My life in music

I have to write. Tonight, I realized I’d be very wrong about something, and it got me into a massive chain of thoughts about music, and how I’d got to where I am musically now, and I just have to write it all down to stop it going around on repeat in my head. I saw “Seven Ages of Rock” tonight – no, not some bad Queen tribute show, but a TV prog that is charting the course of music since the 1960s, and tonight’s first prog was about Jimi Hendrix. I tuned in with preconceptions. Well, the one preconception I had: I hated Jimi Hendrix. I hated his songs (with the exception of “Wild Thing”), I hated the hype. And why? I’ll come to that later. Regardless, I tuned in because I want to see all seven programmes, I just HAD to. And I figured the whole hour wouldn’t be devoted just to him and I’d get to see some other great stuff from 1966 onwards. What I saw astounded me: Reader, I am ashamed. Ashamed that this preconception of probably the greatest guitarist of an age has been with me for the best part of 26 years, that I’ve been so blinkered. But what I saw excited and inspired me, and despite my shame, I feel enlivened that I’ve “discovered” something that is so amazing. I was born in 1968 to relatively old parents, in a time when technology wasn’t fast-moving. Black and white TVs in a wooden housing, record players that included speeds of 33/45/78 (in a wooden housing), phones that plugged into walls, phones the size of a small African nation. TV wasn’t 24 hour, it even stopped transmitting for periods in the afternoon (the thought of which is enough to make an entire population today hyperventilate). One of my dad’s first purchases as a youngster was a crystal set, and on this basis music became the love of his life. I was born into a household where music just was – the radio was on most of the time, and if it wasn’t the radio then records or tapes were playing. Entire Sundays were given over to listening to Jimmy Savile recounting tracks from two yester-years (which my dad had me guess), and then dancing to my dad’s 78s. I had a much older brother whose influences were the Stones, Lou Reed, Rod Stewart, the New Faces, Bryan Ferry, all of whom he had seen live. All of whom he played on his record player (housed in wood). And so it was that music became my love, my life. I listened to Radio Luxembourg and Radio 1 (much different then to how it was now – staffed then by ex-pirate Radio Caroline DJs, playing fantastic music). I was taught how to treat vinyl with respect, how to handle it, how to clean it, how to change the stylus. And from being very young I would spend hour upon hour playing all of my dad’s and my brother’s records. I bought my first record, myself, when I was 7. I made my brother take me to the Music Box on Liverpool Road in Eccles, and the 7” was 50p. New pence, it was the 1970s by now. And if you’re interested, it was “Bohemian Rhapsody” by Queen. They’re getting a mention or two tonight. And then 1976 came, and punk happened. I remember the front of the Daily Mirror, a picture of a “punk” with a safety pin in his ear, one in his nose and a chain connecting the two. A generation was outraged. I thought it was amazing and it appealed to me greatly. At the age of 8, I was buying Sex Pistols records. On 8 December 1981, I was walking through Manchester with my mum, when I saw the Manchester Evening News headline on a seller’s board near Debenhams: “Beatle Lennon Shot Dead”. It felt like my heart stopped beating. The world stopped turning around me, everything went into slow motion. I couldn’t have felt worse if my own mother had dropped dead before my eyes. How could he have gone? What would I do without John Lennon in the world? To say I mourned for weeks is understatement. The effect that moment had on me lives with me to this day. The newspaper stand is still in the same place, and each time I pass it, I relive that day. And so my musical journey continued. I have to say, my music collection from that time is eclectic. I’m not ashamed about that – and it provided the foundation for who I am today – I’m open-minded about music and will listen to new stuff/recommendations – I don’t like it all, but I don’t have to – the appreciation is all subjective. Although I cannot lie – I don’t like genres of hip-hop/dance/today’s r&b – and I tend to avoid those. And I don’t like insipid music. And then I got into boys. As with now, wit and intellect prevailed over looks, and my first serious boyfriend was very intelligent, but even better, he played a Les