1. Speed of Sound by Coldplay
One of the first songs I ever sang on SingStar was Speed of Sound. I remember this because it absolutely infuriated me that Richard was able to beat me, not by his singing prowess, which is obviously inferior to mine, but by working out how SingStar awards points.
He would simply hold the notes for the exact amount of time that SingStar wanted you to. It was a mathematician’s approach to singing. And if there’s one thing I dislike more than losing, it’s maths.
Coldplay also remind me of how much I hate Gwyneth Paltrow, and in particular, her recent foray into cookbooks. The only food I imagine she has any appetite for is wan-tons. Did you get that? Wan-tons.
2. Speed of Life by David Bowie
Speed of Life is the first track on Low. I just listened to it, but I don’t really know it at all, even though iTunes says it’s been played five times.
I do know Bowie’s Hunky Dory, though. This is because my older sisters played that album on every car trip we ever took in our Nissan Prairie. It was played on cassette, on repeat, from a boom box that was positioned on the middle seat between my sisters.
I heard Hunky Dory again for the first time in almost twenty years recently, and I knew every single goddamn lyric. Isn’t that amazing? Seriously, every single one.
In retrospect, it’s also amazing that both my sisters were such massive David Bowie fans. Surely one of them got dibs on him first? Maybe this is why my eldest sister painted “Put on your red shoes and dance the blues” on her bedroom wall: that pretty much seals the deal on who’s the biggest fan.
It does, however, limit the resale value of your family home.
3. Daddy’s Speeding by Suede and Speedway by Morrissey.
Both these songs are absolutely appalling. They hail from my 1990s British music fetish that stole some of the best years of my life.
I couldn’t actually listen to either of these songs all the way through, and in fact I can barely listen to anything at all from this period in my life now. Not because I listened to it so much at the time, or because it reminds me of adolescence. But because it’s so bloody awful. It really is.
My mind boggles at how I could have loved it all so much. Part of me thinks that what I really loved was British music journalism (namely Select magazine), and the music just came along with it.
This is called historical revisionism, and reminds me of a quote from Joan Didion which I read recently:
“We are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind’s door at 4am of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget.”
Maybe I should at least try to listen to that Morrissey track again.