As my laptop is in the hospital I’ve decided to reblog a post from fellow musical blogger, Adam Pain.
You can find him at
When I was a child, I was full of hope. Soda-Stream American ginger ale, crisps and hope. I foresaw a world where starvation, disease, nuclear weapons, global wars, religious bigotry, bad boy-bands and movie tie-in videogames were a thing of the past.
I dreamt of enormous screens that would fill our vision like the night sky, where the best bands and artists from around the world would play music so full of passion, truth and tasteful virtuosity, the world would unite in communion. In D Major.
I dreamt of the day where we partied on the streets, as AIDS was pronounced officially eliminated. Where every child on Earth was given a fighting chance of a long life at birth through immunisation, sophisticated irrigation, space age food production and International goodwill. The world felt like it was getting small enough for it to be the garden we could all call home.
I dreamt of a time when a new spiritual awareness would sweep over the world like an electric blanket, hugging us into peaceful submission. Where we could stare awe struck into the galaxy and know that we are tiny, fragile and insignificant, whilst simultaneously being part of something huge, powerful and uniquely privileged. Where the tribal differences of the desert were finally laid to rest, in the hope we could look to the universe for the next step forward. To boldly go wherever Sir Patrick Stewart went in a maroon body-stocking.
I foresaw a world where the threat of global nuclear conflict seemed like a hangover from the past, buried deep with the rest of the cold war rubble that Rocky IV had saved us from. Apollo Creed had not died in vain.
I believed Robocop 2 & 3 would only ever make the franchise better.
I believed that the soulless saccharine of ‘New Kids on the Block’ would die.
I believed I could fly and that R. Kelly was one hell of guy.
And what did we get?
We’ve got a nation obsessed with peering into tiny little oblongs of space age super glass, watching home videos of family pets falling off coffee tables.
We’ve got a super-bug sweeping through Africa, eating everything in its wake, adding a horrific new edge to the already apocalyptic cocktail of AIDS, malaria and hepatitis C.
We’ve got tens of thousands of disenfranchised, angry jihadists in a depressingly familiar desert, about to be bombed into a thousand tiny ideological hate groups by an even angrier set of fighter jets with superior weapons and a never ending budget.
Yet we’ve got foodbanks in the UK, desperate for donations. We’ve got £1.3 trillion of national debt. We’ve got a system that penalises people for having a spare bedroom. We’ve got children in Primary Schools being reported as suffering from acute malnutrition.
We’ve got a boyband with 8 members on the telly-box, like the Manchester United of three part harmony. We’ve got Tulisa doing her very best Jodie Marsh going to a Michael Jackson themed fancy dress party, being taken seriously as a voice of cultural taste and decency. We’ve still got Louis Walsh, doing whatever it is Louis Walsh does.
We got the big screens. We brought back SodaStreams. Robocop got rebooted.
Be careful what you wish for