MTV: (1981-2025) The End of an Era

 

Although I haven't watched MTV in over twenty-five years, the news of its closing down has had me reflecting on what a sometimes brilliant, sometimes infuriating TV channel it was. I was about twenty when I first saw it, circa 1991/92, and it was a channel I watched a great deal initially, but then turned away from completely around 2006/07. Part of the reason for this was that my fiancée and I didn't have satellite TV in our very first flat, but even before then I had stopped watching the actual channel MTV because there was hardly any actual music on it. The last time I watched it (well, recorded it on VHS at my mum's house, actually, which was then watched over the next few days on our video player) was MTV's 120 Minutes programme, which was on around midnight and during which far more obscure, less mainstream-heavy music videos were played. It was through recording this programme that I discovered the likes of The Long Blondes (see a previous post), The Dresden Dolls, Ladyfuzz, New Young Pony Club, The Bravery, and quite a few other rare gems as well. But this was the last bit of my time with MTV.

It was very different from when I first started watching it, circa 1991/92. Initially, it was, almost inevitably, incredibly exciting. Whenever I had my mum's house to myself I would put it on. And even the videos to some of the songs that were incredibly mainstream were fascinating and well worth watching in those first couple of years. Some of my main memories are of the repetitive nature of a lot of the videos, and it seemed that the likes of Dire Straits, Billy Joel, Yes, Phil Collins, Genesis, and REM must have been included by rota during each passing hour. But even this was great. Dire Straits' Walk of Life' video was hilarious, as was 'I Can't Dance', and 'Jesus he Knows Me' by Genesis. And the video to Phil Collins' 'I Wish it would Rain Down' was actually a masterpiece, and I enjoyed watching that video very much. Here are the links for anyone interested...

Dire Straits, Walk of Life:

Genesis, I Can't Dance:


Genesis, Jesus He Knows Me:

Phil Collins, I Wish it Would Rain Down:

It was also on MTV that I first saw my very favourite promo video (still to this day), and the most heart-breaking one, too. My favourite, is 'I'm Going Slightly Mad' by Queen. In the video, Freddie (who was very ill at this point), wears a great black fright wig, and proceeds to ham it up spectacularly in a wonderfully theatrical, German-expressionism styled video. I doubt if it will ever be bettered...

Queen, I'm Going Slightly Mad:

And, then, there was the devastating 'These Are the Days of Our Lives', which was the last video Freddie ever appeared in, and which was heart-breaking to watch. Shot entirely in black and white, there is no fright wig or costume to disguise how ill Freddie was, just him and the band, performing this achingly beautiful song with class and dignity. The final "I still love you," from Freddie, complete in the original video (see below) that includes him signing out to the viewer, turned out to be his final goodbye, and the first time I saw it I was in floods of tears, as I have been on many consecutive viewings.


Queen, These Are the Days of our Lives:

But the main memory I have of MTV now, when I reflect back on those times, is actually the presenters. There were many of them but three remain in my mind. The first one was Paul King, a kind of laid back, indie "cool" guy who didn't go in for some of the insanely irritating "zany" shenanigans that used to drive me to a fury. The only reason I really remember him is because he introduced an MTV U2 weekend special in 1992, which I was so excited about and recorded quite a lot of. Unbelievably, his intro is on YouTube...

Another presenter that I recall was the exotic, Italian (I presumed), Kristiane Backer. She was rather easy on the eye (and ears compared with some of the brash American presenters!), and was so much better than all of the other female presenters, who were so obviously reading their lines from an autocue, and seemed to have little genuine interest in pop/rock music...

The third one I recall the most, however, Ray Cokes, I remember for all the wrong reasons. He was one of those infuriating, "zany" types, a kind of prototype Chris Evans, or Johnny Vaughan from the nauseating The Big Breakfast programme, and here he is for you to savour (and be haunted by from now on) in all his "glory":

But, all in all, it's a shame that MTV has finished as a channel. Although to most intents and purposes it ceased being an actual music channel many moons ago, it still signals a shift in culture and signifies the end of an era. It accompanied me through much of my early twenties and into my late twenties, and I am very grateful for its existence during those years, not to mention the gratitude I have that my mum was able to have SKY TV so I could watch it.

It was far from perfect, but served a very important pop music lifeline for many years.
I raise my glass: to MTV, and the end of an era.

