I wish my life …

Could be soundtracked. From my earliest memories, music has always been a vital element in my life. Throughout my childhood, music was pivotal in providing escape from my reality, as pivotal as reading was. 

Writer. Folk musician. Teacher. 

My dream jobs. 

Whilst I have started to learn to play many instruments, I am not a natural musician and whilst my singing voice won’t make your ears bleed, it also won’t make your soul sing lol. 

Until recently, music also framed my drive to work and fueled my imagination. Anxiety – meh. Robbing your life of all that you know. However, it’s absence is temporary. 

My childhood years were dominated by The Seekers, Dusty Springfield, Elvis, Cher, Abba, The Beatles and Nana Mouskari. Obviously, my dad’s records were all I had access to. But it didn’t matter. 

Moving into adolescence, I was consumed by the radio and the Top 40. Enter Pseudo Echo, Kids in the Kitchen, Cindy Lauper, Uncanny X-Men, Spandau Ballet, Bananarama, Madonna, Prince, Michael Jackson, David Bowie and Wham. Yep, enough said. 

The nineties and grunge. To this day, Pearl Jam are still my favourite. That will never change. Pearl Jam incited my activism, my writing, my teaching, my spirituality. Pearl Jam has sustained and supported me for well over twenty years now (thank you Andrew). And then there was Nirvana, Faith No More, Rage Against The Machine, and anything else alternative. It was during this time that I also caught up to Cold Chisel, Midnight Oil and Queen. 

I love musicals. I have always loved musicals. They have been constant. A combination of story and music – nothing better in this world. 

But as time passes, my musical heroes are retiring or dying. The deaths of both Bowie and more recently, Prince, this year highlight the passage of time. We are all dying. The one guarantee that we have from the moment that we are born is that we shall also die. Our mortality is what makes us human. 

I am sure that every generation feels a nostalgia for their childhoods and time gone past. 

I wonder though, if this generation will be able to reflect on their childhoods with similar nostalgia. I’m not so sure that their musical idols will offer the lasting legacy that my childhood has. 

Music is one area, of many, that epitomise for me, the growing reality of Orwell’s proles. We are raising a generation that lacks depth and the ability to look beyond. And our musical heroes are dying. 


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