What kind of love have you got?
You should be home, but you’re not
A room full of noise and dangerous boys
still makes you thirsty and hot
It’s funny how some things just sort of pass you by. For example I’ve never been in an Ikea store. It’s not that I’ve got anything against Ikea. Part of it is that I’ve never felt the need to drive over two and a half hours to shop somewhere, followed by driving two and a half hours back, and part of it is that I’ve never really wanted to buy whatever it is Ikea sell.
It’s been the same with Amy Winehouse. I was listening to a local band play Costa the other night and they announced that another local lady artist was going to have an evening of Amy Winehouse tribute songs. I metaphorically nodded to myself and commented, again to myself, that the lass was good and her gig would probably be a good night.
It was then I realised that I’d never knowingly listened to a single Amy Winehouse song. I might have heard them played in shops or lifts or whatever, but I try to avoid shopping in places where they play the music loud enough to let you hear what the song is. I hadn’t heard her on the radio because I never listen to music radio stations. In fact the only reason I’d heard about her at all was that I’d seen headlines about her in newspapers but never really bothered even skimming the articles because a pop star in trouble isn’t really news. Whether it’s the fault of my daughters for not introducing me to her I wouldn’t know, but to a certain extent they’ve probably washed their hands of my musical tastes.
I was driving back from the vets pondering this and had music playing; The Eagles album, Hotel California. And then the track, ‘Victim of Love’ came on. It seemed to gel nicely with what little I’d picked up about Amy Winehouse by accident, but it did strike me as a little strange, summing up a singer with a song released seven years before she was born.
But never mind, thinking about it, I’m unlikely to hear much of her music in the future, for much the same reason that I never heard any of it in the past.
But then, I don’t really need it anyway, there’s plenty of really great music out there and if nobody recorded anything new ever again, I’d never miss it.
I suppose that this is an attitude I’ve come across elsewhere, when people say that we don’t need new writers because we’ve got plenty of excellent books and we can get them on our e-readers free and for nothing.
So whenever you decide that, actually, you cannot be bothered looking through all those unknown writers trying to sell their books, remember that if you’re not careful, you’re just following Jim down a road which would have meant that Amy Winehouse remained just some lass who could sing a bit, and played the occasional pub gig.
Tell me your secrets, I’ll tell you mine
This ain’t no time to be cool
And tell all your girlfriends,
you “been around the world” friends
that talk is for losers and fools
There again, what do I know? Speak to an expert
For this collection of stories, our loyal Border Collie, Sal, is joined by Terry Wogan, Janis Joplin and numerous dairy cows. Meet pheasants, Herdwicks, Border Collies, and the occasional pink teddy bear. Welcome to the world of administrative overload and political incomprehension. All human life, (or at least all that hasn’t already fled screaming for sanctuary) is here.