He goes on about Pink Floyd a lot, though I think he's lost the ability to distinguish between the original and tribute versions of the band. I think he's still a bit twisted since he had to sell most of his records to pay for me. That's what happens when you don't take appropriate precautions after meeting a girl at a new year's eve bash (yes, I'm a bastard, possibly not a clever one though).
I think there are three stages to musical taste evolution – you start off listening to anything and everything – Nik Kershaw happily sidled up to the Sisters on Mercy on my radio-recorded C90s. Then you reach the age of musical ideological purity. The bands you admit liking have to pass strict tests. And even then you have to like the least liked of their albums – the difficult album or some crappy recorded bootleg live tape you got down the market. Live in the Embankment Bogs 1992. You burn those old compilations and purge anything suspect, even your memory.
The third stage – which not everyone seems to hit – is a recapulation of the first. You start to mix it all up again. There might be a fourth stage when Celine Dion seems like a good idea, but I hope not.
