biograffiti...

general ramblings by a self-confessed music obsessive with a taste for rock n' roll and showmanship.

[biograffiti]

50 for 50

What is 50 for 50? Well. It's my 50th birthday on 13 March 2025, and I'm not having a birthday party or going anywhere or really even doing anything special, partly because I haven't managed to organise anything, and partly because we can't leave our elderly cat. And anything I did organise would exclude some of my family and the friends I've made across my life, from work to music to fandom and beyond.

So I'm having a virtual party instead! I have compiled a playlist of 50 of my favourite and most influential songs from throughout my life, beginning and ending with two absolutely legendary tracks that were released the year I was born, and I'm sharing it with as many people as possible.

Pick a song (or more!), have a listen (however you choose, if you don't use Spotify), raise a glass of something fizzy or have a piece of cake, if you like, drop me a comment wherever works best for you and let me know what you chose and what you think of it!

The playlist is here:

Liner notes, where I explain a little of the meaning behind the songs and my reasons for choosing them, are here.

And, because it's me and I'm incapable of choosing only 50 songs from a life spent obsessed with music, there's a second playlist here:

[biograffiti]

Spandau stars carry Strange's coffin

I've been more moved and touched than I'd expected by Steve Strange's death and the reports of his funeral. I missed the New Romantic era - well, I was six, and I remember a lot of it from watching Top of the Pops with my parents, but it wasn't until fifteen or so years later when my housemate and I got cable TV that I really discovered it all. Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet, and of course Visage, that beautiful, striking video for Fade To Grey, all of them played across VH1's programming morning, noon and night, if you were lucky enough to catch them. 

I always felt that I belonged to the New Romantics, though, because I remembered the songs from my childhood, the melodies and lyrics bound in my memories, running along my veins, still setting my imagination afire so many years later. In my early twenties I worked with a few people who had known various members of Duran Duran before they were famous - one of them was at school with John Taylor, and another used to go to the Rum Runner, while yet another was married to a woman whose parents lived on the same street as John Taylor's parents; the two sets of parents had been trying to fix her up with John but she married Dave, and I can't help thinking that was a good choice - and even then it was only ten or fifteen years distant. Now I'm the same age as they were then, and it seems inconceivable that I could have been going out with a bunch of people that would go on to become as famous as Duran Duran did, in a place that became as notorious as the Rum Runner or the Blitz Club did. I went out with a bunch of people, in some pretty iconic Birmingham clubs, but none of them are ruling the world right now. 

But the New Romantics - there was something special about them. They still own a large portion of my heart; I still want to be Adam Ant, as I have since I was five years old. And I'm still mourning Steve Strange, and his awesome, flamboyant, innovative vision, the visionary genius that led to an entire underground movement storming the charts and the mainstream consciousness. As Tony Hadley of Spandau Ballet says in one of the videos embedded in the article I link to above, it's the end of an era. One of their own - our own - is gone, and long before his time. You never think it's going to happen to you and yours, but it does. The Ramones are all gone now, and most of the New York Dolls, and now it's inexorably rolling on to begin taking the next generation - those who survived their youth but are not yet even approaching old age. Plus ça change, but it doesn't make it any easier.

Sleep well, Steve Strange, in your coffin emblazoned with your own image, your distinctive hat borne on top of it into the church, by your friends including Boy George and Gary and Martin Kemp, to the sound of your iconic Fade to Grey. You are so very keenly missed.

[biograffiti]

Born to end...?

It’s twenty years since Richey Edwards went missing, today. Twenty years since he parked his car at Aust services by the old Severn Bridge and…who knows what happened next? I remember it happening, at around the same time Stephen Fry went missing from the play he was doing in the West End. Stephen came back, after a little while. Richey didn’t, and the space he left never really healed over, for anyone who had loved him or his music. I remember seeing someone, a few years later, with a leather jacket with a portrait of Richey on the back, and it spoke volumes - his people never forgot him.