And my absolute Favourite MTV moment, Nick Cave & Kylie Minogue, interviewed, sadly, by Ray Cokes, although both Nick and Kylie lead him on a merry dance, which is fabulous.

Enjoy, darlings!

Cover Version: Let's Spend the Night Together

The subject doing the rounds on social media today has centred on cover versions. Many have been posted, some of which I'd deem to be good, some dreadful, but, in the main, most have been fantastically dull. Anyway, for me, there can really only be one choice today on what would have been David Bowie's 79th birthday: his cover of Let's Spend the Night Together' by The Rolling Stones. I've never really been able to listen to the Stones for long periods of time as Jagger's voice brings me out in a rash but I deeply love many cover versions of their songs (Echo and the Bunnymen's 'Paint it Black', for example):

My favourite, by a country mile, however, is Bowie's version of 'Let's Spend the Night Together.' It simply pulses with passion, sex and vitality. One review on a Bowie webpage says, "In this song, Jagger sounds hesitant and wry, whereas Bowie is manic and confident, as though he's so sure of his conquest he's already got his eye on another one." Well, quite! 

Before we savour Bowie's pulsating version, let's remind ourselves of the pedestrian and plodding original by The Rolling Stones:

And here, in sharp contrast, is Bowie's scintillating, life-affirming, go and grab the night by the nipples (copyright Fleabag) version of 'Let's Spend the Night Together', which, for my money, makes the Stones version as drab as drab can be:

Don't you agree, darlings, that this wham bam, thank you, ma'am, glam thunderbolt knocks the Stones version into a cocked hat? And, as a humorous aside, I think I may have unintentionally 'sexted' my still-to-be future wife in our early courting days because of this song, for I clearly recall texting her the message, 'Let's Spend the Night Together, Now I need you more than ever!" one afternoon when I'd been discharged from a hospital admission. I guess Bowie would have smiled and considered it job done, in any case, as he inspires us both to embrace life and be anything but coy, darlings! 

So, which one do you prefer, kind reader? I'm sure you have your own favourite and greatly disliked cover versions. They certainly make the musical landscape a far richer tapestry than if they never existed, don't they?

"Let's Spend the Night Together,
Now I need you more than ever...

Let's spend the night together Now!"

Dedicated to the lady I texted, Lydia, who also took me to see Bowie in 2002 on a night I will never, ever forget, and who then became my wife, a little while later, in 2012.

"Our love comes from above... OH!
Let's Spend the night together, now!"
xxxx

Some 2025 Things

As the end of the year, another horror year in geopolitical terms, with wars being waged relentlessly, naked power revealing itself in more distressing ways with each passing month, approaches, and in the hope of maintaining a psyche that is relatively sane, and to attempt to get to the very marrow of life, I have turned, as I always do, to art, literature, music, style, and the non-human world, because, in all honesty, where else can one go?
I'm not going to discuss health issues in this post, as any regular (and much appreciated) readers among you know this is a constant in my life, and this year has been no different. But here are a few of the things that have made this year enchanting and interesting, listed in no particular order of importance lest we forget that art isn't a competitive sport.

As an individual who often finds that he has more in common with the culture of the past than the present day, to discover that the entire series of BBC's Play For Today is available on the Internet Archive website was for me a majestic occurrence. I have watched a couple of them, but the one that has had the biggest impact and which was genuinely unsettling was Dennis Potter's Schmoedipus, starring Tim Curry of Rocky Horror fame, in a role that was filmed the year after he had premiered the role of Frank-en-furter in London. It is genuinely unsettling, humorous and toe-curling in equal measure, but also with a big heart. I discovered that the Play For Today series was available because of one of the Hauntology-themed groups I follow, and I am incredibly grateful to them for bringing this to my attention. And this episode has that eerie, Hauntology mood in abundance. If you get the chance it is very much worth watching, and can be found here:

https://archive.org/details/play-for-today/Play+for+Today+-+S04E20+-+Schmoedipus+(20+June+1974).avi

                                      Salome, Oscar Wilde

I have studied this utterly absorbing and fascinating play in great depth this year, and it's been one of the most rewarding and richest reading experiences of my life. The icing on the cake was seeing it performed on the stage, which I finally got to do this year. Its exploration of the intense power that desire wields on our world is explored in fascinating detail by Wilde in this play. as the heroine of the title, Salome, brings tragedy untold on the characters because of her magnetic beauty. Salome herself is, also, a revolutionary feminist character, because not only does she inspire fear desire in men (and women), but very unusually for the 19th century (not unusual among the fabulous symbolist and decadent artists of the time, however), Wilde gives Salome her own fierce desire as well, and it is her insatiable desire for the Baptist, Jokanaan, that brings the tragedy to its almost inevitable conclusion. It is an incredible play full of mystery and symbolism, is still controversial even now, and it could be argued that the real star of the play isn't a human being but, that beautiful ever-present mystery in the sky: the glittering moon.

