Inspired by (or shamelessly merging a couple of recent ideas from, you decide) Anton over at Enemies of Reason, I am breaking with the remit of this blog to put out an urgent weekend request to my lovely readers. I'll also be sharing a detail about myself that I probably shouldn't. Hurrah! Here goes.
I really, really like naff rock. I know it's naff, and I'm not even sure if I like it in an ironic, down-with-the-kids kind of way or if there's something wrong with the wiring of my brain, but I've always liked the sort of music I have to keep secret from my mates. You'll find out how naff in a minute and I'm telling you in advance: shut up.
I really, really hate mornings, I really, really hate work and I really, really, really, really hate travelling to work in the mornings. My journey (which takes in a bus, train and squashed-in tube) makes me angry enough to write posts like this one, in which I contemplate forcibly drowning someone and climbing up a clock tower with a rifle. Other than in the mornings I never get angry at all. Ever.
Yesterday morning, my bus didn't turn up and I had to trudge all the way up a big hill to the train station through the cold, grey drizzle and get a late train that took me to a station with one broken escalator where I had to wait for two tubes to go before I one came with enough room for me to stuff myself in and then I had to endure some twat's suitcase pushing into the side of my knee.
But you know what? I wasn't angry. You know why? I was listening to Journey. I've already told you to shut up and I'm telling you again: shut your face.
The reason I wasn't angry is that a great chunk of Journey's output sounds like the sort of stuff you get in training montages in 80s action films, perfectly sent up in 'Team America: World Police'. My commute wasn't a commute any more. It was like an extended test of endurance in which I ultimately must triumph over adversity and prove my worth to the world. Having some twat's suitcase jabbing into the side of my knee started feeling like having trouble doing more than three press-ups, and ended up feeling like doing dozens of them. One handed. In the mud. While it's raining.*
So here's where the appeal comes in. I'm trying to assemble a playlist of tracks that will make my morning commute feel like Rocky. So I need suggestions. I've already got loads of tracks by Survivor and Whitesnake, and Journey, obviously, but I need more. I'm going through REO Speedwagon, Styx, Chicago, Foreigner and Asia albums almost as I speak. Lyrics aren't important, but I need generic synth and dodgy harmonies over thumping rock. I want to get to the top of the escalators at the end and feel like there's a crowd following behind me, cheering me on. Failing that, I at least need the perfect background music for doing the crane technique. On some chump that's just swept my injured knee with their suitcase.
Come on people. I know there's only a few of you and I'll probably end up with nothing because I like crap music and should keep that to myself, but help a brother out. Even if it's only to reveal what embarrassing music you like. Bung a comment in with a suggestion. You can do it. Win 'Rocky' win!
Here's a guideline for the sort of thing I'm after:
I said shut up. Unless you want to leave a suggestion or a confession. If I get enough, I'll publish the full playlist.
*It definitely didn't feel like the training montage in 'No Retreat, No Surrender', in which the hero lies on his back between two benches, shoulders on one, feet on the other, and slowly lowers his bum toward the floor and up again so it's level. While his badly stereotyped black friend sits on his crotch, eating an ice lolly. That's just weird. Here's proof if you don't believe me.