Not even warm with the Hottest 100

I am officially old.

I’ve just read the Top 10 in this year’s Triple J Hottest 100, and I don’t recognise ONE SINGLE SONG! Okay, if I heard them I might know one or two – maybe – but I only recognise two of the bands too!

Where did the last 15 years go, since Mikey and Helen, and Ange Catterns, and even (heaven forbid, for a short time) Catriona Rowntree? Since the Manchester sound, and Aussie indie, and remembering where I was when they announced Kurt Cobain had topped himself, and sitting in the car at a shopping centre car park in Melbourne listening to Amanda Collinge play ‘Fuck the police’ on her last morning show?

One of my friends was backstage at Southbound this year and had some pics of a guy and a band – I asked her who it was, because he looked like I sorta should recognise him, and it was Pete Murray for chrissake!

The Seven Year Old has been singing Elvis’s ‘Hound Dog’ this weekend. Plus he loves listening to Chuck Berry’s ‘Never Can Tell’ and the Beatles’ ‘Here Comes The Sun’ (off the ‘Love’ remixes, just to clarify). He plays air guitar to Santana and loves Fatboy Slim’s ‘Weapon of Choice.’ Says it all, really, doesn’t it.

Oh. My. God. I just remembered: I needed some vacuuming music yesterday and pulled out, for the first time since its purchase in 1992, Mariah Carey’s first album! There is no hope.

Kings of who?

Hang on, aren’t they those brothers who were raised all churchy and have now channelled, shall we say, the more adventurous sides of their personalities? I did read about them, wearing my new glasses, in the TV magazine. That’s right; nice boys, but could do with a hair cut.

I am officially old.

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