       The Government Inspector, Chichester Festival Theatre.

Having missed so many theatrical productions that I would love to have seen, to be back in an auditorium watching plays is a wonderful gift, and none more so than witnessing Nikolai Gogol's hilarious and deeply moving The Government Inspector, which was produced this summer at the Chichester Festival Theatre. Oh, where do I begin? Maybe with the author, Nikolai Gogol. His story is a fascinating and tragic one. Born in Ukraine in 1809, he is perhaps most famous for his selection of eerie, enchanting, and quite devastating short stories, which included The Nose, The Overcoat, and, my favourite, Diary of a Madman. This particular story has a special place in both mine and my good lady's hearts, as in our early courting days we used to sit in bed and I would read this story out loud to her. There are moments of great humour but it is also a melancholy tale. The main character, a typical early 19th century Russian peasant, thinks he is the King of Spain, and as the story unfolds it is hilarious and tragic in equal measure. So Gogol already has a special place in both mine and my good lady's hearts, and to see one of his plays at the theatre was wonderful. The very final scene, after ninety minutes of craziness and farce, saw the cast members all freeze in one position, like a photograph. They held that pose for a full two minutes, and as a lonely violin played wistfully in the background, it was truly one of the most stunning conclusions to a play I have ever witnessed. It was like looking at a portrait, and the sense of absurdity that is human existence was tangible in that moment. We are all in this thing called life, it seemed to say, we are all desperately trying to make our way, guessing about the future, trying to make the right decisions, and sometimes getting it hopelessly wrong. Sometimes all we can hope for is understanding and forgiveness, and it was a hugely human and compassionate way to end the play with.

So, there's a few cultural things that I enjoyed immensely in 2025. Let's hope that 2026, as always, brings us all, to quote Percy Bysshe Shelley, much enchantment of the heart.

Spotify: Wrapped

It's been a few years since I did a Spotify: Wrapped post on here so I thought I would pop this year's listening on here for posterity. It goes without saying that Spotify: Wrapped is actually a bit of a joke, and more of an advertisement for Spotify than anything else, so I don't take these things too seriously. But it does have its place, and I have found this year's Wrapped to have been a fascinating reminder of my year on Spotify.

The format obviously changes slightly each year, and this time round it had a few 'day diary listening' examples, one of which really stopped me in my tracks. It was from February, when I was an inpatient at the hospital desperately battling another bout of pneumonia that had developed because I had caught a succession of different respiratory viruses. And the memory of one of those days stood before me like it was yesterday.

The report reads:

"The night began with a late-evening spin through Release Radar - Lady Gaga, Fatboy Slim, and Moby all taking a turn - before the early hours drifted into ambient Brian Eno and Claude Debussy." 

This is almost like a torch being shined into my life at hospital at night, for around midnight, my third round of daily antibiotics is set up by the nurses, which takes about one and a half to two hours to administer. I can see myself lying on the bed, attached to the life-saving drip, listening to my beloved music which is almost as vital as the intravenous drugs in keeping me going at this point. The ward comes to life at around 11pm, with the nurses coming into my room to do observations, and supper being brought in, so I am relatively awake when the IVs are hooked up. This will have been the time when I listened to the Release Radar, and it's a pity there isn't a bit more detail about this, actually, as I have discovered some spectacular new music this year that isn't featured on Wrapped. And, then, of course, as I near the end of the IVs being administered, tiredness will obviously be increasingly kicking in, and that's when Eno and Debussy will have taken over, probably humming gently away as I drift in and out of sleep during the night.

"By midday, Pulp, Suede, and Roxy Music took the baton, with Manic Street Preachers holding the stage from afternoon through evening."

