Still “Color My World” or possibly “Precious & Few”. The slow dances from early adolescence are powerful and persistent. It wasn’t until “My Funny Valentine” that they were unseated, and not a minute too soon.
Fantastic, Joe, fantastic. This was one of my gateway songs, though unlike you, I knew perfectly well the meaning of the word "willy." So did my mum, who found the song hilarious. It was the era of "My Ding-A-Ling," adolescently comical Judge Dread singles and a joie de vivre about pop music that made it so much damn fun to jump on board. I remained a loyal Sweet-ist (is that a thing?) all the way through their number ones, watching as they gradually replaced Chinn-Chapman's names with their own and understanding from this how the music business worked. Ultimately, great singles don't need to have their lyrics explained - it's enough that you and I caught the intent, songs like this offered a sense of rebellion and freedom that even an 8-year old could relate to. As for records getting destroyed, my older brother once threw a wild party when my mum and I were away for a weekend, which I'd have been jealous of if not for the fact I found my copy of Quadrophenia on the turntable (second disc) scratched to hell literally overnight. I do believe he was forced to buy me a replacement. Later in life, an adopted cat in Manhattan decided to treat my walls of valuable LPs as his scratching post; though the vinyl remains in good shape, their resale value was drastically reduced. And my fave cat ever was as excited as I was when a copy of The Stranglers' Black & White LP finally showed up from mail order. (They had waited 3 weeks to clear my mum's check!!) I played the record over breakfast before school, put the sleeve alongside me on the sofa and the cat came to see what all the fuss was about - obviously using the LP cover as part of a self-imposed obstacle course. Are any of these "fake" memories? No. But isn't it funny how they stick with us?
Great stuff, Tony. Man I can only imagine hearing the Sweet regularly on the radio all those years—what bliss. Aw, Quadrophenia! At least you could still play The Real Me and Punk Meets the Godfather! ;-)
I've been blessedly free of cat-led destruction of albums so far, and that's with thirty years of cats behind me! How long will my luck last....
This essay smells just like a Broome Junior High Teen Club dance.
What was the slow dance?
“Color My World”. But at the party in Mindy’s pine-paneled basement it was “Wild Horses”.
If the slow dance had taken place several years later (Philly sound, disco era), what song would it had been?
Still “Color My World” or possibly “Precious & Few”. The slow dances from early adolescence are powerful and persistent. It wasn’t until “My Funny Valentine” that they were unseated, and not a minute too soon.
👍 Any preferred “My Funny Valentine “ version?
Elvis Costello, 1980.
Lovely stuff.
Thanks, Paul!
This interview that my mate did may be of interest to you, by the way. https://punknoirmagazine.wordpress.com/2018/11/05/alan-savage-interviews-the-sweets-brian-connolly-may-1989/
Thanks very much!
"It sounds awesome cranked up" is like the litmus test "It has a great beat and you can dance to it" — but wearing a leather jacket.
…or wearing a parka.
Fantastic, Joe, fantastic. This was one of my gateway songs, though unlike you, I knew perfectly well the meaning of the word "willy." So did my mum, who found the song hilarious. It was the era of "My Ding-A-Ling," adolescently comical Judge Dread singles and a joie de vivre about pop music that made it so much damn fun to jump on board. I remained a loyal Sweet-ist (is that a thing?) all the way through their number ones, watching as they gradually replaced Chinn-Chapman's names with their own and understanding from this how the music business worked. Ultimately, great singles don't need to have their lyrics explained - it's enough that you and I caught the intent, songs like this offered a sense of rebellion and freedom that even an 8-year old could relate to. As for records getting destroyed, my older brother once threw a wild party when my mum and I were away for a weekend, which I'd have been jealous of if not for the fact I found my copy of Quadrophenia on the turntable (second disc) scratched to hell literally overnight. I do believe he was forced to buy me a replacement. Later in life, an adopted cat in Manhattan decided to treat my walls of valuable LPs as his scratching post; though the vinyl remains in good shape, their resale value was drastically reduced. And my fave cat ever was as excited as I was when a copy of The Stranglers' Black & White LP finally showed up from mail order. (They had waited 3 weeks to clear my mum's check!!) I played the record over breakfast before school, put the sleeve alongside me on the sofa and the cat came to see what all the fuss was about - obviously using the LP cover as part of a self-imposed obstacle course. Are any of these "fake" memories? No. But isn't it funny how they stick with us?
Great stuff, Tony. Man I can only imagine hearing the Sweet regularly on the radio all those years—what bliss. Aw, Quadrophenia! At least you could still play The Real Me and Punk Meets the Godfather! ;-)
I've been blessedly free of cat-led destruction of albums so far, and that's with thirty years of cats behind me! How long will my luck last....