last dance

Two thousand, zero, zero, party over, oops, out of time. Tonight we gonna party like it's 1999.

That's the song on repeat in my head every time I get to go out.  Which isn't often. I mean the real go out, not the going out to the shops to fill up my cupboards out, I mean out out. Handbag, phone, keys, purse, nail varnish, lippy (and inhaler) out.

These nights are few and far between. And I'm beginning to understand why.

My knowledge of where to have a good night has disappeared.

Now I'm not looking for the nights of the past where I'd be stepping out when everyone else is heading home; freezing my ass off because queuing up for the cloakroom wastes valuable dancing time; leaving someone mid-conversation because the DJ is playing a 'Tune' - cue one hand up in the air.

No that's not me anymore. But not through want of trying. It's because I simply don't know where to find a decent venue to groove, rave or mash it up on the dancefloor, anymore.  There are bars and clubs aplenty in this city but none offering a night with the music that'll make me get off my coveted bar stool.  When I've tried a 70s/80s / soul night before, the best tracks are played pre 7.30 to a few bar huggers and then ditched for chart noise when the young 'uns arrive. Time to queue up to collect my coat.

I refuse to believe that there isn't a disco night out there that conjures up the spirit of Studio 54 or a funk night to raise the ghosts of soul groovers or... I know, I know a ska night - where you skank 'til you can't skank no more.

Don't get me wrong, I'm partial to a bit of the stuff my girls listen to but if I get the chance to be out dancing, I need to be among my crowd; my tribe; my people who wanna get on the good foot.

I long for a club where you enter like the Soul Train dance line. Or failing that, I am invited a Blues house party, that my parents used to talk about, where you'd feel the bass of the music in the walls and in your chest. I've considered holding one myself but doubt my neighbours here at Twickers Towers would approve.

I'm determined so I'll keep looking and be content with that one 'tune' on a night out that I know all the words and dance moves to.  Or just save my shapes for the kitchen where I hear the resident DJ spins tunes to make you cut a rug.*  

*I was referring to me...with my own playlists..in my kitchen...alone.

there's a star man waiting in the sky

We all have landmarks that colour our lives and parking personal events aside, there are the media moments creating a soundtrack to our memories. Sorrowfully many of these are attributed to the death of public figures.

My first understanding of the shock waves that often occurs after the passing of a celebrity was River Pheonix, back in 1993. My university flatmate and I spent the night consuming alcohol and crisps during a River Pheonix film marathon; spending our final grant pennies at Blockbusters Video Store. Death had reached our generation. 

Watching the news break live on telly and listening to the woe from London radio listeners I could do little to stop my own David Bowie flashbacks. 

Whether it was attempting to perfect the croaky voice over in China Girl "Oh baby, just you shut your mouth" or playing the 7 inch single "Dancing in the Street" over and over again after Live Aid. One of the few tunes I played on my battered record player that Mum didn't ask me to turn down.  I'm a child of the 80s so this is my Bowie era. By the time I discovered him, Ziggy Stardust was a constellation away.  But as many people are saying today, we have all grown up with his music.

When I donned my faded rhinestoned Bowie t shirt this morning my key Bowie memory was during my turbulent teen years; wearing ripped jeans, far too many earrings, a leather jacket with tatty suede tassels and strolling to the shops with my rare-to-visit aunt on my mum's side. Still moody from an argument with my mum about my attire and the numerous posters of weird looking popstars on my wall, I was stopped in my tracks when told that my mum had covered her own wall in David Bowie posters when she was a teenager. Apparently she loved him. 

My mother. Into modern music. Loving a pop star. This was the stuff of nonsense surely.  I suppose in an attempt to save face, Mum never admitted her David Bowie crush.

But I cherish the image of my mum, all funky and afro-cool, lying on her teenage bed gazing up at a poster of David Bowie. And I'll also make sure my own teen-to-be is regaled of my own poster-love when the time comes.

This post first appeared on Post40Bloggers.com : Bereavment : 11 January 2016

I got the music in me

You can't have too many songs on your playlist. Never. Ever. Music can make or break a day in my life. I may wake up like the proverbial bear but if the right tune is playing on the school run...well arguments cease in their tracks, the volume is turned right up, and me and the 3G croon all the way to the school gates and back home again.

Music is so evocative of our life and times.  A song can take me back to hoiking on scruffy school uniforms in my 1980s bedroom, to the warm tummy butterflies when getting ready for a first date, to packing suitcases for child-free holidays, to the first steps in my wedding shoes, to a person I don't speak to anymore, to the moment a me and the GeordieLad changed the first nappy.