My morning IVs are administered at 6am, so at some point I will have awakened enough to want something a little bit more up-tempo than Eno and Debussy. And I can see myself, listening to my favourite, obscure Pulp, Suede and Roxy tracks, absolute wonders of the universe such as 'His 'N' Hers', 'Your Sister's Clothes', and 'Seconds' from Pulp. Suede would have been my first actual listen of the morning, I would imagine, especially the majestic 'Dawn Chorus', as the beautiful pigeons outside my hospital window will have been the first souls that I will have had the opportunity to connect with that morning, and this hymn always brings me closer to my feathered friends, along with the magisterial 'The Fur and the Feathers', and the rousing 'That Boy on the Stage.' 

At some point, I will have finished breakfast, and been attended to by the physios for my first intense session of airway clearance physiotherapy of the day, which usually takes between 45 minutes to an hour. And with this being Release Radar day it means it's a Friday morning, which also means ward round when I see the consultant. And in that strange space in between seeing the physio and the consultant, I can see myself disappearing into Roxy's dreamlike, decadent world of art and icy glamour, and I can recall only too well from experience that it will have been 'Flesh and Blood,' 'Eight Miles High', and 'No Strange Delight', that will have been savoured more than once. 

And then, following my meeting with the consultant, is the place where my beloved Manics are called upon. There are times when it seems that it's only them that can do whatever it is that my psyche so desperately needs, so it makes perfect sense to me that this would be my listening for the main part of the afternoon and the early evening, in between the many distractions of different people coming in to see me (i.e., my second round of IV antibiotics, second round of physio, the psychologist, the dietician, the CF nurse specialist; the schedule of my days in hospital really do need to be seen to be believed, and to think some well meaning friends of ours always show their concern about me "being bored" when I'm in hospital. If only they really knew). 

There are a couple of other interesting (and rather terrifying for me, personally) diary day recollections that make perfect sense to me looking back. I had many ups and downs during that winter admission and at times it was looking very serious indeed, and by consulting my actual diary, I have managed to piece together exactly what was happening on two other different days in February, and they tell their own story:

My most listened to album was Antidepressants by Suede, and it has been an incredible year for two Suede-girls like me and my wonderful wife. Not only did we get the new album, but it was post-punk inspired and Suede did a run of events in their wonderfully titled 'Suede: Post-punk Pick ups at the Southbank Centre' in September, some of which we were fortunate enough to attend. The highlight was a dream concert, which will live in my memory for as long as memory lasts, featuring a full orchestra, the exquisite Paraorchestra. We have rarely had a September like it, and after missing out on so much from 2020-2024 because of the pandemic, and seeing pictures and videos of our friends and acquaintances having the time of their lives, at various concerts, including Suede, to be able to finally see them again in concert ourselves was truly a gift from the gods. And they played 'Dawn Chorus' with the Paraorchestra as well. Oh, be calm my ever-trembling heart.

As you can see, there is a rather unusual (for me) album at number 4, as I really don't consider myself a big Elton John listener. But there is quite a story behind this. I have a wonderful pen friend who wrote to me frequently whilst I was struggling in hospital, with many suggestions for music that I might be interested in. And one of her suggestions was 'I Need You To Turn To' from this live album, which had been recorded in Melbourne with an orchestra in 1986. Now I had actually purchased this record circa 1988/89, from a second hand record shop in Chester, because at that time I was discovering the unique power of pop/rock music when combined with an orchestra. Queen and Freddie Mercury had been my main opening to this, and although Indie (The Stone Roses, Happy Mondays, etc) was now in an unstoppable ascendancy, it left me cold, and I wanted something far more dramatic, sweeping, and sophisticated. And, on a whim, and swayed merely by the description on the album sleeve, I took a gamble on Elton's Live in Australia double album. It blew my mind. But after a year or so I must have stopped listening to it, and the memory of it all but faded as new life experiences and new music and art entered my world. But when I received the lovely email from my friend with the suggestion of not only this song, but the actual live version that I had once owned, it sent my memory into overdrive. And then, for the first time in over thirty-five years I listened with joy and deep emotion to 'I Need You To Turn To', and then, obviously, the entire album, and I am delighted beyond measure that it is now back on my radar. I know many people really can't get on with Elton, and, believe me, the things of his that I listen to are very small in number, and Live in Melbourne is the only record of his that I have ever owned, but maybe give this a go, and if you can, listen without prejudice. It really is quite beautiful, as is the entire album.

