Most people wouldn’t give two bits about this but recently, while I was having a conversation about Brit-rock with the old man and my flatmate, I ended up correcting the old man on two occasions.
Granted the first might have been a slip – mentioning the Eagles in a Brit-rock context, given they’re American.
The second was even better. They’re talking about “that bloke who did the song called Kayla or Layla was it?”
There’s me screaming “It’s Eric bloody Clapton! And what d’yeh mean ‘Was it Kayla?’
And for the final mundane win, which I will count nonetheless.
I hear dad now talking to my mate about “another one of those awesome guitarists, second to only Ginger Baker. You know he’s famous for his guitaring.”
There’s my showing off cue again, “You mean Mark Knopfler? Yes he was with Dire Straits.”
The reason this otherwise generic conversation about music is a big win in my head, is because it was the old man who introduced me to proper music.
When I say proper music, let’s just clarify I grew up in India. So music at the time was basically silly songs from Bollywood movies, with the exception of a few decent ones as well I’ll admit.
But in general, the music was bleak at best.
And most who did listen to western rock etcetera, knew as far as Boyzone and Westlife, while knowing of the likes of Bon Jovi and Guns ‘n’ Roses meant you knew far more than any person you’re likely to come across that day.
So again, when I say ‘proper music’ I mean them geniuses who would metaphorically bitch-slap the likes of Justin Bieber and Lady Gaga in a London minute. See what I did there…
We’re talking Deep Purple, Pink Floyd, and of course The Fab-Four Scouse Legends, and Led Zeppelin among many, many others.
At some point or another, it was Dad who either introduced me to them or happened to mention them and I looked them up.
After all these years, getting a couple up on the very man in terms of musical knowledge – even if it was driven by a brain freeze on his part – I will count as mega wins.