Throughout my life, I have been determined that when it came to music, I would not be like my paternal grandfather, Alfred Johansen of Gjovic, Norway. I never got to find out what kind of music he liked, if he liked any kind of music at all. To the best of my recollection, he and grandma Nellie never so much as owned a radio, or wireless as they were known as back in the day. Their sole media device was a tiny black and white television which crackled and popped in the corner of the back room. Not knowing what he did like was one thing, but I always knew what he didn’t like which was pretty well any kind of popular music, especially if it was performed by a man with long hair. But looking at this week’s Singles Top 40, I wasn’t quite so sure about me.
The ultra embarrassing thing is that I knew hardly any of the songs from the charts. I have heard of a good few of the artists – Harry Styles, Beyonce and Drake (I believe he used to be a British comedian whose catchphrase was “Hello my darlings!”) – but not their songs. The ones I do know are as follows:
- The exciting number 12 sound Bad Habit by the utterly wonderful Steve Lacy
- Running Up That Hill by Kate Bush at 19
- Er…
- That’s it
I have bought a shed load of new music this year, mainly, though not entirely, albums and very few have made it into the album charts, which seems to comprise mainly of ‘Best Ofs’ and Greatest Hits’ and it’s cheating really. I listen incessantly to BBC 6 Music, the place to go for new music, and as a direct result I’ve recently bought DOMi & JD Becks’ brilliant Not Tight, Once Twice Melody by Beach House, Always Been by I Jordan, I Was Neon by Julia Jacklin, Crash by Stevan, Tresor by Gwenno, Last Night in The Bittersweet by Paulo Nutini and Christ knows what else and none of them, except Paulo’s record, appear to be what us old folk used to called the hit parade. By contrast, the album chart is full of…stifles yawn…Queen, Coldplay, Ed Sheeran and Kasabian. Basically, the singles chart is stuffed with music I don’t know and the album chart is stuffed with music I don’t want to know. But wait: I’m turning into Alfred.
Discovering new music has been an absolute blast, one of the best things that ever happened to me. After the 1960s and 70s in which I grew up, the 1980s was the decade the music almost died. I retreated to my comfort zone of Steely Dan and the other 57 varieties of American music in order to avoid the dirge produced by (oh god: here’s he goes again) the likes of Queen and most of the generic dreck that appeared at Live Aid. The 1990s saw the music recover and now we live in the best times of all. Not only do we have all the music that’s ever been composed, we have an exciting, vibrant new wave of music from a zillion different genres. 20 years ago, I might not have said that and certainly not meant it because it’s said that we stop looking for new music at the age of 33. I did that, too, but somewhere along life’s long and winding road, I made a very fortunate turn to the future.
My hatred of Queen is, I suppose, something I need to address. After all, millions of people, for whatever reason, love them. And one reason, I reckon, is the role music plays in people’s lives.
I listen to many hours of music every day, either on BBC 6 Music or on my Music Centre (as we called music machines in the old days), and I’d say it’s at the top of my list of interests. Indeed it’s an obsession. Other people like other stuff and music is an occasional treat or something to break the silence, as in Asda. I should understand, perhaps, that not everyone wants to dig deeper into music, some of which is very obscure, and a half hour of something like Ed Sheeran is what they need? That, I believe, is why people listen to Heart, Smooth and all the other commercial stations. It’s on in the car, you get a bit of Lionel Ritchie or ELO on the way to work when you’ve got something else to think about. Music needn’t be the desperation to find out who played the guitar solo on Olivia Newton-John’s Physical (it was the great Steve Lukather from Toto, by the way) or the split second of piano on T Rex’s Get It On (it was Rick Wakeman) because that’s essentially me. Delving into the lyrics, listening out for influences, thinking far too much, you might think.
As with everything else in my life, if I get interested in something, I get REALLY interested. The Yorkshire Ripper, Chernobyl, the Falklands War – once I get interested I need to know everything. I didn’t buy one music magazine back in the day when there were weekly magazines: I bought four, sometimes five. Same with football. With music, I’m all that on stilts. I know what I like and I need to put to bed what I don’t like. It helps no one.
Look how you want to look, dress how you want to dress, love the one you’re with (if your partner doesn’t mind) and never forget: there’s no such thing as bad music. Except…no, not today.