It's absolutely no surprise to me, though, to discover that my most listened to pieces of music this year have been by the divine Claude Debussy. His gorgeous, breath-taking music forms a big portion of my Coffee & Poe playlist, which I love to have on not only when I can give it my undivided attention, but also whilst I am reading or whenever life's stresses are getting too much and I desperately need something to calm my trembling heart and nerves. Chopin, Gabriel Faure and Erik Satie also feature heavily on this playlist, but it's Debussy that has taken the crown of my most listened to tracks of 2025.

And so, that's mainly it for 2025. Chart Music, once again, was my most listened to podcast, and a biography of Oscar Wilde is the audiobook I have listened to most, although I don't listen to audiobooks often as I prefer to actually read (darlings), and I am actually surprised it isn't Duncan Ferguson's autobiography, Big Dunc, that was my most listened to audiobook this year, as my good lady and I listened to his hilarious and astonishing life stories, delivered in his incredibly rich Scottish accent whilst we were doing home IVs over the summer.

"... Bang!"

But it's Suede that will be my main musical memory of this past year. The year when they released a fabulous new album, and my good lady and I were finally able to reconnect with them in concert after four highly distressing years away from these secular religious occasions that we adore so much.

"We're not obsessive at all!"

Until next time, darlings xx

New Dawn Fades: A Play about Joy Division

Last week I attended the splendid play, New Dawn Fades, written by Brian Gorman, at the Bloomsbury Theatre, and which tells the story of the band Joy Division. Although Joy Division were essentially a modern post-punk band, and their influence is monumental, for me personally they have always existed in a shadowy timeless, past-not-present realm. Unlike other post-punk bands that I have grown up with and love, such as Magazine and Simple Minds, Joy Division were always a ghostly entity due to the suicide of singer Ian Curtis in 1980, aged just 23. I was a mere lad of seven when they released their first record, and had not even turned ten when Curtis died, so it wasn't until a few years later after they crossed my path, and even then it took a few years more before I was able to listen to them properly, as my just-become a teenage self was simply too petrified of the entire aura of the band's sound and aesthetic, and even hearing 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' made me feel like I was being pulled into some kind of vortex. A similar thing happened to me with another band I would grow to love but which on my first proper listen scared the life out of me: The Smiths. I remember I had loaned the Meat Is Murder album cassette from the local library but when the title track came on I had to stop playing it. The grinding, inhuman mechanical sounds at the start of the song and Morrissey's soul-piercing, accusatory words were simply too much for me. I recall almost trembling with fear and guilt as I stopped the tape and replaced it with something else as it was just too unsettling and upsetting to listen to. I was aware of animal rights and despaired of and despised the way humanity treated its non-human animal cousins, but I just wasn't ready at the age I was to listen to this monumental, challenging work. And the same was true with Joy Division.

I was also been appearing in Les Miserables and sharing a stage with some of the finest singers on the planet, and the world of musical theatre was an absolute obsession at this point, and I think it's fair to say that post-punk didn't really fall into this category. But as I grew into my late teens and early twenties, and as the harsh realities of life kicked in and chronic illness, loss, grief, and anxiety increasingly entered my life, as it inevitably does for everybody, post-punk soon spoke directly to my soul. And the hypnotic dark art of Joy Division suddenly made sense.

One of my greatest CD purchases, still to this day, is the Joy Division box set, Heart and Soul, which I clearly remember purchasing in one of my favourite record shops in Soho on its release in 1997. The box set's four discs included pretty much everything they had ever recorded, but in that pre-digital, internet age (well, for me, anyway), the booklet it contained was almost as invaluable as the music itself. It had a fascinating discography, but far more important for me was an extended essay by Paul Morley, which was like gold dust at the time as a key in helping to unlock some of the mysteries contained within this haunting, quite devastating music. This compilation was my real entry point into the world of Joy Division, and having also watched the Joy Division film/documentary (2007), as well as Anton Corbijn's Control (2007), numerous times since then, this path has now led me to the play, New Dawn Fades.

