Twenty one years ago the Sisters of Mercy released their album “Vision Thing”. I was living in student digs in Cheetham Hill at the time avoiding the amourous attentions of a girl who kept far too many rats in her bathroom and had a brother serving time for an acid-in-face attack. Looking back, these were strange days but I digress. I knew the album was coming out because my mate Dazzle* was in the fan club and received postcards and the like and had told me weeks and weeks before. I took the afternoon off Uni and drove into Manchester with my other mate, Uncle Monkey, to buy the casette** from HMV. We drove back in my battered Sierra and listened to the Gothy goodness on the dodgy radio/tape player hoping to christ it didn’t decide to chew it up. It was a good day and it was a good album.
Scroll forward twenty one years. My alarm went off this morning and I rolled out of bed into the dark of 6am. As always my first thought was to pick up my phone and pull the charge cable out, an act that not only ensures I have my precious with me but also turns the screen on making my bleary eyed navigation to the door and down the stairs that much easier and safer. My blured, sleep encrusted eyes made out the small envelope icon meaning someone in the big old world had sent me an email whilst I had been sleeping the sleep of the just so I swipped with my thumb, unlocking a small computer more powerful than anything could have dreamed of in 1990 and stabbed at the Gmail icon. Boring… junk… notification… I deleted and archived as I took the steps down and suddenly found my thunb hoovering over an email from Kate Bush***. I pushed the email to open it as I crossed the dark living room to get to the kitchen and my goal of the kettle (cue angelic music here). Bugger me backards if there wasn’t a new album out. Today. An album out today. Kate bush had a new bloody album out tobloodyday! Whilst a part of my brain struggled with the enormity of this, another part went into auto-piolt and swiped my thumb across screens and icons until it had opened the 7Digital app, hit New Releases, found “50 Words for Snow” and bought the bugger with one push. I slipped the phone in my pocket as the download process began, filled the kettle, got a cup ready and grabbed a pan for some porridge. At this point I looked at my phone and the download had completed. In less than two minutes I had learnt of the album’s release, located it, bought it and downloaded it ready to listen right there and then.
It would appear I’m living in the motherfucking future, people. Now who the fuck do I see about my flying car?
* That isn’t his name, obviously. His folks were not hippies or from Hollywood or anything. We called him that, in the way of close male friends, as an insult to wind him up. Blokes do this kind of thing.
** I still had a turntable at this point but had stopped buying vinyl yet was still at least a year or so away from my first CD player.
*** Unfortunaelty not from Kate Bush but rather her music publicity people/machine/company. An email from the lady herself may well have made my balls explode on the spot with 25 years of pent up emotional longing and pure, raw, throbbing sexual desire. Which reminds me, I must watch the video for Babooshka again…