Real Love or Fake
Mar. 2nd, 2015 02:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
todayiamadaisyThis meme entry is going to be long enough for an entry of its own.
Day 1 - Ten random facts about yourself
Day 2 - Nine things you do everyday
Day 3 - Eight things that annoy you
Day 4 - Seven fears/phobias
Day 5 - Six songs that you’re addicted to
Day 6 - Five things you can’t live without
Day 7 - Four memories you won’t forget
Day 8 - Three words you can’t go a day without
Day 9 - Two things you wish you could do
Day 10 - One person you can trust
I wouldn't say I'm addicted to any songs, not now, but I can be a slightly obsessive listener. My earworms need constant feeding. When I was younger I used to listen to things on repeat: whole albums, a single song, or even, once I had a Walkman, just a couple of words. Over and over, until I got it out of my system. Actually, I still do that. These days it's songs, which I buy on iTunes, listen to many, many times, then retire until it turns up on shuffle and I remember. I don't really buy albums any more. I miss that a bit.
Anyway, this is is history of musical obsessions in chronological order.
1. Baby Face - Bobby Vee
I grew up with a multi-generational music collection. On one side of the record cabinet were my grandparents' records. My grandmother liked older music: old-style country music, just a man and a guitar, although she did have a best of Kenny Rogers; old-style dance music by Jimmy Shand and His Band; old singers like Nelson Eddy and Peter Dawson; and the Magic Organ Playing Hymns We Love. My mother's records were in the other side of the cabinet, being the collected works of Leonard Cohen, Joe Cocker and Rod Stewart. There was also a Demis Roussos record that no-one seemed to own. The only person to listen to it was me, because I liked "My Friend The Wind". At that stage my own contribution to the cabinet was limited to read-along books and a novelty red plastic single of "Another One Bites the Dust" that came with my hula hoop.
The real attraction to me was at the back of the record cabinet, behind my grandmother's albums. That's where the singles lived. Most of them were my mother's from when she was a teenager, most of them by the Beatles, but some of them must have been my grandmother's, dating from the late 40s/early 50s, when her children were too young to be music connoisseurs (her eldest being born in 1947). My favourite was "Baby Face" by Bobby Vee. Apparently my uncle G played it for baby me when he came to visit, and played it again, and played it again and again and again, thus inadvertently setting me on the path to musical obsession.
My mother has all those singles now, so one day they will all be mine. Except "Another One Bites the Dust", which turned out to be prophetic. (In the sense that I folded it in half to see how flexible it was, and found that it was very flexible, until it was quite brittle. Snap!)
2. Gymnopédie No. 1 - Erik Satie
Picture, if you will, walking hand in hand with your loved one on a sandy, windswept beach. His moustache and your long hair are wafting in the breeze. You are both wearing tight denim jeans, ugg boots and sheepskin jackets. Later, oh no!, he goes away, and you while away the lonely, rainy afternoon wearing your sheepskin jacket and sitting on the windowsill in soft focus, waiting for him to return. Finally, his car turns into the driveway and he gets out, wearing his sheepskin jacket. The two of you settle down for an evening drinking red wine on a sheepskin rug in front of an open fire, still wearing your sheepskin jackets and ugg boots, on what will, literally, be a hot date. True romance, all underscored by a very pretty piece of piano music.
That, f-list, is a description of an early 80s TV commercial for a leather and sheepskin clothing shop in Ballarat called The Skin Inn (or The Skin Inn, to give it the weird emphasis the announcer gave it). I loved that ad. I gave it my full attention every time it came on, because of the music. I was desperate to know what it was, but this was before the internet so I had no way of finding out. (It didn't occur to me to ask my piano teacher... or anyone else, now I think about). Years later, there was a free CD in the newspaper one day. I put it on and the first few notes started and I nearly jumped out of my seat in excitement: the Skin Inn music! Or Gymnopédie No. 1, as its composer knew it. Every time I hear it, I think about The Skin Inn. I'm sure that's what Erik Satie would have wanted.
