I started this blog with music, so it's about time I wrote about it again. Heavy sessions on YouTube, making up playlists of my favourite songs, got me thinking about the part music has played in my life.
Up until the age of twelve, my musical tastes were pretty much conditioned by my parents. My mother had a fondness for musicals and Nat King Cole and Cole Porter, my father for classical music, especially Mozart. Both of them liked Chopin. In the early 60s, living near the east coast of Suffolk, we didn't get any opportunity to listen to pop. The BBC Light Programme broadcast about half an hour a week, and Radio Luxemberg had awful reception. I knew all the tunes and lyrics of 'My Fair Lady' by heart, and nothing by the Beatles.
With pirate radio, all that changed virtually overnight. You could go to Felixstowe beach and see the ships anchored three miles offshore: the DJs travelled there via Ipswich station, and fans used to go and meet them (including my sister and I). Once we had tried to listen to music that sounded as though it was being played in cottonwool in someone's bathroom two miles away: now, the signals were so loud and clear that the DJs, and the records, seemed to be right there in our bedrooms. The film 'The Boat that Rocked' got mediocre reviews, but I loved it for the memories it brought back, the excitement of those early days, when everyone seemed to listen to the same things and we were a community of fans in a new and magical world of music.
It all changed, of course, as different genres fragmented. I remember thinking about a bloke I loathed, 'How can he like Bridge over Troubled Water when I love it so much?' People were judged according to what music they favoured, and of course it changed over time. I started out a Beatles girl and switched to the Stones because their rebelliousness struck a chord - plus, they were so good to dance to. I usually tell people that the first single I ever bought was Sounds of Silence - but actually it was Dominique, by the Singing Nun - excruciatingly awful to me now, but then I was only eleven or so, before the days of the pirates, and the Simon and Garfunkel song is a much more accurate indicator of what my adult tastes would be. On the other hand, things that passed me by at the time - Tamla Motown, for example - resonate quite differently now, and I recently added a compilation album to my collection.
As a teenager, my records fell into two categories. There were stars I liked because I fancied them - the Monkees, the Beatles, the Walker Brothers - and those whose music I loved - the Stones, Simon and Garfunkel, Joan Baez, Dylan, Mamas and Papas. The West Coast sound of 1967/8 gave way to British folk/rock: I acquired albums by Pentangle, Fairport Convention and Steeleye Span, and quietly hid my Monkees LPs. I was hooked by the historical bombast of the Strawbs, whom my sister and I went to see at the Royal Albert Hall, one of our first gigs, but the band I most regret never seeing live (too young, too far, my parents wouldn't let us go) was the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band, of late and much lamented memory. Through all this I was learning to play guitar, just enough chords to accompany my erratic singing, and gleaning new songs from folk clubs and the radio.
I went to university, and after the sleepy backwater of Ipswich, Brighton felt like the hub of the universe. I saw the Strawbs (for the third time), Bowie, the Stones, at last, and many other bands. Certain songs still have the power to bring back those times: Samba pa ti, by Santana, Auntie Aviator by John and Beverley Martin, the music from Clockwork Orange, pretty much all of After the Goldrush by Neil Young. Everyone was into 'prog rock', and the guy who liked Slade and Abba was mercilessly mocked. Then Punk burst on the scene and was universally derided - it was the first time, but not the last, that I was too old to like or even appreciate a new musical phenomenon. The 80s brought the New Romantics - a lot of posturing, an awful lot of awful hair, and some good tunes, even if, as Not the Nine O'Clock News pointed out, most of the time it was a case of 'Nice video, shame about the song'. It also brought a new favourite band for me - Dire Straits. I don't care that they grew far too popular too quickly, and therefore became desperately uncool: that man could play guitar all night and I'd listen to every note with rapt attention. The final guitar solo to Tunnel of Love is, as far as I'm concerned, one of the greatest of all, and still has the power to move me to tears. Grace, passion, consummate musicianship, a glorious tune: what's not to like, indeed to love?
Live Aid - which Steve and I watched on TV, desperately envious of Chris and Maureen who were actually there - introduced me to U2, whom I've loved ever since, my favourite album being the spine-tingling Joshua Tree: The Edge, like Johnny B. Good, 'plays guitar like the ringing of bells'. Old bands faded away, new ones took their place. I rediscovered folk - Kate Rusby, Maddie Prior, Cara Dillon, Seth Lakeman - but a lot of the music of the 90s and Noughties seemed too slick and manufactured. I picked out individual songs to delight in, but there were no more 'favourite bands'. My CD collection is an eclectic mix of the last 45 years of pop and rock, from the Stones to the Killers, from Dusty Springfield to Dido, but it seems as if everything 'new' has in fact been done before, sometime, somewhere.
And so the wheel comes full circle, for my sons have discovered the music of my youth, largely thanks to Live8, which introduced them, amongst others, to Clapton, the Who and Pink Floyd. Patrick loves the Beatles, and has all their albums on his MP3 player. They have fifty years of music to plunder. When I was their age, any music made more than 20 years previously was likely to be by Glenn Miller or Vera Lynn. They haven't got the wonderful sense of newness, of freshness, that characterised the music of the 60s, as people like Lennon and Macartney, Dylan and Jagger and Brian Wilson took it to places it had never been before. But oh boy, have they got some fabulous old songs in their headphones.
