Load of Hank.
From early
on in my life, my dad tried to impinge on my musical taste.
I must have been ten when he offered to buy me an album as a treat. I’m not sure what I'd done to earn it. I remember being given a Paul Daniels Magic Set when my pet rabbit died, so perhaps the circumstances were similar. My parents' gift-per-grim-reaper-visit technique gave me a distorted sense of mortality; it wasn’t until my mid-twenties that I accepted I wouldn’t be rewarded every time someone or something close to me shuffled off this mortal coil. Thus ending my killing spree.
We were walking through Stevenage Town Centre when my Dad put forward his offer. He said I could have any album I wanted.
‘Anything?’
‘Anything.’
I searched my head for ideas. A band came to the forefront almost instantly. I’d spent most of my childhood flicking through my parents’ record collection; when you haven’t got siblings, you take your entertainment where you can. When it came to choosing my favourite artist, one name kept coming up.
‘I quite like The Beatles’, I said.
‘No you don’t. You like The Shadows.’ Before I could complain, my dad had grabbed my hand and dragged me into Smiths.
I must have been ten when he offered to buy me an album as a treat. I’m not sure what I'd done to earn it. I remember being given a Paul Daniels Magic Set when my pet rabbit died, so perhaps the circumstances were similar. My parents' gift-per-grim-reaper-visit technique gave me a distorted sense of mortality; it wasn’t until my mid-twenties that I accepted I wouldn’t be rewarded every time someone or something close to me shuffled off this mortal coil. Thus ending my killing spree.
We were walking through Stevenage Town Centre when my Dad put forward his offer. He said I could have any album I wanted.
‘Anything?’
‘Anything.’
I searched my head for ideas. A band came to the forefront almost instantly. I’d spent most of my childhood flicking through my parents’ record collection; when you haven’t got siblings, you take your entertainment where you can. When it came to choosing my favourite artist, one name kept coming up.
‘I quite like The Beatles’, I said.
‘No you don’t. You like The Shadows.’ Before I could complain, my dad had grabbed my hand and dragged me into Smiths.
I came out moments later clutching this.
I sat in front of
my Hi-Fi system that afternoon, disappointed. Four sides
of sterile instrumentals lay before me on double-cassette. My God, it was shit. Calling a
fifty-song-compilation by any artist their "greatest hits" would be a bit of a stretch.
The Shadows could whittle it down to twelve at a push.
I’m still a big Beatles fan twenty-three years later. The Shadows still leave me cold. If my dad wanted their album he could have bought it for himself. He didn’t need to use me as an alibi.
To be fair, my dad did buy most of my guitars for me. One of them is a Beatles bass. I also own a Fender Stratocaster. It’s black though, not red; I wasn't going to fall for the same trick twice.
I’m still a big Beatles fan twenty-three years later. The Shadows still leave me cold. If my dad wanted their album he could have bought it for himself. He didn’t need to use me as an alibi.
To be fair, my dad did buy most of my guitars for me. One of them is a Beatles bass. I also own a Fender Stratocaster. It’s black though, not red; I wasn't going to fall for the same trick twice.