I seem to recall that my brother was at university in the mid-90s with a mature student who had been a roadie for the Manics, who claimed that the band and those close to them knew where Richey was, but were keeping quiet out of respect for his wish to disappear. There have been sightings from here to Goa. But I can’t help feeling that by now, if they knew where he was, the band wouldn’t still be sounding so raw about him, his sister wouldn’t be campaigning for a change to the law around declaring missing persons to be presumed dead, wouldn’t be talking to the BBC about the agony her family are still going through. I don’t think anyone’s cynical enough to pretend all of that when they really know what became of him. I think my brother’s friend might have been indulging in a bit of wishful thinking, or a bit of late-night profile building, making himself seem just that little bit more exciting to his young fellow students. I’d always rather hoped that he was telling the truth, but now, twenty years on, it’s time to resign myself to the cynicism and the probable truth. 

I’ve always had slightly mixed feelings about the Manics. My university friend Jane, who was from Newport, just down the road from Blackwood where the Manics came from, got me into them during our first year at uni, and I loved their first album, Generation Terrorists, loved that they acknowledged my heroes Hanoi Rocks among their influences. But they got a lot more serious (understandably, as it turned out), they lost their snarling, glittering punk edge, and I was disappointed because they’d moved away from the sound I loved at the time and stopped acknowledging their early influences. I thought they should have followed through on their threat to sell millions of their first album and then split up. In other words, they grew up and I hadn’t yet, and I wasn’t quite ready to forgive them for it. I didn’t follow them after Richey vanished, just heard their songs on the radio as they got bigger and bigger, more and more successful. I heard the singles ad nauseam, and for a long time I couldn’t listen to If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next for the overplaying when it came out. I thought they’d lost whatever it was that made them special, that gave them that magic that had made Generation Terrorists such a sharp-edged, dangerous, enchanting album. 

I’m still not familiar with most of their later output. But I have their best of album Forever Delayed, and songs like Kevin Carter and You Stole The Sun From My Heart  have proved to me that they never lost that edge, not really; they never lost the political awareness that was so refreshing when they first burst onto the scene, they never lost the ability to write a killer riff, a catchy melody, a song that hooks into your heart and just stays. I was a lot more of a purist about the music I liked when I was younger, and in a lot of cases, including this one, I am not ashamed to admit that I was wrong.

This weekend’s anniversary is a reminder to me that I have much to catch up on, where the Manics are concerned. I’ve a lot of ground to cover. But today, for starters, I’ll be listening to Generation Terrorists turned up loud, and remembering those heady days in the mid-90s when those sharp-tongued, devastatingly intelligent boys from Wales looked like they were going to change the face of rock n’ roll. As it turned out, in hindsight, that’s exactly what they did.

[biograffiti]

Reblogging to add links to a few videos in the text above, and to my favourite songs from Generation Terrorists, for anyone who isn't familiar with the Manics and would like to check them out: You Love Us (Richey's the one with the feather boa at the beginning, and then the one with the shiny shirt during the song itself; he and bassist Nicky Wire appear to have swapped clothes), Love's Sweet Exile (Richey's the one with the tattoo on the right at the beginning, Nicky's the one on the left, and dear lord I'd forgotten how subtexty those two were) and one of my favourite songs ever, the sublimely beautiful Motorcycle Emptiness (Richey's the one in the pale jacket at the beginning, later in the animal print coat). One of these days that's going to be the subject of one of my '100 songs' posts. 

I've been thinking about the Manics a bit recently anyway, as I think the narrator of the novel I'm working on (a guitarist) is very much influenced by the guitar sound of James Dean Bradfield (the Manics' singer/guitarist). Time to get caught up...

[biograffiti]

helenbnosing answered your question:Born to end...?

Excellent xx

Thank you! :)

[biograffiti]

Born to end...?

It's twenty years since Richey Edwards went missing, today. Twenty years since he parked his car at Aust services by the old Severn Bridge and...who knows what happened next? I remember it happening, at around the same time Stephen Fry went missing from the play he was doing in the West End. Stephen came back, after a little while. Richey didn't, and the space he left never really healed over, for anyone who had loved him or his music. I remember seeing someone, a few years later, with a leather jacket with a portrait of Richey on the back, and it spoke volumes - his people never forgot him.