3. Just Like U Said It Would B - Sinead O'Connor
We went on holiday to Adelaide in the mid-80s and my mother said I could buy a couple of magazines for the trip, so I'd have pictures to look at in the car (reading makes me car sick). As it happened, I'd been thinking that, now I was twelve, I should really start listening to more grown up music, so I took the opportunity to peruse the music section of Roger's Newsagency and eventually purchased my first ever copy of Smash Hits magazine. I believe I was persuaded by the twin attractions of an interview with the Pet Shop Boys *and* the complete lyrics (plus translation) of "La Bamba". Grown up music.
I can't remember if it was that issue or a subsequent one that reviewed Sinead O'Connor's first album, The Lion and the Cobra, but I do remember that the review was positive and that I was fascinated by the photo of her looking fragile and interesting in a way that hearty, rosy-cheeked I was not. So I bought that album and I listened to it and I listened to it and I listened to it and I still didn't turn into her.
4. Veronica - Elvis Costello
I believe this was another Smash Hits recommendation, although I remember that I'd already heard "Veronica" and read the review out of recognition. And I bought the album and I listened to it and listened to it and so on and so forth. I would have said my favourite song off the album (Spike) is "God's Comic", but I apparently love "Veronica" more, as I own five versions of it (the original and four covers). It's so bouncy and sad.
5. Today I Am A Daisy - Deborah Conway
Deborah Conway is an Australian singer whom I've always liked. She sounds like herself and no-one else. I can't remember why I bought her album, Bitch Epic, but I did, and I listened and I listened and I... you get the picture. I love the whole album, but, obviously, there is only one possible to song to pick as its representative. I heard a radio interview with Deborah Conway, in which she said she thought of this as a sad song, about yearning to be things you're not. It's never struck me like that. Anyway, savour the 90sness of it.
6. Little Wonder - Augie March
A thorough tour of my musical obsessions would stop at Radiohead's OK Computer, but I only have six songs, so let's just wave at them as we head into the new millennium. Probably the last album I became obsessed with, as opposed to single songs as happens now, was from Augie March, an Australian band. I loved Little Bird so much I sent it to friends overseas. I still love all the songs from it, but this is the one I often find myself humming.
Day 1 - Ten random facts about yourself
Day 2 - Nine things you do everyday
Day 3 - Eight things that annoy you
Day 4 - Seven fears/phobias
Day 5 - Six songs that you’re addicted to
Day 6 - Five things you can’t live without
Day 7 - Four memories you won’t forget
Day 8 - Three words you can’t go a day without
Day 9 - Two things you wish you could do
Day 10 - One person you can trust
I wouldn't say I'm addicted to any songs, not now, but I can be a slightly obsessive listener. My earworms need constant feeding. When I was younger I used to listen to things on repeat: whole albums, a single song, or even, once I had a Walkman, just a couple of words. Over and over, until I got it out of my system. Actually, I still do that. These days it's songs, which I buy on iTunes, listen to many, many times, then retire until it turns up on shuffle and I remember. I don't really buy albums any more. I miss that a bit.
Anyway, this is is history of musical obsessions in chronological order.
1. Baby Face - Bobby Vee
I grew up with a multi-generational music collection. On one side of the record cabinet were my grandparents' records. My grandmother liked older music: old-style country music, just a man and a guitar, although she did have a best of Kenny Rogers; old-style dance music by Jimmy Shand and His Band; old singers like Nelson Eddy and Peter Dawson; and the Magic Organ Playing Hymns We Love. My mother's records were in the other side of the cabinet, being the collected works of Leonard Cohen, Joe Cocker and Rod Stewart. There was also a Demis Roussos record that no-one seemed to own. The only person to listen to it was me, because I liked "My Friend The Wind". At that stage my own contribution to the cabinet was limited to read-along books and a novelty red plastic single of "Another One Bites the Dust" that came with my hula hoop.
The real attraction to me was at the back of the record cabinet, behind my grandmother's albums. That's where the singles lived. Most of them were my mother's from when she was a teenager, most of them by the Beatles, but some of them must have been my grandmother's, dating from the late 40s/early 50s, when her children were too young to be music connoisseurs (her eldest being born in 1947). My favourite was "Baby Face" by Bobby Vee. Apparently my uncle G played it for baby me when he came to visit, and played it again, and played it again and again and again, thus inadvertently setting me on the path to musical obsession.
