Wednesday, April 05, 2017
Older age brings with it a certain desire to wallow in the warmth of nostalgia. That complicated but simple lie we tell ourselves that whilst "we've never had it so good" or this is "as good as it gets" the hazy past remains a place of peace and golden perfection where mostly good things happened. Anyway, any recent history that happened during my conscious life is of interest, if only for me to learn how my opinions or experiences may differ from that of the author. The case for 1971 being the best year in rock history is likely to be a pretty solid one. David Hepworth knows his cultural onions and at that point in modern time I was but a mere lad of 16, confused, ill informed and advised and with little or no concept of harsh reality or the unique moments in history that I was living through. In other words I was the same as everybody else, passing through, sometimes sad, sometimes blue etc. etc.
Now it's all gone for a ball of chalk; memory is an unfaithful mistress and forty odd years of living have deeply etched over the vivid images and sounds of those days. Blue skies, grey skies, lots of sky and lots of self indulgence and ignorance mixed with the teenage arrogance that (hopefully) you grow out of by the time your twentieth birthday card hits the mat...I was perhaps a little late in blooming with that attribute. I'll read this, disagree about a few things no doubt and then reflect that if somebody wrote a similar book about 1972 or 1973 their case could be equally strong. None of it matters now, all those bright young creative and influential people are now in their seventies or just plain dead, read and remember, weep maybe but don't look back in anger.