I seem to recall that my brother was at university in the mid-90s with a mature student who had been a roadie for the Manics, who claimed that the band and those close to them knew where Richey was, but were keeping quiet out of respect for his wish to disappear. There have been sightings from here to Goa. But I can't help feeling that by now, if they knew where he was, the band wouldn't still be sounding so raw about him, his sister wouldn't be campaigning for a change to the law around declaring missing persons to be presumed dead, wouldn't be talking to the BBC about the agony her family are still going through. I don't think anyone's cynical enough to pretend all of that when they really know what became of him. I think my brother's friend might have been indulging in a bit of wishful thinking, or a bit of late-night profile building, making himself seem just that little bit more exciting to his young fellow students. I'd always rather hoped that he was telling the truth, but now, twenty years on, it's time to resign myself to the cynicism and the probable truth. 

I've always had slightly mixed feelings about the Manics. My university friend Jane, who was from Newport, just down the road from Blackwood where the Manics came from, got me into them during our first year at uni, and I loved their first album, Generation Terrorists, loved that they acknowledged my heroes Hanoi Rocks among their influences. But they got a lot more serious (understandably, as it turned out), they lost their snarling, glittering punk edge, and I was disappointed because they’d moved away from the sound I loved at the time and stopped acknowledging their early influences. I thought they should have followed through on their threat to sell millions of their first album and then split up. In other words, they grew up and I hadn't yet, and I wasn't quite ready to forgive them for it. I didn’t follow them after Richey vanished, just heard their songs on the radio as they got bigger and bigger, more and more successful. I heard the singles ad nauseam, and for a long time I couldn't listen to If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next for the overplaying when it came out. I thought they’d lost whatever it was that made them special, that gave them that magic that had made Generation Terrorists such a sharp-edged, dangerous, enchanting album. 

I’m still not familiar with most of their later output. But I have their best of album Forever Delayed, and songs like Kevin Carter and You Stole The Sun From My Heart  have proved to me that they never lost that edge, not really; they never lost the political awareness that was so refreshing when they first burst onto the scene, they never lost the ability to write a killer riff, a catchy melody, a song that hooks into your heart and just stays. I was a lot more of a purist about the music I liked when I was younger, and in a lot of cases, including this one, I am not ashamed to admit that I was wrong.

This weekend’s anniversary is a reminder to me that I have much to catch up on, where the Manics are concerned. I’ve a lot of ground to cover. But today, for starters, I’ll be listening to Generation Terrorists turned up loud, and remembering those heady days in the mid-90s when those sharp-tongued, devastatingly intelligent boys from Wales looked like they were going to change the face of rock n’ roll. As it turned out, in hindsight, that’s exactly what they did.

[biograffiti]

The eight tribes of vinyl collector

It's Record Store Day UK! Whose tribe are you in? (I'm a nostalgic collector…)

[biograffiti]

Album review: Reptile Brain Music by Imperial State Electric

If you like your rock n' roll just a little bit down-and-dirty, with irresistible rhythms and a distinct 70s tinge, Imperial State Electric is the band for you. Led by Nicke Andersson of The Hellacopters and Entombed, ISE hail from Sweden, and they come armed with enough party atmosphere for everyone to have more than their fair share. Opening track Emptiness Into The Void kicks things off in storming fashion in just under two frantic minutes, and from there on in through tracks including Nothing Like You Said It Would Be, More Than Enough Of Your Love, Underwhelmed and Eyes you'll want nothing more than to be bouncing up and down or at the very least nodding your head hard and tapping your foot furiously. You'll hardly get a chance to get your breath back before the end of final song Down In The Bunker, it's that sort of album. 

