mostly david ephgrave

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 art...