My mother has all those singles now, so one day they will all be mine. Except "Another One Bites the Dust", which turned out to be prophetic. (In the sense that I folded it in half to see how flexible it was, and found that it was very flexible, until it was quite brittle. Snap!)
2. Gymnopédie No. 1 - Erik Satie
Picture, if you will, walking hand in hand with your loved one on a sandy, windswept beach. His moustache and your long hair are wafting in the breeze. You are both wearing tight denim jeans, ugg boots and sheepskin jackets. Later, oh no!, he goes away, and you while away the lonely, rainy afternoon wearing your sheepskin jacket and sitting on the windowsill in soft focus, waiting for him to return. Finally, his car turns into the driveway and he gets out, wearing his sheepskin jacket. The two of you settle down for an evening drinking red wine on a sheepskin rug in front of an open fire, still wearing your sheepskin jackets and ugg boots, on what will, literally, be a hot date. True romance, all underscored by a very pretty piece of piano music.
That, f-list, is a description of an early 80s TV commercial for a leather and sheepskin clothing shop in Ballarat called The Skin Inn (or The Skin Inn, to give it the weird emphasis the announcer gave it). I loved that ad. I gave it my full attention every time it came on, because of the music. I was desperate to know what it was, but this was before the internet so I had no way of finding out. (It didn't occur to me to ask my piano teacher... or anyone else, now I think about). Years later, there was a free CD in the newspaper one day. I put it on and the first few notes started and I nearly jumped out of my seat in excitement: the Skin Inn music! Or Gymnopédie No. 1, as its composer knew it. Every time I hear it, I think about The Skin Inn. I'm sure that's what Erik Satie would have wanted.
3. Just Like U Said It Would B - Sinead O'Connor
We went on holiday to Adelaide in the mid-80s and my mother said I could buy a couple of magazines for the trip, so I'd have pictures to look at in the car (reading makes me car sick). As it happened, I'd been thinking that, now I was twelve, I should really start listening to more grown up music, so I took the opportunity to peruse the music section of Roger's Newsagency and eventually purchased my first ever copy of Smash Hits magazine. I believe I was persuaded by the twin attractions of an interview with the Pet Shop Boys *and* the complete lyrics (plus translation) of "La Bamba". Grown up music.
I can't remember if it was that issue or a subsequent one that reviewed Sinead O'Connor's first album, The Lion and the Cobra, but I do remember that the review was positive and that I was fascinated by the photo of her looking fragile and interesting in a way that hearty, rosy-cheeked I was not. So I bought that album and I listened to it and I listened to it and I listened to it and I still didn't turn into her.
4. Veronica - Elvis Costello
I believe this was another Smash Hits recommendation, although I remember that I'd already heard "Veronica" and read the review out of recognition. And I bought the album and I listened to it and listened to it and so on and so forth. I would have said my favourite song off the album (Spike) is "God's Comic", but I apparently love "Veronica" more, as I own five versions of it (the original and four covers). It's so bouncy and sad.
5. Today I Am A Daisy - Deborah Conway
Deborah Conway is an Australian singer whom I've always liked. She sounds like herself and no-one else. I can't remember why I bought her album, Bitch Epic, but I did, and I listened and I listened and I... you get the picture. I love the whole album, but, obviously, there is only one possible to song to pick as its representative. I heard a radio interview with Deborah Conway, in which she said she thought of this as a sad song, about yearning to be things you're not. It's never struck me like that. Anyway, savour the 90sness of it.
6. Little Wonder - Augie March
A thorough tour of my musical obsessions would stop at Radiohead's OK Computer, but I only have six songs, so let's just wave at them as we head into the new millennium. Probably the last album I became obsessed with, as opposed to single songs as happens now, was from Augie March, an Australian band. I loved Little Bird so much I sent it to friends overseas. I still love all the songs from it, but this is the one I often find myself humming.