I’ve been a music fan for as long as I can remember. From listening to the Muppets album at my grandmother’s house as a five year old, through to playing a cassette of the soundtrack from Electric Dreams, and on to my first live gig (Heart, if you must know – credibility was a distant prospect at that point in my life), music was a central part of being a kid. Much to the dismay of She Who Was Born To Worry and Little Sis, who were forced to endure me listen to Kajagoogoo’s ‘White Feathers’ album more than was ever necessary.
Now I’m watching The Young Ones (the kids, that is, rather than Rik Mayall, Nigel Planer and co) grow up with an equal love of music, manifesting itself in hours wired up to their iPods or locked in their rooms listening to The Clash and the Arctic Monkeys (The Eldest) or Miley Cyrus and Katy Perry (The Youngest). To be honest, I don’t care what they like – I’m just happy to see them care about such an important art form. Although if I have to hear the Cheetah Girls again, I won’t be held responsible for my actions. No court in the land would convict me…
Tonight as I put The Youngest to bed, we ended up in a conversation about the relative merits of being an adult or a child. Delivering her killer blow, she triumphantly cried: “Children are the future!” All this succeeded in doing was making me sing a song with the opening lines “I believe the children are our future/teach them well and let them lead the way.” After a brief flirtation with believing that the song was USA For Africa’s “We Are The World”, I finally and proudly managed to work out that it was “The Greatest Love Of All.”
“Who’s that by?” questioned The Youngest.
“Whitney Houston, of course,” I replied.
“Whitney Houston? Who’s he?”
Welcome, my friends, to the all too fickle world of showbiz.