Saturday, February 18, 2006

Stifled at Birth.


I'm about the same age as 'Rock'n'Roll'. To think that, back in the days when Bill Haley was flagrently inciting impressionable youngsters to slash cinema seats and, even worse, gyrate their genitals, all by dint of a suggestive kiss curl...

Back then they mocked as reactionary old fuddie-duddies anyone who had the nerve to suggest that we were toppling over the edge of a Niagra Falls of filth which would inevitabley lead to a society with the morals of a putrid cess pit, and indeed Davina McCall.

Now, if just one person had had the courage to make a stand, let's say the producer of Cliff Richard's seminal debut single, and said when the 'Young One' began to warble provocatively, "You can 'Move It' outside, mate. We don't want that sort of filth here."
Think of the torrent of atrocities which could have been prevented in that moment. No 'Summer Holiday', 'Bachelor Boy', 'Goodbye Sam', Hello Samantha', 'Power to All Our Friends', 'Devil Woman', 'Miss You Nights', even 'Mistletoe and Wine': none of them had to happen.
All the monstrous regiment of imitators, all of the DaisyPot Men, and the Terry Tinsels and the Kaiser Chiefs, with their inspiration cut off would have remained harmless skifflers.
And, given a sharp reproof in time, even the 'Peter Pan of Pop' might have been saved from his nightmare of tennis and Christianity and ended up as Harry Webb: happily married.

If only it had happened.

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