Sunday, 3 October 2010
Sunday Night is... The Rhythm of the Rain
The Cascades. I am thirteen in 1962 and this worms its flimsy way into my still tin, newly-English ear; and now, watching the rain - stopped right now for a few minutes? - it comes back. The potency of cheap music and all that: the music of nothing much but a few chords, a sad trite tune, some clean cut boys whose faces merge with that of other contemporary clean cut boys, Bobby Vee, Bobby Darin, The Bachelors, Cliff and the rest, just ticking over, waiting for the real Sixties to begin. It's coming, lads. It's almost there. Just round the corner, in 1963, you can hear Gerry and the Pacemakers singing How Do You Do It (those girls! I knew them all! thought about them, went to school with them) - or was it I Like It - as I did, in the school corridor, after a football match, near the hall on a Saturday when somebody brought in a transistor radio, and I thought: This is new.
The early Sixties are to be taken only in small doses. I think this is small enough.