ISE's sound is a little Zeppelin, a little Thin Lizzy (with plenty of twin-guitar harmonies, especially on Faustian Bargains, a song that wouldn't sound out of place on a Lizzy album), a little late-era Beatles, and of course a bit Hellacopters, but the resemblance that strikes me the most is to Redd Kross, the criminally underrated Beatlesesque Americans - although they're more straight-ahead rock n' roll than the Redd Kross songs I'm familiar with; it's something about Andersson's vocals that does it. 

They're a versatile bunch, though - Stay The Night is sung by guitarist Tobias Egge, and the slightly crazy Reptile Brain by bassist Dolph de Borst, and having seen them live last month, I can testify to their being able to pull it off on stage too. I'd gone along to see Dregen, of the Backyard Babies and also formerly of the Hellacopters, on his live double-header with his old mate Nicke, and though I didn't know anything about ISE beforehand (except that it was Andersson's band), by the time I left the venue I was a newly-converted fan. They're one of those bands who are polished but still rough around the edges live, just that little hint of danger in the air, and they look the part too, from Andersson's peaked captain's cap to de Borst's slightly terrifying pornstache. Above all, Imperial State Electric are a whole lot of fun, and that's one of the things I like most about any band. They're enjoying it, the audience are enjoying it, everyone's having a cracking time. Now I just have to catch up with their back catalogue, and that of the Hellacopters…I foresee a lot more fun in my immediate future. Which is the ideal antidote to a dull, dark, damp English January, I think. I can't recommend it enough.

[biograffiti]

a meandering sort of evening

This has definitely been an evening for sitting on the sofa with a glass of something, the overhead light off and the lamp on instead, a few candles, and a little wander through my music collection. I began with U2 earlier and then moved on to The Mission, who were, at the beginning of their career, after their escape from the Sisters of Mercy, being touted as "the next U2". According to their biography, anyway; it always read a little strangely to me, but then that was because I discovered them on my own via their single Butterfly on a Wheel and then rediscovered them a few years later via the goth scene and their even-then-years-old feud with Sisters mainman Andrew Eldritch. I always had that sort of slant on their music, rather than the stadium-filling-guitar-rock slant that music journos without the Sisters-related baggage would have had. I had a few years of listening to the Mission obsessively in the mid-1990s, and though I don't put them on much any more, it's always like re-encountering old friends when I do.

From the Mish I headed to other favourites from those years, mostly taken from a couple of compilation albums, both of which I thoroughly recommend if you can find them anywhere. One of them is Absolution: Rock the Alternative Way and the other is Nocturnal and once you get past the terrible titles, they're both rather eclectic sets of tunes from the darker end of rock and indie. Either would be suitable background music for a goth dinner party, but they also include a few not-so-gothic gems (including There Is A Light That Never Goes Out by The Smiths and Don't Let Me Down Gently by The Wonderstuff) and some beautifully atmospheric music from the likes of Dead Can Dance, Cranes, The Jesus and Mary Chain, The Cure, Fields of the Nephilim, the aforementioned Sisters of Mercy, Japan (the ever-wonderful Ghosts), The March Violets, Bauhaus and many more. Those two compilations were part of the soundtrack to 1997-1999 for me, during which I was doing a traineeship for the job I still do now, and then doing the associated masters' degree course in London (another standout album from my masters' year is Without You I'm Nothing by Placebo, but that's another post in itself…), and listening to them now, even shuffled out of order and with tracks cherry-picked thanks to iTunes' rather awesome 'up next' feature, brings back not just memories of that time, but the way it felt too, the way I felt there and then.

And then I moved on to The Cure, just because. Another band I don't know nearly as well as I should, although I have most if not all of their albums (there's only so much time in the day, is my excuse, and only so many days in the year), but the songs I do know I love to distraction. Boys Don't Cry, Charlotte Sometimes, Caterpillar…and I'm finishing up with Pictures of You, before heading to bed, tired but happy and much more relaxed than I was when I sat down and read that article earlier that started it all off. Time to blow the candles out and go to sleep.

