The first song I remember hearing as a child that made my mind retch was a song called ‘Seasons in the Sun.’ I don’t know this particular song got under my skin or why I was repelled by it but I was , I loved music but this song sent my mind to hell

Sundays were really Sundays when I was a kid, a brain numbing slog , a day given over to religious piety , binge drinking and domestic violence .
Thank heavens then for ‘Songs Of Praise,’ a stiff atonal soulless dirge to cheer up those dank winter nights , ‘Songs Of Praise’ was torture but Sunday was not all pain there was the chart run down on Radio One .

The only problem with the chart run down was that you were over exposed to certain songs as they made their way to number one then stayed there for weeks on end .
It was inevitable that certain songs were likely to become toxic over time , the ground breaking mega anthem Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen is one of those songs I never ever want to hear again along with Sailing by Rod Stewart and Mull of Kintyre by Wings.

By the time I was awakening to the power of music the landscape was populated by artists that represented turgid, dysfunctional , maudlin, catatonic middle-aged mind dirge .
The world was dominated by the king and queen sized cunts of light entertainment , a roll call please , Perry Como, Shirley Bassey , Johnny Mathis , Abba and fluff and more fluff for my young mind to choke on.

There was a lot of fluff , sometimes fluff could be ok but the first half of the 1970’s was overwhelmingly sentimental punctuated only by glimmers of hope from glam rock , then one day School was out and what followed was a unique period in my life when the country ground to halt. .

The house was lit with these huge scented candles my mother bought from a hippy shop , even the shops were lit by candle light , the refuse piled up and life became strange and disjointed .

When the light came back on things felt different , winds of change were blowing once again , there was stirrings and the feral creatures that came forth from the garbage were the people who fed my imagination , with the sound of Punk Rock I never needed to fear the threat of aural cyanide ever again , that corrosive bleating was no more .


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