The Floyd has never really been my kind of band. As a rule, I don’t like prog rock, hair rock and interminable noodling on the guitar. It’s a short step from that self indulgence to Rick Wakeman doing King Arthur (actually I’d kind of like to hear that) …
But I’m revising my view. Some of my favourite music is coming from that former bastion of irredeemable uncoolness ‘the concept album’.
The Who sell out has long been of my faves from that legendary group. It pretends to be a broadcast from a pirate radio station, complete with fake adverts (Odorono anyone?). Classic tracks like “I can see for miles” and lesser known goodies like “Mary Ann with the shaky hands” rub shoulders, and it is lots of fun. Plus Roger Daltrey on the album cover is in the oft replicated “Yeah I’m sitting in a bath of baked beans, so what?” pose
Does anyone else wonder if their love of books is a cause for concern?
Am I the only one who hates it when the sun shines, hearing my Father’s words to go out and get some fresh air?’. Am I the sole misogynist who loves his better half and would die to save her, but grits his teeth in frustration when she insists on talking while I’m reading? Are you split between the two horrors: fear when you’ve nothing to read or being daunted by all those books gloating at the side of ones bed? Are books the first things one packs when going on holiday? Can you picture oneself on ones deathbed taunted by all the works that you’re only halfway through?