25,000
This, then, is the 25,000th No Rock And Roll Fun post. Which, first, gives me a pause in the general flow of things to thank everyone who reads, and special thanks to commenters and those of you who send me tips and hints about stories you think I'll be interested in.
And, to celebrate this landmark, what better than some music, and a more-personal-than-usual post? Here are five musical landmarks from my life (and, if you're keen, feel free to share your landmarks through the comments section).
The first song I remember
I've got several really strong memories of songs from when I was not that much smaller but a whole heap blonder: Standing on the pouffe, singing along with The Carpenter's Yesterday Once More, creating a moment for future nostalgia out of a song that was, in itself, about nostalgia. Pilot's January, which made a massive connection in my head when I heard it while looking at a calendar displaying a January page. But, really, the first soundtracked memory I have, has this tune on it. Ringo Bloody Starr, and his you-wouldn't-get-away-with-that-now classic, You're 16, You're Beautiful, And You're Mine:
The memory itself is as underwhelming as the song, to be honest: getting up, on a dark winter's morning, to the sound of Ringo downstairs. He was on the radio. He wasn't a friend of the family.
The 'more than wallpaper' song
On Peeling Back The Years, Radio One's indulgent four-parter where John Walters explored John Peel's musical life, he posed a question "when was the first time you heard a song and thought 'this is more than wallpaper, this means something to me'?" Which is a tricky question to answer - I was already a smitten pop fan before hearing the next song, but it did something alchemical to me. This was the record where I realised that this was it; that the rest of my life would be spent trying to find records which gave me this sort of feeling of plunging deep into the heart of the sound; of that moment when the music and the lyrics and the performance resonates.
It was Blasphemous Rumours. Oh, yes, for a time, Depeche Mode were the group that defined me:
The song that changed my life
They defined me, but didn't reshape me in the way that Ride did. This came on Snub TV when I was at university, and I mentioned in a letter to a penfriend (a thing we did before the internet, young people) that I'd found my first great new band of the year. "They're playing here in Oxford next weekend, come down" she replied. So I did, kick-starting a couple of years of following bands, meeting people, growing up, sleeping in the open, falling to pieces and pulling back together. This isn't the first time Chelsea Girl has been posted on No Rock, but it can never be heard enough:
The song that sings of love
The first dance at my wedding. We're still dancing. I wouldn't be without her.
Mazzy Star's Fade Into You. If you have to have a Starr, then you need a Star to balance them out.
The greatest new song I've heard today
I hadn't heard much of the new PJ Harvey - John Parrish stuff before today, when I caught up with their live session on George Lamb's programme from earlier in the week. Sublime, as ever, making the switch from the music to the honking, the canned applause, and the provincial cabaret patter even more galling. Here's Black Hearted Love the way it's intended to be:
Music. It's bloody brilliant, isn't it?
Now, then, back to the cynical poking of people who try and ruin it...