The 51st State of Rock, and Geriatric Warfare

So this week I purchased the ultimate road trip soundtrack. It’s a new double CD out over here, called American Heartbeat, subtitled ‘A pulsating 80s rock collection’. Just my thing; I’m a total mullet rock aficionado. In fact, anything 80s is music gold to me – Blondie, Benatar, Bowie (what’s with the B’s?), Madonna, Michael Jackson (in his musical prime).

Discovering some of my favourite tunes on there – Heat of the Moment, Black Betty, Rosanna, Carry on Wayward Son (I’m too old to care about sounding cool about my music choices, I likes what I like and that’s that) – I snatched it up and went home. Images of driving a Cadillac across the desert singing along at the top of voice, looking fabulous in wide sunglasses and tanned skin, flashed through my mind.

When I got home I looked more closely, and discovered to my horror that the CD contained some songs from – shock! – the 70s.

Worse, not all of the beating hearts were actually American. Billy Idol was on there for Pete’s (Frampton’s) sake! (Yes I know Peter Frampton was born in England, but he’s now an American citizen. And he wasn’t even on this CD so it’s not like it matters.)

Other non-Americans include Air Supply, Yes, Whitesnake, and Bad Company, all of whom are Brits. There’s also Bachman-Turner Overdrive making an appearance, an Australian band.

So the point of all this is to say – who does the research for these compilations? I’m now questioning every compilation CD I’ve ever bought. All the Greatest Hits I’ve accumulated over the years – who’s to say they actually represent the greatest hits of their respective hit-makers? I can’t tell you all the number I’ve times I’ve bought a Greatest Hits compilation and been disappointed at the bland collection of so-called hits. I’m now curious to research if they’re really just a collection of the greatest B-sides of all time. There I was, naively believing the title of Greatest Hits. Is nothing sacred? What a fool I’ve been.

Having said that, American Heartbeats is pretty good if you’re a bit of a 80s rock dork like me (plus some 70s, but to everyone born in the 80s it doesn’t make a big difference).

From mullets, shoulder pads and leg warmers, to geriatrics. This week my 95-year-old grandmother, who has lived a somewhat sheltered, violent-less life, was beaten up. By a fellow OAP. I kid you all not.

She was in an argument with a man in her care home (they wind each other up something crazy, and if she weren’t senile and he weren’t a woman-hitting bully I’d say they totally fancy each other; after all, the best romances start with mutual dislike and verbal sparring that masks a fizzling attraction). He lost his patience and slugged her.

All I can assume is that he was a wife beater back in his day; I find it hard to believe an old man just suddenly becomes a woman-hitter after a gentlemanly lifetime. Still, it’s all good fodder for a story (I claim copyright as of right now…).

Calliope: Voice of the Writers