The play itself was intriguing to witness, and because it's still relatively early in my re-emergence from almost three years of shielding, a trip to the theatre is a most cherished occurrence (it always has been, but even more so since the pandemic). I didn't learn anything I didn't already know, but it was a real pleasure to watch the actors bring the band and the people around them to life. But the real icing on the cake of this production, however, was hearing the four main actors playing a smattering of the band's songs. Obviously, I never got to see the actual Joy Division play in concert, and the closest thing I experienced was seeing a Joy Division tribute band over twenty years ago at the Limelight Club in Crewe. And I really do have to give the four principal actors great credit here, as they summoned the sound and spirit of Joy Division with great accuracy, and to hear them performing 'Dead Souls', 'She's Lost Control', 'Transmission', and 'Love Will Tear us Apart' brought a chill down my spine. Josh Lonsdale, in particular, brought an uncanny, eerie resemblance to Ian Curtis, in both voice and physicality. There was also a small exhibition of Joy Division/New Order, post-punk memorabilia in the foyer of the theatre, and to see and touch the very guitar (a vox phantom VI special) that Ian Curtis had performed in the very famous 'Love Will Tear us Apart' promo video was a very moving experience. It was clear from witnessing other people's reactions to these treasured items that they have the power of religious artefacts. They certainly did so for me.

A night at the theatre is always a great pleasure for me, and this new play was a delight to witness.

https://newdawnfades.co.uk/

A Day at the Opera

"Let the songs begin!

Let the music play!"

"Darling, you are far more resilient than you realise,” a slightly husky, smoke-kissed voice whispered to me as the house lights were doused and the entire captivated audience took a collective intake of breath, all eyes firmly fixed on the conductor who was, at that very instant, suspended in that magical, mythical moment that is the eternity of a second immediately before he raises his baton and gives the sign for the proud players of the orchestra to play that initial, so deeply longed for and highly anticipated opening note.
 

"Now my dream is slowly coming true..."

Unbeknownst to the orchestra members and the beautifully attired audience, sitting in the secluded box area of the dress circle on the stage left side of the auditorium there was a finely dressed man, who had, just a few hours earlier, been receiving intravenous antibiotics through the port-a-cath in his chest and who had also spent the previous days and evenings fearing that his appearance at this Queen opera extravaganza was in serious peril, and yet, despite the vast odds that had been set against him, there I was, completely present, and fervently engaged, with every facet of my physical, emotional, intellectual and sensual being, with the performance that was within a heartbeat of beginning. It really is almost impossible for me to describe exactly how much being at this concert meant to me, and the very fact that the date had come along at a time when yet another damned respiratory virus had landed me with an exacerbation of my cystic fibrosis, requiring intravenous antibiotic therapy, had caused me great added stress, frustration and concern on top of an already highly worrying health situation. Freddie Mercury, any previous or regular readers of this blog will recognise, is quite simply one of the great inspirations and loves of my musical and artistic life. And, as this already emotionally charged audience member (that's me in case you haven't twigged, my darlings!), attempted to discern exactly where this strong but sensitive voice that had addressed me so kindly had actually come from, the orchestra suddenly broke the anticipation of the room by playing the opening, brooding bars of Queen’s towering, gothic song, 'Innuendo.' And in an instant, it felt like that strangely gothic song had suddenly found its natural home. For, enchanted reader, this glorious spectacle was taking place at The Grange Opera House in Hampshire, a magnificent yet fading piece of glorious architecture, which in places seems to resemble the regal ruins of Athens and Ancient Rome. The stultifying heat of this piping hot day also helped me confirm my belief that the three of us, that is, the venue, the song 'Innuendo,' and myself, had somehow merged into one entity. I could almost visualise it. The three of us, battered, but not broken edifices, battling the ravages of time and decay, and resolutely defying to give up our intense love of theatre, life, beauty and grandeur:

“Oh, yes, we’ll keep on trying,

We’ll tread that fine line,

Oh, we’ll keep on trying,

Till the end of time,

Till the end of time…”

