Hello OneTrackMinders (or did we settle on OneTrackMuskoxen?), and welcome to our Springiest newsletter yet.
First to business – it’s a show week this week. Just the two shows this time, saving ourselves the mind-destroying stress of another matinee, but as with everything at OneTrackMinds HQ we strive for quality over quantity. We’re back at Wilton’s tomorrow night and Wednesday night. If you’ve not bagged your tickets yet, don’t panic - you’re still in time. While we’re at limited availability for tomorrow, there are still some tickets available for both nights if you want to come and change your lives with us at Wilton’s Music Hall. There’s more information about all our guests at the bottom of this week’s newsletter, but for starters, get your tickets here.
Here’s a question for you - how many songs makes you think of your parents. Did they sing you nursery rhymes? Play you the songs they grew up with? Were you one of the lucky ones whose parents introduced them to The Beatles, Nancy Sinatra, The Rolling Stones or The Doors?
I’m very present with this at the moment because it’s my Dad’s 80th birthday in May, A few weeks ago - eighty days before the big day itself - my siblings and I setup a WhatsApp group where we’ve been posting memories, funny stories, reminiscences and so on to draw out this huge momentous celebration for as long as possible.
For me SO many of my memories of Dad are connected to songs. It won’t surprise you to hear that I like to think that everyone has music running through their lives. Sometimes it’s a deeply beloved bands that we think belong only to us. Sometimes it might be an annoying earworm from Parry Grip or that old Birdseye Potato Waffle commercial1.
Though this is certainly true of my Dad, it’s only recently that he has become actively musical. A few years ago, he decided to pick up his trumpet again, after a 70 year hiatus (enforced thanks to some neighbours who called the police on him after they couldn’t take another rendition of Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White). These days, he plays with the ardent passion and punishing practise regime of a new Louis Armstrong. One time I was driving home from work and I called him Dad for a chat. He picked up the phone and said “Ah, perfect timing…” and then proceeded to play 45 minutes of his favourite songs on the trumpet as I sat in the car, taking it all in. A selection of Jazz Classics, Vera Lynn instrumentals and Church songs blared out of my speaker as I sped2 down the M25, listening to a radio station that only I could tune into. In the repertoire is always a rendition of My Son, My Son which, has somehow subconsciously become embraced into my own cannon and I regularly sing it to my own boy.
But it wasn’t always like this, and I don’t think I was always as grateful for their musical contributions.
One song from my childhood that my Dad used to sing, triggers a flashback. It reminds me of bright lights turning on early in the morning, yanking me up from sleep like a fluffy toy in one of those claw arcade games. My Dad sang it loudly and to this day I still don’t know the provenance of it. The lyrics went:
Good morning, good morning, good morning world,
And how’s the world with you today?
I dreaded hearing it. But looking back, it now signifies early mornings when I got to go running with him, and enjoy precious private time together before the rest of the world woke up.
And while other parents were bringing their children up on Bruce Springsteen, Paul Simon and other more canonically respected artists, my car journeys were a steady looped diet of Roger Whitaker. Which, along with a series of terrible haircuts, bought me precious little street cred…3
The notion of ‘cool’ that governed my school years wouldn’t have admitted any of the above into the canon. Not by a longshot. But now that I’m (almost) past the notion of peer pressure, and have finally rejected the need for permission from other people to define what I’m allowed to enjoy, I look back on these songs, on these introductions, and feel that I really was one of the lucky ones.
What songs did your parents introduce you to? Let us know in the comments.
While you ponder that, enjoy a little refresher of our guests this week!
Tomorrow’s stellar lineup of guests includes comedy legend Doon MacKichan (Smack the Pony), author Thomas Leeds (The Jayben Series), journalist and author Alice Vincent (Why Women Grow), poet and author Amy Key (Arrangements in Blue) and comedian Samantha Baines.
Then, when you come back on Wednesday night, we’ll have a completely new set of fantastic storytellers for you, including former Home Secretary Alan Johnson, conceptual artist Hannah Marshall, journalist Harriet Gibsone, comedian and actor Sadie Clark and entertainment consultant Stacey Carr.
As always, you can take advantage of our special offer by entering the code OTMCast at checkout, allowing you to get top-price tickets for just £11. Bargain!
These are our last two shows until May so don’t miss out on your fix. See you tomorrow night!
AS.
An exceptional ear worm if ever there was one. But to be fair to Birdseye Potato Waffles, they are waffly versatile.
Remaining within the speed limit at all times.
This is why I love the Big Train sketch about Ralph McTell and Streets of London even more than Simon Pegg could ever truly understand…
My dad to me... Kenny Ball & his paramount jazz band, Acker Bilk. (& you thought YOU were uncool) But he redeemed himself & big band jazz is in my DNA.
Me to my kids .... Lightning Seeds, Lighthouse Family, Stones, Tamla Motown.
My kids to me London Grammar, Fat Freddys Drop. ( It works both ways right?)
My parents did not sing to me but I have a lovely memory of David Suchet on One Track minds when I was able to go to Wilton's. Can I add that I find Kristian's recommended articles really worth reading, particularly the one on the demise of theatre.