A sheltered upbringing

I had quite a sheltered existence as a teenager. I didn’t do drugs, didn’t drink that much before hitting 18, and sex was not quite as commonplace as were Stock, Aitken and Waterman hit singles.

Listening to Primal Scream’s Rocks yesterday, I wondered whether an element of this straightlacedness was a result of my ambivolence towards musical lyrics, making me less aware of the forbidden fruits on offer.

I loved music, and still do, but was way more aroused by the tune than by the underlying meaning of the lyrics therein. To me, the lyrics were merely there as something to mouth/sing to the song. Beyond that, they held little importance in my enjoyment of the work.

So lyricists that wrote about sex, drugs and all-night drinking sessions—or indeed all of the above—might as well have been writing about raspberry-ripple ice cream, spearmint mouthwash and Tesco’s deli counter as far as I was concerned. I genuinely wouldn’t have known which they were writing about, as the words were mere syllables to me.

In the main, I’m the same, arguably shallow self today. While my awareness of lyrics has indeed increased, it still and will always play second fiddle to the musical make-up of the song.

Incidentally, the Primal Scream lyrics that I chose to analyse on the bus yesterday read as follows:

Dealers keep dealin’
Thieves keep thievin’
Whores keep whorin’
Junkies keep scorin’
Trade is on the meat rack
Strip joints full of hunchbacks
Bitches keep bitchin’
Clap keeps itchin’


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