Reflecting back now, I am struck by how much has changed since my nineteen year old self first heard and was mesmerised by the song 'Innuendo,' around January 1991. Back then, intravenous antibiotics were still quite new to me, and although I was only too aware that CF was going to cause me immense struggles and hardship, the knowledge that there were inevitable, impending serious health issues in my near future had also given me an appreciation of life that meant I was going to make the most of every single day and night that was to be granted to me. Back in those days, I would regularly dance and "air guitar" as if I actually was Brian May, for the entire song on multiple repeats if I so desired, and indeed, to the entire album of which 'Innuendo' was the title track. But now, thirty-four years later, I reflected on how I now love it in a very different way. In 1991, I was entranced by the rolling drums, the audacity of Queen releasing yet another six minute plus single, complete with flamenco guitar instrumental section (performed by Yes guitarist Steve Howe), and of course, Freddie’s truly extraordinary vocal delivery, made all the more remarkable as he was very seriously ill by the time of recording this album. The whole, understandably, is far greater than and individual parts, yet there are different elements of this song that now stand out and either pierce and/or shatter my brittle heart that probably escaped me somewhat at the time. The brooding, questioning atmosphere, the yearning for meaning and the seeking of answers is buried deep within the lyrics, with this urgency increased by Freddie’s magisterial vocal, and the haunted meanderings expressed by the haunting playing of the band members. And all of this was stunningly recreated by the orchestra (the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra), and the sensational guest singers, who all combined to bring Freddie’s soaring, impassioned vocal melodies to glorious life. Sadly, I never got to experience Queen in concert and I have refrained from attending any of their post-Freddie shows as I just don’t think I would be able to open myself up enough emotionally to enjoy it properly. But this opportunity to hear Queen’s music performed by opera singers, accompanied by a full orchestra, was a dream come true as far as I was concerned, as Queen's music is unashamedly dramatic and operatic, (to the chagrin of the scruffy indie brigade who often condemn Queen as being inauthentic, oh! I could almost die laughing!) and, of course, Freddie himself was a bona fide diva, and opera fanatic, and I am utterly convinced he would have been beaming with delight if he was able to be present and witnessing what was happening on the stage at that moment.

"Barcelona!"

“I had this perfect dream,

This dream was me and you…”

In a show of a great many highlights, far too many to write about in this limited space, the absolute icing on this most wondrous, dramatic of evenings, was hearing 'Barcelona' sung by actual opera singers with this magnificent full orchestra. Oh my beating heart, be wary not to tremble so quickly that you break out of my rib cage! This astonishing, romantic, majestic hymn to Eros and to life was up there with any live musical experience I have ever experienced. From the opening bars to the towering crescendo, it was as if every single performer, every audience member and each member of staff were only too aware what a precious, possibly once in a lifetime occurrence this was. Time stood still as the singers savoured the words and melodies and the sweeping strings of the orchestra brought the song to an epiphany of feeling. The heat inside the auditorium, despite the old ancient walls doing their utmost to protect us from the ravaging sun that was bleaching the old stone building outside, made it feel as if we were actually in Gaudi's heat-drenched Barcelona, and not Hampshire.

"Wish my dream would never go away.

God willing, we will meet again,

Some day..."

The rest of the concert passed by in a kind of perfect dream, as we were treated to mesmerising renditions of some of Queen's most fabulous songs, and which, of course, included 'Love of my Life,' 'Somebody to Love,' and the closing song, an utterly ravishing and rousing version of their undoubted masterpiece, 'Bohemian Rhapsody.'

After the concert had finished it was wonderful to spend a little bit of time discussing the evening with other audience members and staff members, many of whom agreed with me that this was simply too majestic to be a one off, and that they desperately hoped would be repeated in the years to come. We readily admitted that we had occasionally been brought to tears by the staggeringly beautiful renditions that we had witnessed, but had left the auditorium as if floating gracefully on air, having just spent the previous two hours in what could quite easily be described as a musical heaven.

And as my wonderful wife drove us both home after the concert, where real life and IV antibiotics and hospital visits and health worries once more awaited us, I felt a surge of that emotion that so often prevents me from falling into despair when my health situation feels like it might be about to become too much: gratitude. Despite the health and treatment issues I was going through, I had made it to this concert, a concert I had wanted to attend right down to the very depths of my entire physical and non-physical being. It really had been touch and go, and the odds were most definitely not in my favour, yet I hadn't missed it, and had been able to enjoy and savour every second of it. And as my eyes watered with soft, salty tears, I looked out of the car window and focussed my gaze on the dark night sky that was lit up by the bright, shining moon and glittering stars, and I suddenly heard that same voice that had summoned me earlier, once again whispering softly into my mind and soul. "Darling," it repeated to me, "I told you you were more resilient than you realise. Perhaps now you will believe me." And in that moment I recognised whose voice it was that was talking to me:

It was Freddie's.

