Sunday, July 12, 2009

Seventeen Years Past Due for "Carousel"

iPod Random Shuffle - 8pm on a Sunday. Only a couple of songs recorded in the last 20 years and very few artists that debuted after 1985 (actually, very few after 1979). God I'm a fossil.
  • Sulphur to Sugarcane - Elvis Costello
  • Rain - Beatles
  • London Calling - Clash
  • 5ive Gears in Reverse - Elvis Costello
  • I Love a man in Uniform - Gang of Four
  • Live Through This (are we there yet?) - Groovelily
  • Dancing Queen - ABBA
  • Galileo - Indigo Girls
  • Please Mister Postman - Beatles
  • Sixty Eight Guns - The Alarm
  • Los Angeles - X
  • The Boys of Summer - Don Henley
  • Sleeping with the Television On - Billy Joel
  • Backstreets - Bruce Springsteen
  • Fortunate Son - Creedence Clearwater Revival
  • The Blower's Daughter - Damien Rice
  • That's Entertainment - The Jam
  • I Melt with You - Modern English
  • Private Idaho - B-52s
  • Dress Rehearsal Rag - Leonard Cohen
  • Pale Blue Eyes - Velvet Underground
  • Desolation Row - Bob Dylan
  • Soul Corruption - Graham Parker
  • You cannot Win (if you do not Play) - Steve Forbert
  • New York, New York - Nina Hagen
  • Gimme Shelter - Rolling Stones
  • Gloomy Sunday - Billie Holiday
  • God - John Lennon
  • Parting Gift - Fiona Apple
  • Heroin - Velvet Underground
  • Suzanne - Leonard Cohen
I realized that I was getting very old after I strained my back into the second mile of what I thought would be a relaxing jog on a mild summer evening. Christ, my body is falling apart, I thought - just a few weeks shy of 47 years. It's the new 27, though, right? Right? Who I am kidding? I'm not jogging, I'm running from the sandmen. When I finally limped up the stairs into the house, I shuffled back through the songs I'd been listening to and it only confirmed what my body had been saying: dinosaur. I couldn't even tell you what passes as 21st century popular, or cutting edge or even shitty music these days.

Gosh - quarter to 9 - almost time to put my dentures in the glass for the evening and tuck into bed ...

And enough entries into this #!)# blog, for crying out loud. You won't have anything left to scream into your pillow.

Anyway, bedtime for bonzo,

Yours truly,
Dorian Gray

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