I had a crafty look at my neighbour’s CD collection the other day. I was supposed to be watering his plants, and obviously I fulfilled that task with my characteristic attention to detail, miraculously failing to kill any of them in the ten days he was away.
I had a crafty look at my neighbour’s CD collection the other day. I was supposed to be watering his plants, and obviously I fulfilled that task with my characteristic attention to detail, miraculously failing to kill any of them in the ten days he was away. But I was drawn to the music shelves as a wasp is to jam. He receives nearly as many of those pleasing little cardboard CD-shaped packages from Amazon as I do. What was in them? Joni Mitchell, it turned out. John Martyn, Tom Waits, Neil Young, a little Van Morrison (which goes a long way), Dylan, of course, most of the great 1970s singer-songwriters…and also a smattering of Prefab Sprout. No, more than a smattering: an abundance. A man of taste, then. Must make sure not to overwater his geraniums.
As it happens I had had a new Prefab Sprout CD sitting on my own music shelf, unplayed, for several months. This is not the usual rock critic bleat: too many CDs, too little time. (Can anyone have too many CDs?) It’s just that I bought Let’s Change the World with Music (Kitchenware) when it came out late last year, then didn’t play it in case it turned out to be rubbish. Hopeless, I know, but only the bands you love most can affect you in this way.
Pop music has its share of impossibly robust egos, seemingly invulnerable to criticism and sharp blows to the head.
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