Proust's Madeleine Cake

 I was listening to a playlist that I have created on Spotify called 'Byron's Favourite Slowies' last night, and one of the songs that came on sent me on a truly Proustian madeleine cake trip back to my fifth form drama school days in Liverpool in the mid to late 80s. The song that prompted this extraordinary trip down memory lane was 'China in Your Hand' by T'Pau, and the memories it stirred were so vivid and invigorated my mind so much that they prevented me from falling asleep (I listen to music on my headphones in bed). The first, involuntary memory was about T'Pau's lead singer, Carol Decker. My drama school friends, as fifteen/sixteen year old chaps are wont to do, were discussing one day who their current pop star crushes were. I had recently bought a single that I'd heard on the radio and fallen deeply in love with called 'China in Your Hand' by the aforementioned band, T'Pau, so instead of saying Madonna (who I had it bad for, dear reader!) I declared how I thought the singer of T'Pau was "well fit" and that she was my current main pop star crush. This was met by a barrage of uncontrollable laughter that could have crushed me if I had been in a bad space that day, because, according to them, she was a "ginger." This was news to me as the single cover was in black and white so I had no idea what colour her hair was. Here's the single I owned:

It actually gives me a great deal of pride that I refused to change my mind at their taunts about the shade of T'Pau singer Carol Decker's hair, although it did pique my interest about her even more, and I was utterly fascinated to have discovered through my mates that this gargantuan voiced pop/soul singer had ginger hair. I'd already envisioned from the black and white picture and having her serenade my soul with her wounded song that she was probably a witch, or at least in touch with the stranger, divine feminine side of life. I'm not sure where I will have turned to to find out whether what they were saying was true (Smash Hits, maybe), but when I saw her in full glorious colour my heart tumbled even more:

I'm pretty sure Sigmund Freud would find this fascinating stuff, as not only did I later not only discover and fall very deeply in love with the pre- Raphaelite artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti's heart-turning red heads in his astonishing art works, but my stunning wife also had long flowing locks, which soon became a red "Bowie-pixie" look. I clearly had a very soft spot for the otherworldly ginger/red hair look from an impressionable age! But not only that, listening to T'pau last night also took my memory to further depths, and one of the memories that I recalled was actually one of the most pleasant of my teens. I was about 17/18 by now, and I was playing the role of Mick in an adaptation of Catherine Cookson's The Fifteen Streets at the Theatre Royal in Newcastle. We had been touring much of the UK and this weekly stint in the north east had me staying at possibly one of the nicest digs I've ever had. It was in Gateshead and I can recall the view every time I left the front door, which was on a slope that I could have skied down as it was so steep...

These two pictures, sadly, are not actual pictures by me from that front door, but are images I have found on Google, but as a very young man who hadn't even turned seventeen yet, living away from my home village in North Wales, this was a different universe. I loved the city of Newcastle, and the digs I had, was, in all fairness, entirely wasted on me. It was a converted loft and had en-suite shower, built-in kitchen, and a beautiful, large lounge space with luxurious sofas and chairs. Bryan Ferry would have quite gladly used this place as a secret love nest, I am sure, but for me, at that time of life when I was sixteen but still looked about fourteen, it was simply somewhere to sleep and keep my stuff. But 'China in Your hand' by T'pau has reminded me of the extraordinary emotional power music has on our minds, as if it wasn't for this song coming on at that moment these memories may have stayed hidden away forever. And not only that, but it has also remined me what an interesting life I have actually had. It may sound like a cliché but I have more than once been called the Billy Elliot of North Wales. And it's actually pretty accurate. Just picture me for a second, dear reader: a boy brought up by his single mum and grandparents in a tiny village in North Wales called Northop, living an adolescence punctuated by bullying and being seriously abused for many years by a supposed trusted family member before I managed to partially escape by gaining a place at a prestigious performing arts school in Liverpool when I was thirteen; and at the age of fourteen, creating and starring as Gavroche in Les Miserables with the Royal Shakespeare Company in the West End of London. I feel like I really must tell my story at some point. My wife and my friends have been persuading me how inspiring my life and story is and just how helpful it would be for other people facing similar problems. It's taken some time, but I am completely of the same opinion as them now. My story should be told. I have underplayed my achievements for most of my adult life instead of being immensely proud of them. Dear, faithful readers, I won't say too much for now but I will leave you with this teaser. I am trying to get the wheels moving in a way that my writing will be improved to such a level that my beloved dream of being a professional, published writer might possibly be achieved. In that famous theatrical manner all I ask of you for now is to say this to me:

"Good luck, darling!"

Until next time, I remain,

Your Nocturnal Butterfly.