- Whitney Houston: One Moment in Time
- Bobby McFerrin: Don't Worry Be Happy
- D Mob featuring Gary Haisman: We Call It Acieed
- Erasure: A Little Respect
- Enya: Orinoco Flow
- Wee Papa Girl Rappers: Wee Rule
- Kim Wilde: Never Trust a Stranger
- Rick Astley: She Wants to Dance with Me
- The Christians: Harvest for the World
- Womack & Womack: Teardrops
- Kylie Minogue: Je ne sais pas pourquoi
- Jason Donovan: Nothing Can Divide Us
- Phil Collins: Groovy Kind of Love
- The Hollies: He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother
- The Beatmasters featuring P.P. Arnold: Burn It Up
- Inner City: Big Fun
- U2: Desire
- T'Pau: Secret Garden
- The Pasadenas: Riding on a Train
- Milli Vanilli: Girl You Know It's True
- Pet Shop Boys: Domino Dancing
- Sinitta: I Don't Believe in Miracles
- Bananarama: Love, Truth and Honesty
- Bill Withers: Lovely Day [sunshine mix]
- Sabrina: All of Me (Boy Oh Boy)
- Alexander O'Neal: Fake '88
- Hazell Dean: Turn It Into Love
- Duran Duran: I Don't Want Your Love
- Deacon Blue: Real Gone Kid
- Royal House: Can You Party
- Luther Vandross: Any Love
- The Jungle Brothers: I'll House You
- The Proclaimers: I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)
- Yello: The Race
- Julian Cope: Charlotte Anne
- Tanita Tikaram: Twist in My Sobriety
- Jolly Roger: Acid Man
- Robert Palmer: She Makes My Day
- Gloria Estefan & Miami Sound Machine: Anything for You
- Bon Jovi: Bad Medicine
~~~~~
There's no accounting for taste.
These words have been uttered over the years by my dad on countless occasions. I always inferred a certain amount of derision in this comment, particularly the way he'd say it. And there is something about it that makes you feel your own (bad) taste is being apologized for and dismissed at the same time. It's impossible to imagine anyone with objectively impeccable taste - assuming such a thing is even possible - receiving a similar brush off, even though it's just as logical and fair to do so. There's no accounting for bad taste and just as much for good taste.
Which brings us to this week's new entries. To me, they represent a veritable wealth of riches: Kylie Minogue's charmingly sweet Je ne sais pas pourquoi was a big favourite of mine at the time and I stand by it to this day; Deacon Blue's Real Gone Kid is just as thrilling as it was twenty-eight years ago, all yodels, stadium rock melancholy and drunken Scots wisdom; Royal House's Can You Party is an addictive tour-de-force of sampling (though considerably undermined by the nearly identical I'll House You by The Jungle Brothers); and, finally, Robert Palmer's She Makes My Day, another big fave from way back when, is a sauve, sophisticated number that serves as a helpful reminder of what an underrated vocalist he was. Yet I don't suppose many will agree: I would fully expect most to scratch their heads at all four of these selections. I could try to hammer the point home by saying, oh, that Je ne sais pas pourquoi still brings back memories of religiously following its chart progress (more on that in the next week or two) or that Real Gone Kid is the single biggest reason I love pop music or that Can You Party was great as background music but became astonishing when I finally began to listen to it properly or that She Makes My Day was the song I always aspired in vain to sing along with but there's no point. There's no accounting for taste, so why even bother? (Even if I just spent a lengthy paragraph trying to do exactly that)
The middle of October brought our first visitors over from Canada. Having said farewell to them at Calgary International Airport just under two months earlier, it was beyond surreal to have Grandma Ella and Grandpa Bill paying us a visit in Laindon.
While we were all excited to have them join us for a few weeks, no one was happier than my Mum. With my Dad, sister and me at school all week, Mum was left alone in our dreary and increasingly chilly house. Having a smaller place to live doubtless meant having a smaller place to clean which must have only perpetuated the aimlessness. She did sign up for a class on tracing her family history - which resulted in her being taken under the wing of Sherry, a kind and lovely woman who will likely crop up in this blog again at some point - but Mum's daily life was still supplied with an over abundance of alone time. Thus, when her parents-in-law showed up she was delighted. Now she could head out and show them around and they wasted no time by visiting London the day after they arrived. That first week I didn't see them a whole lot but Mum was with them practically the entire time.
Happily the first midterm break of the year was upon us. Having a week off from school in the middle of October was a new experience for me but a welcome one. While my friends were to spend the break playing on their computers or watching the lunchtime episode of Neighbours (and doubtless catching the 5.35 repeat for good measure), we'd be heading up to Scotland for our first big trip.
Spurning the view of London becoming Greater London becoming the midlands becoming northern England becoming Scotland in favour of our Smash Hits magazines (with a stroll to the first class train car to say hi to Grandma and Grandpa thrown in), it came as quite a shock to be greeted by Edinburgh. London at that point still seemed sleazy (or, more accurately, I was still disgusted by its sleaze rather than attracted to it) while the Scottish capital felt friendly and inviting. Probably romanticizing our Scots heritage a bit too much, I later claimed that it felt very familiar; in truth, I was just happy to be in such a beautiful city. It was a place I fell in love with immediately and I must have reckoned it was to be a big part of my future. I haven't been back since.
