f4f3 | I made you a poll about my dinner party but LJ eated it. Now I am sad, and will write about old sing

Because I am old, and easily bored, and have the attention span of - oh! Shiny thing! - brown boxes show up addressed to me at my work or home with a fairly distressing frequency (three today). A couple of weeks ago one of the flat, square type arrived, and I opened it up to find a CD I'd forgotten that I'd ordered. Lloyd Cole is going out on an acoustic tour with his son playing guitar for him, and they recorded some of their rehearsals, then issued them as a "white label" for a few dollars through his web page. There's sixteen tracks, 14 of them previously recorded, one new song, and a lovely cover of "Pale Blue Eyes", which has been one of my favourite songs ever since I heard Paul Quinn cover it in a basement just off Charing Cross, a couple of decades ago.
I popped the CD into my car stereo this morning, and listened to it twice through on my commute. I really loved it. The songs were released between 1984 and, oh, now, and the arrangements are very simple. His voice has mellowed, and he sings the tunes to suit. Theres a beautiful, slowed down version of "Brand New Friend" that works particularly well.

Anyway, this got me to thinking about the fact that my favourite CDs of 2012 are this one, and the accoustic re-recordings Martin Stephenson has made of his first four albums. Some of this songs are 30 years old.

When I was first listening to them, I'd have been as close to 1953 as I was to 2013, and if you'd asked me if I thought I'd still be listening to those songs now, I'd have laughed in your face. Except, that in 1983, my parents, who were about the age then that I am now, still had a few things hidden away that I'd sneak out and listen to. The early Stones albums (we were a Stones household - the Beatles didn't get a look in). Buddy Holly. Aretha Franklin, Johnny Cash. Each of them sent shivers down my spine, even when I was buying the Sex Pistols, or the Jam, or the Clash and looking down on that dreadful, self indulgent prog crap from the 70's.

I mock those who pay £700 to see the Stones now, but I'll be off to see Martin Stephenson next week. I won't be paying £700 (I doubt that he'll be payed £700 for the gig) but I'll be there. I'll go and see Lloyd next time he comes round. And I hope that some 15 year old, somewhere, is blowing dust off their parents vinyl copy of Rattlesnakes, or The Boy's Heart, and gets the same rush I got from hearing Peggy Sue, or Paint it Black, or RESPECT.

Never underestimate the power of your granpa's cheap music.