Up until the age of twelve, my musical tastes were pretty much conditioned by my parents. My mother had a fondness for musicals and Nat King Cole and Cole Porter, my father for classical music, especially Mozart. Both of them liked Chopin. In the early 60s, living near the east coast of Suffolk, we didn't get any opportunity to listen to pop. The BBC Light Programme broadcast about half an hour a week, and Radio Luxemberg had awful reception. I knew all the tunes and lyrics of 'My Fair Lady' by heart, and nothing by the Beatles.
With pirate radio, all that changed virtually overnight. You could go to Felixstowe beach and see the ships anchored three miles offshore: the DJs travelled there via Ipswich station, and fans used to go and meet them (including my sister and I). Once we had tried to listen to music that sounded as though it was being played in cottonwool in someone's bathroom two miles away: now, the signals were so loud and clear that the DJs, and the records, seemed to be right there in our bedrooms. The film 'The Boat that Rocked' got mediocre reviews, but I loved it for the memories it brought back, the excitement of those early days, when everyone seemed to listen to the same things and we were a community of fans in a new and magical world of music.
It all changed, of course, as different genres fragmented. I remember thinking about a bloke I loathed, 'How can he like Bridge over Troubled Water when I love it so much?' People were judged according to what music they favoured, and of course it changed over time. I started out a Beatles girl and switched to the Stones because their rebelliousness struck a chord - plus, they were so good to dance to. I usually tell people that the first single I ever bought was Sounds of Silence - but actually it was Dominique, by the Singing Nun - excruciatingly awful to me now, but then I was only eleven or so, before the days of the pirates, and the Simon and Garfunkel song is a much more accurate indicator of what my adult tastes would be. On the other hand, things that passed me by at the time - Tamla Motown, for example - resonate quite differently now, and I recently added a compilation album to my collection.
As a teenager, my records fell into two categories. There were stars I liked because I fancied them - the Monkees, the Beatles, the Walker Brothers - and those whose music I loved - the Stones, Simon and Garfunkel, Joan Baez, Dylan, Mamas and Papas. The West Coast sound of 1967/8 gave way to British folk/rock: I acquired albums by Pentangle, Fairport Convention and Steeleye Span, and quietly hid my Monkees LPs. I was hooked by the historical bombast of the Strawbs, whom my sister and I went to see at the Royal Albert Hall, one of our first gigs, but the band I most regret never seeing live (too young, too far, my parents wouldn't let us go) was the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band, of late and much lamented memory. Through all this I was learning to play guitar, just enough chords to accompany my erratic singing, and gleaning new songs from folk clubs and the radio.
I went to university, and after the sleepy backwater of Ipswich, Brighton felt like the hub of the universe. I saw the Strawbs (for the third time), Bowie, the Stones, at last, and many other bands. Certain songs still have the power to bring back those times: Samba pa ti, by Santana, Auntie Aviator by John and Beverley Martin, the music from Clockwork Orange, pretty much all of After the Goldrush by Neil Young. Everyone was into 'prog rock', and the guy who liked Slade and Abba was mercilessly mocked. Then Punk burst on the scene and was universally derided - it was the first time, but not the last, that I was too old to like or even appreciate a new musical phenomenon. The 80s brought the New Romantics - a lot of posturing, an awful lot of awful hair, and some good tunes, even if, as Not the Nine O'Clock News pointed out, most of the time it was a case of 'Nice video, shame about the song'. It also brought a new favourite band for me - Dire Straits. I don't care that they grew far too popular too quickly, and therefore became desperately uncool: that man could play guitar all night and I'd listen to every note with rapt attention. The final guitar solo to Tunnel of Love is, as far as I'm concerned, one of the greatest of all, and still has the power to move me to tears. Grace, passion, consummate musicianship, a glorious tune: what's not to like, indeed to love?
Live Aid - which Steve and I watched on TV, desperately envious of Chris and Maureen who were actually there - introduced me to U2, whom I've loved ever since, my favourite album being the spine-tingling Joshua Tree: The Edge, like Johnny B. Good, 'plays guitar like the ringing of bells'. Old bands faded away, new ones took their place. I rediscovered folk - Kate Rusby, Maddie Prior, Cara Dillon, Seth Lakeman - but a lot of the music of the 90s and Noughties seemed too slick and manufactured. I picked out individual songs to delight in, but there were no more 'favourite bands'. My CD collection is an eclectic mix of the last 45 years of pop and rock, from the Stones to the Killers, from Dusty Springfield to Dido, but it seems as if everything 'new' has in fact been done before, sometime, somewhere.
And so the wheel comes full circle, for my sons have discovered the music of my youth, largely thanks to Live8, which introduced them, amongst others, to Clapton, the Who and Pink Floyd. Patrick loves the Beatles, and has all their albums on his MP3 player. They have fifty years of music to plunder. When I was their age, any music made more than 20 years previously was likely to be by Glenn Miller or Vera Lynn. They haven't got the wonderful sense of newness, of freshness, that characterised the music of the 60s, as people like Lennon and Macartney, Dylan and Jagger and Brian Wilson took it to places it had never been before. But oh boy, have they got some fabulous old songs in their headphones.
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