I had an urge.
Not like that, this one was music related.
I felt a need to buy some newish music, and by "newish" I mean new to me, to put in the car and soak up and enjoy in the coming days and weeks. You see, one of the things about being a musician, even a lowly drummer, is that it's important to keep listening to things I wouldn't normally choose. It's all about broadening horizons and influence, being open to new ideas and whatnot.
Abandon me on a desert island, tell me that I can only take a few objects and I'd choose some funky stuff and a bit of hard rock, probably some Thin Lizzy and Foo Fighters and some real old school James Brown or Meters or similar. Those are my natural favourites, but I like to find new artistes and genres too. Although I'd be smart and just say that I'd like to take my iPod, with charger, laptop and wireless of course.
Just for clarity a desert island is different to a dessert island. The former is an island with sand, scantily clad women, Robinson Crusoe and a huge reality TV crew filiming some sort of cross between a survival show and a gameshow. These islands are always referred to in the feminine gender for, as everyone knows, no man is an island.
The latter is a free standing counter in a five star hotel buffet packed full of pineapple fluff, chocolate biscuit pudding and strange looking things featuring jelly and chocolate. Each dish is made with about fifty per cent more sugar than would be used in the west and it's Sri Lankan law that each label must contain at least one spelling mistake.
Where was I? Ah yes. So I was in HMV, desperately trying to find the chart CD section. It's a sign of the times here that the layout of music stores is now geared towards DVDs, blue tack, or whatever this new fangled thing's called, Nintendo Wiis and iPod accessories. Somewhere out of the way is the chart CD section and it's habited by old blokes like me. I should add, for the sake of credibility, that I use iTunes and the iTunes store frequently. I wouldn't want you to think I'm a luddite, whatever that actually means.
Once I saw the CD section I ambled over there, gave my id to prove I'm over forty and was let in to look around. The first thing to catch my eye was the new Gorillaz offerring. A friend was raving about it to me the other day and, as I think Damon Albarn is a musical genius, there wasn't much thinking to be done and I chucked a copy in my basket and continued to peruse. The truth is that I didn't actually have a basket so I just carried it in my hands but you don't need to know that.
There wasn't much to grab me. Nor was there much I wanted to grab. And then I saw it.
I ask you, how hard is it to spell the word "bubble"? It's pretty easy isn't it? It should have been a danger sign when I saw it spelled as "buble", but if it was then I missed it. I picked it up and read the blurb. This Bubble chap has been getting a lot of attention lately. A, my fifteen year old, loves his most recent single and the snippets I'd heard of his sounded okay, in an easy listening sort of way. Sorry about the amount of words in this paragraph with Bs and Ls in them, it just happened, I really shouldn't babble so much.
I figured that a fellow like the Bubble would probably have the best musicians money can buy on his songs so I looked at the track listing and I was right, the list of drummers; Vinnie Coluiata, Josh Freese, Peter Erskine and more was a list of the best drummers in the world. I added the CD to my basket, the one I didn't have.
I was a bit embarrassed on taking the CDs to the checkout. The trendy chap serving me gave me that look that they do to old people. It was clear that he thought the Gorillaz CD was a present for someone and the Michael Bubble one was for me. I felt that need, you know the one, to tell him that I'm a drummer, a real one in a band, and that I wouldn't normally buy stuff like that. I didn't though.
Later that day the new CDs got put into the multidisc stacking thing in the car. If nothing else I was eager the check out the artistry that I knew I'd hear on Mr Bubble's work, the Gorillaz album I knew would need some more intense listening, far less of a singalong thing, more of a listen to it loudly when I'm on my own, or driving home in the rush hour type of thing.
Well, after some persistance I've concluded that Michael Boobfuckinglay is a ponced up club singer. I'm sorry for the strong language but there's no other way I can express my sentiments, what with my limited vocabulary. There are some fantastic classic songs, like All Of Me and Cry Me A River, but it sounds as if they're all time classics being covered by a perfect singer. And that's the problem, he's too perfect. There's no imperfection, no character and no grit to his voice.
The musicianship is first class, in a Singapore Airlines rather than Sri Lankan Airlines first class sort of way, as is the production. It's just not happening for me.
On further listening I realised that this really is music for girls. I'm sorry if any girls are offended by this but it's a sad fact. If there are any men out there who like Michael Bubble, men whose name doesn't begin with "D" and end in "inidu" that is, I want to hear from them.
I love music, I suppose I collect it, I've even got the Milli Vanilli CD somewhere, but I think I'll give this one to A. I know that K will just look at it with scorn, even though she still has a strange soft spot for Celine Dion. I'll probably stick it on iTunes first, just in case.
And, should Mr Buble ever happen to be at one of my gigs and ask if he can sing a song or two, I'll suggest that it would be fine, as long as he can manage to chuck some flat notes in now and again, maybe forget a line or two or perhaps come in just a couple of beats too late occasionally.
Then, and only then, he'll be a real singer my son.