I could be doing the most menial job at home when a Joan Armatrading song comes on, and I am instantly reminded of AWOLMum , grooving and singing as she struggled to release just washed natural afro curls out of my 14 year old head into perfect plaits on a Saturday night. So for all the muddy water that has run under our crossed bridges this moment makes me smile, which leads me to telling the 3G about the good times I shared with my own mum. Music did that.

There is a song for every mood, every moment, everything that matters. Playlists are great for recording a musical memory for who you are at a particular time. Remember the old mixtapes? Well I'm currently on a mission to recreate my old tapes into itunes playlists because, yes I still have them, and sometimes it's good to look back - on the good and bad times. Music helps me do that.

For ages now I have enjoyed the contributions to Typecast's Soundtrack to my Life and have been trying to construct my own compilation. Unfortunately I just can't seem to choose 5. For ever one I take off the list, another ten are sitting ready and waiting. However the popularity of this link up surely goes to show how many other people feel the same way. Music will always do that.

So you can never have too many songs on your playlist, or even too many playlists! Take some time out today to find a song or two that just zips you back to some happy days. Then get in your kitchen and get your groove on.

This post is linked up with #post40bloggers #writing prompt17: You can never have too many  

Everybody hurts

Days like these are becoming too regular lately. My morning is by the mother of all clouds. I get through the day on a crutch of a smile, so that Geordie Lad and the 3G are none the wiser. By nightfall I no longer have the strength to resist; I allow the mist to settle and it feels like someone is kicking me down a bottomless pit.

I had thought about writing in depth about what it's like; to give some insight to those who see me through the dark days. However after a long, warm shower, the crewof5 asleep (well except me, obviously, but settled in bed so near enough!), and 3 hours of catch up iplayer I am resurfacing and feel that a lighter approach is called for.

And this is the thing, this is how my days, months, years, decades go. Not to the dizzying heights or hellish holes of my twenties, but still - it's all or nothing most of the time. It's exhausting you know, and not just for me I'm sure.

I know there are people in my life who just don't get me when I'm like I'm am, there are people in my life who don't know I am like I am, and there are people who accept the me I am. I belong in the first category. I refuse to accept it is okay to be like this, I get that it's natural and can't be helped, but why must it continue. I look around me and mine and we're okay; so why the misery, the insecurity, the self-damnation. I want to do and see and live so much, yet it feels like I have stone shoes on - co-ordinated with concrete coat and hard hat. I'm convinced there is a parallel me out there with a super smile and living my earthly me's dreams. 

So what gets me out of the hole? (I have just read a fantastic and insightful blog and learnt that this can also be referred to as the black dog) Music on the very bad days. I can barely move on these days but within 5 minutes of some good tunes, I am dancing like it's 1999 - literally, I was 28 then and a mover on the dancefloor!  Most of the time, my 3G and Geordie Lad see me right. Then there is my cushion of womenfolk. Some I see often, some when needed, and some not nearly enough, and one is missing...but that's for another day.

Goodnight London, wherever you are.

Happy Birthday to ya

It's here people. It's finally here. 40 and ready to rock n roll! The list is already in full effect. Invitations have been written and sent and replied to.
This is now starting to get quite surreal. There are people I know who dread this age, but out there in the blogsphere - there are so many women embracing the 4-0. And why not? I look at the trendy teens tottering out there leacherous London nightclubs and I heave a sigh of relief. Honestly, I do.

Look I've had plenty of nights out on the tiles, and I dare say I still have a few more left in me. But the worst feeling is to be stood in a sticky floored disco, not knowing any of the words to one single song, and bouncing surreptitiously in the corner. I have accepted I may like the occasional top 10 single...shoot...download, but I haven't got a scooby who may have sung it or what they look like. And I don't care. Do you know how good Duran Duran's 'Rio' still sounds at top volume in your car on the way home from work? If you ever feel that your youthful vigour is a thing of the past, whack in Hits of the 80s or better still, put an LP on the dusty turntable, and the fancy footwork will come flooding back.

I have decided this is a year to reminisce and love all that my childhood flock wallpaper '70s was, revel in the batwinged '80s and relax about my hedonistic '90s. I'm alive and well, I have an interesting job, the most supportive friends, my family are wonderful and everyday brings a challenge. This life is far from perfect, but who's life is? I intend to remain excited about what the future has to bring. And it all starts here. Oh man, I'm crying now...hormones...It's my party and I'll cry if I want to ;)