Nobody told me. I didn't know. Punk. No thanks. God didn't invent synthersizers, David Sylvian and the 1980's for me to go around listening to the snot and snakebite of The Sex Pistols.
1988, a Saturday, in Liverpool, a record fair in the Adelphi Hotel, in the days when you went to record fairs just to look at records. I have enough money to buy something, but not just anything, get it wrong and I have to live with the consequences, and no-one wants to live with consequences. 'Marquee Moon', the name rang a bell -'seminal' - Melody Maker speak for 'important'; Television, New York, Tom Verlaine, the man had the name of a poet, not a Vicious or Rotten in sight, surely there will be no snot and snakebite from a man with a poet's name. Ok, this is it, the only other thing I have seen is a Magazine album which is supposed to be their worst; fuck that, if I have the best what's the point of having the worst.
The train home takes so long. Another 15 minutes from the station to my house. 4.00pm, good I can listen to it once all the way through before the results come in...'What I want, I want now"
Televison - Marquee Moon (1977)
No comments:
Post a Comment