comes home, the boyfriend takes off in his Ford Bronco and the dog is still sitting on the porch barking at the moon.


Dolly Parton – now there’s a country singer with talent who writes and sings her own music but sadly has become a caricature of herself. She lost so much weight – although mysteriously her boobs appeared to get bigger – that she now looks like a toothpick with eyes wearing way too much makeup and a wig. I saw her recently on some awards show – she was wearing a skin-tight white coat and tails outfit that made her look like the MC at the circus, her face was stretched and gaunt almost like that woman, Helen Gurley Brown, who herself looks like she has recently been mummified alive in some horrible experiment gone terribly wrong. Either that or someone stole her painting out of the attic and now we get to see the *real* thing. But I was talking about Dolly. Now come on girl – there comes a time in every woman’s life when you have to fess up to your age and dress appropriately. Boobs and rhinestones might have been de rigueur 40 years ago but you are past it woman! And so is Joan Collins who must be 80 by now if she’s a day. Sorry love – but mutton dressed as lamb doesn’t even *begin* to describe it. It’s like something from a Steven King novel.


Music that I *do* like is mellow and haunting, or bluesy or rock and rollsy [giving away my age here] or operatic, or classical. A bit of Mozart in the mornings goes a long way to setting up the day wouldn’t you agree? When I was a teenager in Portsmouth we used to get visiting ‘off-West-End’ plays and concerts that could be attended for a fraction of the price demanded by the big theatres in London. Hence I was able to attend a memorable concert given by Sir John Barbirolli and the Halle Orchestra performing the Firebird Suite one week and Conway Twitty the next [what do you mean you’ve never heard of Conway Twitty? You’ll be telling me next that you’ve never heard of Cliff Richards and The Shadows]. I did miss the Beatles though by migrating to Canada to avoid the rain and getting seven foot snowdrifts instead. Mind you they did play once in Toronto as they passed through to more lucrative venues in the States. I missed them that time too. Bugger!


Good thing for me that many of the old 60’s groups are still alive and kicking – albeit a little less vigorously than before. Most of the survivors are in their 60’s now – baby-boomers like me. Groups like the Stones and the Who are still touring although the numbers of their band members are starting to dwindle. Many of them are sadly no longer with us because some of them subscribed to the belief that to be a ‘rocker’ you had to live fast and die young, preferably on the toilet. Someone should do a study. Elvis, Janice, Hendrix, Johnny Rotten. Mind you some were a little more creative – Keith Moon fell in a drug induced stupor into his swimming pool never to reemerge – not breathing anyway. Michael Hutchins of INXS died most embarrassingly hanging naked from a door jam in his hotel, rather like that MP a few years back who was discovered dead on the kitchen table wearing black suspenders and a garter belt with an orange in his mouth and a rubber garotte around his neck. Hmm. Note to self – don’t commit suicide or play kinky sex games in compromising positions where the cleaning lady will come in and find you. It’s hard for the family to explain to reporters from the News of the World just *what* you were doing with that gag and that orange – and they would definitely have to throw away the table before the next dinner party.

Ah well – back to work. Let’s dial up some Clapton and J. J. Cale on the old iPod and get down to some serious tub-thumping. Fluffy no talents like Britney Spears and Hilary Duff will be gone in a year but Clapton will be here forever [unless he suddenly decides to go swimming in the pond at midnight with a pound or two of illegal substances stuffed up his nose that is]


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