Loathe
him or loathe him, part time lover and paint can power pop balladeer
Phil Collins is a revelation. Yes, Phil Collins, the ferret faced
uncle of pop, with his vocal sack of heartache from his Su Su studio
of emotional longing is a living breathing revelation.
Before
you start choking on your biscuit shaped prejudice. Yes, I understand
that Phil Collins is probably an anathema to everything you believe
music should be; soul blah integrity, blah blah, artistic vision
blah, but we are talking about pop here, and pop music is a genre
that will always be the giant turd on the dance floor of life because
the general public are an inordinate bunch of yapping dogs, and you
know that you are miles better than them simply by owning a Clash
album that isn't London calling. You win, but in the genre of pop
music Phil Collins is a revelation, worthy of our respect and
admiration.
Why?
Because there is something glorious and hopeful that at one point in
musical history Phil Collins was the world's biggest pop star.
Phil
Collins couldn't dance, couldn't talk, the only thing about him was
the way he walked, Ellie Golding or Rhianna he ain't and yet it was
probably his song your Auntie Margaret danced to at her wedding to
Uncle Peter while wearing that big orange pom pom toilet roll cover
dress.
Phil
Collins, was hugely popular even though he looked more like a
plumber than a pop star. He wasn't cool, he wasn't sexy, he didn't
have elaborate dance routines with a harem of scantily clad women,
but he did have no1 hits and that was a wonderful thing that seems
sadly lost in our current pop climate.
There
will never again be room in the pop sphere for another like him, or
his ilk, Daryl Hall and John Oates, Midge Ure, Nick Heysaw, Feargul
Sharkey, Michael Mcdonald, Billy Ocean and loads more that all looked
like depressed Geography teachers. Pop is a too well oiled machine
churning out ever younger repackaged models of the same sexually
explicit, high tempo music of the beautiful, toned bodied, made up,
glamour model kings and queens. I just can't see how the ordinary
looking Phil Collins's of the world would ever compete against these
Zeus like creatures?
If
you think I'm talking nonsense, I have done the maths, poorly
remembered GCSE maths, but nonetheless I have worked out that the
average age of a singer with a no1 hit single in 1985 was 31, in 2015
it is 25. At least 5 artists were 21.
This
is why whenever I look now into the shining bald head of Phil I'm
filled with deep despair because a bald head in pop music now, is as
likely as a Dodo for Christmas dinner.
It's
a sad indictment of our culture that with the onset of the music
video and the proliferation of the photograph that we are becoming
more obsessed with image, and youth and this trend is only set to
continue. Today there are very few music acts that work beyond 30, or
have exposure in the Pop realm past that age because we simply don't
want to look at them, and their crusty ageing faces. There's just no
room for wonderful naffness, everything has to be so edgy, and cool,
it's tiring.
Back
in the 80's there was at least some hope that if you wrote a catchy
song with a pleasant melody you could have a hit record, I just can't
see that happening now unless it's a novelty push a pineapple up you
arse kind of record.
The
worse thing is, it's a great loss. For anyone who has ever had a
conversation with a 21 year old that isn't 21, will tell you, they're
all idiots. Obsessed with drinkin in the Klub, and having fun, and
enjoying life, Yuck. What the hell can a 21 year old tell me about
the vicissitudes of life and the pitfalls of love? Phil suffered a
divorce after his wife had an affair with the painter and decorator,
that's real pain.
So,
thank your lucky stars that Phil is out of retirement. He is a
walking relic of a different age, soon to disappear into the air
tonight, and we'll be left with toddlers shouting their
incomprehensible nonsense.
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