Showing up at our hotel, we were promptly informed that we only had two rooms waiting for us rather than the three Grandpa Bill had booked. In all the time I knew him I never saw him so furious. The hotel eventually sent us to another establishment, one of those large, anonymous hotels on the outskirts of town that draws in package tourists. For my part, I couldn't have been happier: the room I share with my sister had a nice, big TV and I raided their supply of instant coffee packets. Having been introduced to the supposedly lovely whipped with extra sugar machine coffee at school by a classmate, I was keen to take up consuming cups of joe though without any concern for quality. Our hotel's stock of Café Hag was much appreciated, even if I managed to spill much of it on my sheets. Dad, on the other hand, wasn't too pleased and he set about finding us somewhere else to stay the next night. He wanted someplace more centrally located and better value. The appeal of Café Hag was lost on him: yeah, there's no accounting for taste.
~~~~~
young Paul's favourite: Je ne sais pas pourquoi
older Paul's retro pick: Real Gone Kid
These words have been uttered over the years by my dad on countless occasions. I always inferred a certain amount of derision in this comment, particularly the way he'd say it. And there is something about it that makes you feel your own (bad) taste is being apologized for and dismissed at the same time. It's impossible to imagine anyone with objectively impeccable taste - assuming such a thing is even possible - receiving a similar brush off, even though it's just as logical and fair to do so. There's no accounting for bad taste and just as much for good taste.
Which brings us to this week's new entries. To me, they represent a veritable wealth of riches: Kylie Minogue's charmingly sweet Je ne sais pas pourquoi was a big favourite of mine at the time and I stand by it to this day; Deacon Blue's Real Gone Kid is just as thrilling as it was twenty-eight years ago, all yodels, stadium rock melancholy and drunken Scots wisdom; Royal House's Can You Party is an addictive tour-de-force of sampling (though considerably undermined by the nearly identical I'll House You by The Jungle Brothers); and, finally, Robert Palmer's She Makes My Day, another big fave from way back when, is a sauve, sophisticated number that serves as a helpful reminder of what an underrated vocalist he was. Yet I don't suppose many will agree: I would fully expect most to scratch their heads at all four of these selections. I could try to hammer the point home by saying, oh, that Je ne sais pas pourquoi still brings back memories of religiously following its chart progress (more on that in the next week or two) or that Real Gone Kid is the single biggest reason I love pop music or that Can You Party was great as background music but became astonishing when I finally began to listen to it properly or that She Makes My Day was the song I always aspired in vain to sing along with but there's no point. There's no accounting for taste, so why even bother? (Even if I just spent a lengthy paragraph trying to do exactly that)
The middle of October brought our first visitors over from Canada. Having said farewell to them at Calgary International Airport just under two months earlier, it was beyond surreal to have Grandma Ella and Grandpa Bill paying us a visit in Laindon.
While we were all excited to have them join us for a few weeks, no one was happier than my Mum. With my Dad, sister and me at school all week, Mum was left alone in our dreary and increasingly chilly house. Having a smaller place to live doubtless meant having a smaller place to clean which must have only perpetuated the aimlessness. She did sign up for a class on tracing her family history - which resulted in her being taken under the wing of Sherry, a kind and lovely woman who will likely crop up in this blog again at some point - but Mum's daily life was still supplied with an over abundance of alone time. Thus, when her parents-in-law showed up she was delighted. Now she could head out and show them around and they wasted no time by visiting London the day after they arrived. That first week I didn't see them a whole lot but Mum was with them practically the entire time.
Happily the first midterm break of the year was upon us. Having a week off from school in the middle of October was a new experience for me but a welcome one. While my friends were to spend the break playing on their computers or watching the lunchtime episode of Neighbours (and doubtless catching the 5.35 repeat for good measure), we'd be heading up to Scotland for our first big trip.
Spurning the view of London becoming Greater London becoming the midlands becoming northern England becoming Scotland in favour of our Smash Hits magazines (with a stroll to the first class train car to say hi to Grandma and Grandpa thrown in), it came as quite a shock to be greeted by Edinburgh. London at that point still seemed sleazy (or, more accurately, I was still disgusted by its sleaze rather than attracted to it) while the Scottish capital felt friendly and inviting. Probably romanticizing our Scots heritage a bit too much, I later claimed that it felt very familiar; in truth, I was just happy to be in such a beautiful city. It was a place I fell in love with immediately and I must have reckoned it was to be a big part of my future. I haven't been back since.
Showing up at our hotel, we were promptly informed that we only had two rooms waiting for us rather than the three Grandpa Bill had booked. In all the time I knew him I never saw him so furious. The hotel eventually sent us to another establishment, one of those large, anonymous hotels on the outskirts of town that draws in package tourists. For my part, I couldn't have been happier: the room I share with my sister had a nice, big TV and I raided their supply of instant coffee packets. Having been introduced to the supposedly lovely whipped with extra sugar machine coffee at school by a classmate, I was keen to take up consuming cups of joe though without any concern for quality. Our hotel's stock of Café Hag was much appreciated, even if I managed to spill much of it on my sheets. Dad, on the other hand, wasn't too pleased and he set about finding us somewhere else to stay the next night. He wanted someplace more centrally located and better value. The appeal of Café Hag was lost on him: yeah, there's no accounting for taste.
~~~~~
young Paul's favourite: Je ne sais pas pourquoi
older Paul's retro pick: Real Gone Kid
Not only "no accounting for taste" but "no accounting for memory" either. Wow, if I hadn't have been there I would have remember only slightly less than your account relates (although some of the events have become family folklore).
ReplyDeleteDad
Speaking of faulty memory, I neglected to include the scene we witnessed between the three or four drunken Hearts supporters and the busload of Celtic fans. I thought that was burned on my brain.
ReplyDelete