Paul. Very well. He was clever, he was in a band, and I was his girlfriend, it couldn’t get any better. With him I went to see The Damned, The Stranglers, Siouxsie and the Banshees, PiL. Lots of firsts with Mark. And then he fell in love with drugs. Looking back, I was lucky – I didn’t get involved with drugs. But from that point on, his perspective changed. At this point, he got into Hendrix – hence the negative association for me. I couldn’t appreciate the artist because to me he represented the whole drug culture to which I lost my first love. And until tonight, that opinion has remained. In 1985, two wonderful things happened to me. I found The Smiths, and in finding The Smiths, I found James. After the noise and craziness of the late 1970s, the early 1980s had given way to a different type of music – synthesized. A move away from guitars and real drums, and whilst it still has a place in my musical history, when I first heard “This Charming Man” I was blown away by the return to pure guitars/drums/vocals. I immersed myself in them, and on seeing them for the first time, James were the support, and I was equally mesmerized by the amazing sound and the freaky dancer. As I had immersed myself in The Smiths, so too I did James, even ringing Factory records and ending up in a “pen-pal” situation with the band for some time to come. I was 17. Heady days. I properly mourned when The Smiths split. I felt my life had ended. These influences seemed so right on the diet I’d had when I was younger: Roy Orbison, Lonny Donegan, Johnny Cash, Donovan, The Dubliners, The Beatles, the Stones, Eric Clapton, plus all the 1960s and 70s stuff that was being played on the radio stations I listened to at the time. Good stuff. Guitars. Vocals. I could name intros in less than one bar, name bands and singers and the year (and month) the records were out. My record collection grew and grew. Songs had been and continued to be the soundtrack of my life. There was always a pertinent lyric, always a track I could bung on for catharsis, or for making me dance. To this day, I use lyrics to explain how I feel. Madchester happened. Grunge happened. Britpop happened, I’d find myself in small basement record shops seeking out obscure bands and tracks, buying promos. I’d sit by the jukebox in Corbieres and play fantastic track after fantastic track. I’d be up dancing like no-one was watching in sticky, grimy clubs. I loved it. I love it. The years have gone by and my love of music has never waned. Live gigs are to me like a shot in the arm. I feel alive. I love to feel the bass reverberating through my body. I laugh, I cry, I dance. I get dumbfounded. My repertoire has expanded, but some of my favourite tracks have not been consigned to the past and continue to be played. They still evoke the old feelings. I can be 14 again, sat in my bedroom crying because Martin Harrison dumped me because I wouldn’t let him take my bra off. If he’d waited a few more months… And the return of James – I still feel like it’s all been a dream. Being in Club Academy whisked me back 22 years to seeing them in a similar basement location at the Boardwalk. When they played “If things were perfect” it was 1985 again. To be honoured to get that time back, with them sounding still as good, if not better, has been a privilege. They say be careful what you wish for – but who wouldn’t have wished for that wonderful April just gone? And so, back to tonight. I knew the programme would be good when the opening music was “New Rose” by The Damned. And I watched, and I learnt. Jimi Hendrix: awesome. 23 years old and playing like that – how could I have underestimated him so? It feels liberating to have cast aside such a hang-up on such a major musical influence. After the programme, I felt educated, and I’m looking forward to the coming weeks, despite next week’s including Pink Floyd. Well, I may have to draw the line somewhere… It is some weeks later I write this addendum. Tony Wilson has died. Above, I wrote about the impact John Lennon’s death had on me, and Tony’s death has impacted the same way. Tony was always around as I was growing up: on Granada Reports, and on So It Goes, where he introduced me to the music I know and love. He WAS Factory Records. I’ve met him a few times, saved him from my mum at the airport once (a story for another time), and I guessed I thought he’d always just be around. And as ever, a lyric prevails, swimming round my head. What did Don McLean sing? “The day the music died”. This is how it feels to be lonely.