[biograffiti]

The Clash...and clashes with yardies: the man behind Brixton Academy

Simon Parkes turned a rundown cinema bought for £1 into one of the UK's biggest venues. He tells Tim Lewis about gigs with the Clash, and egg and chips with Eric Clapton

This is a fascinating article for anyone with an interest in the live music scene in the UK, and London specifically, in the 1980s and 1990s. I've only ever been to the Brixton Academy twice - once to see Bauhaus on their Resurrection tour in 1998, and once to see the Mission, Fields of the Nephilim and Gene Loves Jezebel a couple of years ago - but both times I was struck by the sheer size and atmosphere of the place. It's an amazing venue, and definitely one better suited than most of London's big old theatres to the rough-and-tumble of the gig scene. There's also an extract from Simon Parkes' newly-published memoirs about how he dealt with the aftermath of Kurt Cobain's suicide, given that he was promoting four Nirvana shows and a festival featuring them as a headline act, due to take place a few weeks later. A salutary tale for anyone in the music business, and I can't decide whether I'm impressed at his resourcefulness or dismayed by the capitalisation on the fans' grief - but then again, the tickets were collectors' items in a way, and he did manage to keep the business afloat…(see, now you're going to have to read the article to find out what happened.)…all right, I'm more impressed than dismayed. Sterling work there on the creation of a little part of the legend.

The mention in the article of an early gig by U2 in 1986 (describing them as "a leftfield Irish band with a decent cult following") nudged me into putting on some of their music, and I'm sitting back now, listening to a nicely shuffled selection from their best-of 1980-1990 album, with a bit of War and The Joshua Tree  thrown in (yes, I'm one of those terrible people who a) listens to greatest hits compilations and b) listens to albums on shuffle - I find it a good way to get to grips with the music, and will either start a new album with a listen through in order, or will shuffle it for a while and then put it in order). U2 are one of those bands I never quite actually got into - I was always aware of them, growing up and being into music, they were never far from the radio back in the days when Radio 1 played this sort of thing without needing a specialist show for it (and Bono was just a rock singer…). But I never actually got my paws on an album, probably because I just never quite found myself hanging around with a U2 fan who'd have pushed one upon me. It's like with Springsteen - I always knew the famous bits but I'm only recently getting into it all properly.

So I'm sitting here listening to these absolute masterpieces, these classic songs I've heard a thousand times, that never fail to sweep me away. The sound is just so wide and deep and atmospheric, that jangling, almost bell-like guitar, the impassioned vocals…how is it just four of them? But at the same time it's a very simple sound, vocals, guitar, bass and drums, simplicity and depth all at once, a perfect influence for so many of those who followed them. Close your eyes while listening to Pride or The Unforgettable Fire or Where The Streets Have No Name and you're transported somewhere else, swept up into the song and carried away.

Their later material didn't click with me as much, after about Rattle and Hum, but that first decade…oh yes, they really were on fire.

[fantasmusica]

Wild Geese versus Black Swans, or: How everything relates to everything with Private Line

It feels a bit like a wild goose chase to get an interview with Private Line. The first date we agreed on falls through and so does the second, one day later, but hey – it’s Trash Fest time in Helsinki with enough other things to enjoy while waiting for a chance to talk. Private Line are headlining Trash Fest Friday and pull off a splendid set. Saturday goes by without a word (but with lots of delightful noise by fellow trashers such as Malice In Wonderland, States Of Panic and Lord Of The Lost), and on Sunday, Trash Fest VI ends with acoustic sets from some of the participating artists, with Private Line headlining again. “Someone in here who hasn’t got a hangover?” asks guitarist Jack Smack. It has been a great weekend, no doubt about that.

Playing acoustic comes easy to singer Sammy Aaltonen and guitarists Jack and Ilari Heinäaho; the three of them have been doing acoustic shows all year, and the atmosphere is vibrant and relaxed. I have been at some of these gigs, most recently at the show they played in their hometown Jyväskylä in July, but the quality of the songwriting, laid bare by the acoustic arrangements, impresses me every time. This afternoon is no exception – it’s a great collection of songs, ranging from emotional ballads such as “Grown Like Others” and “Billion Star Hotel” to heavier tracks like “Evel Knievel Factor” or “Black Swan”, reaching out to everyone on the benches and chairs that have been brought down to the floor of Helsinki’s Gloria Theatre.

