You listen to music all day every day, sometimes without even realising it. The builders that I’ve had in over the past week brought in their own radio and I have been hearing the songs playing in the background behind the banging and scrapping and drilling.
I wish they’d chosen a better station, I wasn’t going to be a mardy cow and ask them to change it. But honestly four days of love torn melodies was far too much to take. One more mountain climbing, river crossing, moon reaching songstress and I do believe that Mark would have had to hide the knives.
It’s not that I don’t enjoy a bit of ABBA or Motown, but it has its place. Usually at a wedding or a Christmas party when you’ve had a couple of drinks and you sing the words without thought and you sway, in what to you is perfect time to the beat, but to everyone else is reminiscent of an elephant trying to cross a lava flow.
It’s not the climbing the mountain to get to your loved one, nor crossing the ocean wide that counts, it’s the number of dirty dishes you are willing to wash up, how many pairs of dirty underpants you’re willing to pick up. When are the crooners going to get it right.
Can you imagine S Club Seven?
Reach for the suds,
Wash every T-shirt cleaner.
Reach for the sprays,
To make the toilet cleaner,
Reach for the cloths,
And when the dust lands on the books,
That’s when you know just what to do….
Sod the Rainbows coming over you, I’m not waiting around for a Unicorn to have an orgasm.
I had a debate last night on FB, actually it was early hours of this morning. “What type of Metal head are you?” It seems that I’m an 80’s rocker. Eighties, I give you the grandmother of Metal, I’m a Ramones fan, a diehard Motorhead Rock chick. But apparently that’s not Metal enough. I’m just confused. When people ask me, “What type of music do you like?” I get a bit stuck. The question should be, “What type of music do you listen to as you do X Y and Z?”
Classical is for housework. Nothing beats a bit of Bach belting out over the hoover. ABBA is for getting up in the morning. I can bellow with the best of them in the shower and over the hairdryer. I don’t need to hear the music as I dry my hair I know the songs so well that I can sing along even if the music is drowned out. I just wish that they would keep up. There must be a problem with my Tablet, it seems to slow down when the hairdryer is on and it takes a while for ABBA to catch up with their lyrics.
I can boogie to anything, but you can’t beat a bit of reggae. Now that’s a style of music that really rocks my boat. I can hip jive with the best of them, although I don’t think that telling the doc at the hospital I want a hip replacement so that I can do the flying splits again went down too well. Mum thought it was funny. You see mums had one hip replaced and the other one repositioned. She was a mere 66 when she had it done, but last year the replaced hip started to give her jip and we went to see the consultant.
“It is to be expected, and we will keep an eye on it,” was his considered opinion.
I could have saved the NHS money and sat in a room and told people that. I insisted that they x-ray, and after a lot of fluffing, it was agreed. Not because I thought there was anything wrong, but just because of his shear arrogance. Fobbing off a person just because of their age is a bit of a no-no in my book. As it turns out mum has worn the replacement socket down, too active apparently. So, when the doc asked if I had any problems, presumably to worry me to death, as he stated, “we find this type of thing runs in the family,” I was delighted to inform him that I can only do the splits from a standing position now a days and could he give me a more flexible hip so that I could do them from a triple back flip?
Some doctors have no sense of humour. Mum pissed herself, literally. Tena ladies are invaluable don’t you think.
I love my opera, and I also like country, but each in their own place at their own time. To sit and hear music and to actually notice the words rather than trying to out sing the vocalist with your own voice, is extremely depressing.
Here’s a really good one for you. No prizes for guessing the song, but once you get it, I just know that it will be in your head for the rest of the day. You can thank me for that later.
I have a dream, a song to sing,
To help me cope with anything,
If you see the wonder of a fairy tale,
You can take the future even if you fail,
I believe in angels,
Something good in everything I see,
I believe in angels,
When I know the time is right for me,
I’ll cross the stream – I have a dream.
It’s really depressing but it’s sung with such a catchy tune that we belt it out as soon as it starts, whether it be in the security of our own home, or in a supermarket. It was so funny, as I rounded the corner of the display cabinet, I could hear several individuals humming and singing softly to themselves. “I believe in Angel’s,” in choral synchronicity. Hell, even I was singing. I waited until the last bar of “I have a dream.” It seemed only natural to put down my basket and….Clap. I laughed and I heard several people laugh with me. The woman who had been intently looking at smelly candles looked up. She smiled.
“Do you know I didn’t even realise that I was singing.” She was still smiling.
“And beautifully at that.” I added.
I wonder if any of them actually thought about the words, I mean come on, it sounds as though the writer was trying to convince themselves that they weren’t depressed.
“I have a dream, a song to sing, to help me cope with anything.”
I mean how depressing is that. Oh my god, everything is so hard, I know I’ll sing my way out of problems. Oh, look I’ve had a car accident, I know I’ll sing my way out of it, after three. One, two, three, “Chitty chitty bang, bang, chitty chitty bang bang, chitty chitty bang bang we love you…”
“You can take the future, even if you fail.”
What the? Even if you fail, well I must say, that’s really cheerful. Sod the fairy tales, I want the reality of life.
I’ve decided that climbing mountains is all well and good, but I’m sure life has provided us with easier ways to get to the one we love. As for crossing oceans, sod that I’d rather fly. The poetic licence of the lyricist is beautiful. Words written with such love and attention. All meant to touch the hearts of those in love and those who have lost. Music after all is food for the soul.
Me I’m going for catchy tunes and a good rhythm after this week.
A bit of Slade maybe, I mean you can’t go wrong with…
“Well alright everybody, let your hair down, want to see everybody get up off their seat, clap your hands, stamp your feet, get down, get with it.”
What am I listening to right now, honestly?
You can’t beat a bit of Verdi’s La Traviata on a Sunday morning.