With “Live, Learn And Grow Apart”, the house lights come up, and Trash Fest VI is officially over. I decide to hang around a little while longer, taking part in an impromptu rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody” with a group of musicians and crew members, when Ilari turns up again: “Still want to do the interview? – We can do it now.”

Read More

[80srecordparty]

Visit Original Link

Another Girl, Another Planet b/w Special View The Only Ones, CBS Records/UK (1978) 

[biograffiti]

Quite possibly one of the finest songs ever committed to vinyl, in my humble opinion anyway. Often to be found on punk compilations simply because it happened to be released in 1978, it's never seemed quite like punk to me. It's got the slightly ramshackle air of something from the punk era, but it's also got the sweetness and whimsy of a true pop song and the sound and melody of new wave, all of it combined into three minutes of perfect pop bliss. The Telstar-esque satellite sound effect at the beginning gives it quirkiness, the almost bell-like guitar sound lifts it up, and the lyrics are simply wonderful, evoking that dizzy, heady feeling of being on the brink of falling headlong in love. Another Girl, Another Planet never fails to cheer me up, no matter how bad a day I've had. 

(I have been meaning for ages to do one of those '100 things' memes about 100 of the songs that have shaped my life...might as well start here!)

[nightbynightband-blog]

The moment. #nxn #nightxnight #nightbynight #band #london #rock #card #playingcard #video #videoshoot #themoment #music #british #britishrock

[biograffiti]

A little more Night By Night. This writer wonders if these cards might be made available for purchase? :D

[nightbynightband-blog]

Who knows! :D They may turn up in some Special Edition CDs!

[biograffiti]

All right, I'm in. The best way to tempt an inveterate record collector is with special editions and extra goodies, you know. :D

[nightbynightband-blog]

The moment. #nxn #nightxnight #nightbynight #band #london #rock #card #playingcard #video #videoshoot #themoment #music #british #britishrock

[biograffiti]

A little more Night By Night. This writer wonders if these cards might be made available for purchase? :D

[nightbynightband-blog]

The Moment playing cards used in our latest video. #nxn #nightxnight #nightbynight #card #playingcard #themoment #videoshoot #video #london #band #rock

[biograffiti]

Here is a band you should be following if you have a soft spot for 80s (or later!) melodic rock and/or killer harmonies. The Moment is a fantastic song, and I'm really rather thrilled it's going to be a single and video very soon indeed. 

[biograffiti]

Happy Placebo Day! (perhaps a little belated, it being nearly ten in the evening...)

I almost can't remember a time when I wasn't hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Placebo. I remember Nancy Boy, before it broke big, playing on the cable music channel The Box. I remember just missing their performance on Top of the Pops that had the nation guessing whether that pretty singer in the little black dress was a boy or a girl, arriving just too late at my friend's flat before we went out for her stag night. I remember Without You I'm Nothing, one of the albums that got me through my nine months in London. I remember drifting out of touch for a while, and then back in with Black Market Music, after seeing Brian on Never Mind the Buzzcocks. I remember seeing this video, for The Bitter End (my favourite song of theirs, although only just; Ashtray Heart is a very close second), on Kerrang!TV and being blown away all over again. I remember Meds (released on my birthday) and Battle for the Sun, a triumphant return. So many happy memories, and so many friends, right across the musical spectrum, with whom I have in common a love for this amazing band.

So to you all, on the second of May...much love, and I'll see you at the bitter end.

[biograffiti]

Record Store Day 2013

I'm an inveterate collector of records, but a very lapsed one. Over the last couple of years I've been getting back into the record-shop game, very gradually - not helped by living in a city with no record shops left, but whenever I visit anywhere that does have them, I try and make a point of visiting. A couple of weeks ago I finally managed to get to the second-hand place in the next town over, as well as the independent new-records shop there, and came away with seven Bruce Springsteen CDs for less than £50 - birthday money well spent! While in the second-hand place I overheard the owner mention an upcoming record fair, and a bit of online research once I got home told me it was the same one that was always organised by the woman who used to run the record stall at my university's student union back in the early 90s - and always used to be attended by my friend who owned a record stall (see this post for more about the influence they had on my record collection). Just a coincidence that it happened to be on Record Store Day, but after thirteen years of living down here and not going to those record fairs, it was definitely time I got myself over there. A bit more research told me that my old friend is no longer doing the record-stall thing, so my hopes of running into him again were dashed, but still - record fair that I knew about in advance, in a place I knew I could get to, at a time I knew I could manage - I had to go. So that's what I did today, and it felt rather uncannily like coming home. I didn't find what I was looking for (for some unaccountable reason I don't have Hanoi Rocks' first album on vinyl), but I did find an awful lot of other brilliant stuff - lots of late 80s and early 90s hard rock and glam, most of it at pretty sensible prices. None of which I bought, mostly because I still haven't catalogued my collection so I still don't know what I've got already, but now I have even more of a reason to get cataloguing, so that next time the fair comes around, I'll know exactly what I need. 

Happy Record Store Day to my fellow collectors out there. I hope you found what you were after!

[biograffiti]

Not In It To Get Boys

Let me give you a contradiction, something that's never made any sense to me. Something that's been bothering me for almost as long as I've been into music.

If you're male and you're into music, if you have favourite bands whose songs you love, whose records you collect, whose pictures you have on your wall (first stuck up there with tape and later on framed, treasured, kept out of direct sunlight), then that's instantly respected. All right, some people will think you're a geek, but what the hell. High Fidelity, right? Music geeks are cool! If you're male, nobody questions your love of music, nobody assumes it's about anything other than the songwriting, the musicianship, the camaraderie - except, sometimes, when the musicians in question are attractive and female. 

If you're female and you're into music, if you have favourite bands whose songs you love, whose records you collect, whose pictures you have on your wall…everyone instantly assumes that you're only doing it because you're sexually attracted to one or more of the band members - including, depressingly, some other female fans who are only into it because they want to sleep with the band. Record collecting is a guy thing, isn't it, all music geeks are men, and so if you're a woman and you have more than a passing interest in music, if your passion is the songwriting, the musicianship…stands to reason you're only interested because you fancy them, right? (Of course, this popular misconception also assumes that everyone is a) straight, b) gender-binary and c) obsessed with sex, but that's an essay in itself.)

I've lost count of the number of times I've had to explain to someone or other that Michael Monroe (formerly of Finnish glam-punk legends Hanoi Rocks, now forging his own solo career again) is my hero for reasons deeper than I can adequately explain in fewer than a hundred words, and that I don't fancy him, never have and never will. He's not my type, I don't want to shag him, I just look up to him and respect him for everything he's been through, everything he's done, and everything he stands for. Nobody would question me if I was male, but because I'm female I have to explain myself; and even then I think not everyone believes me. 

And then, conversely, if a male musician is attractive to look at, he isn't taken so seriously. He's a pretty boy, all the girls love him for what he looks like, he can't possibly actually be any good at what he does. Sour grapes on the part of those doing the criticising, perhaps? Or again that insidious little idea that women can't possibly be interested in any musician for his talent; it's got to be his looks that are doing the trick. 

Meanwhile, female musicians, especially in the world of rock, also aren't taken seriously. They're only where they are because the boys fancy them, right? They can't possibly be any good, because girls can't rock, right?

Well, I beg to differ, and so do more of my female friends than I can reasonably count. Which leads me to believe that there are more of us out there, many more of us, who love music and musicians for what and who they are. All right, maybe we find some of them attractive, but that isn't the main thing (and what male music geek doesn't have his own crushes among his record collection?). We too have our heroes and heroines, our record collections, our favourite songs and the guitar riffs that send shivers up and down our spines. We can do all this without wanting to sleep with anyone, just like the boys can. Sex isn't the be-all and end-all - but music just might be.