Inexplicably stuck in my head
March 26, 2008
When I was little, my dad possessed the largest record collection known to mankind, as far as I saw it. A whole long role of titles, spanning one of the walls of our Milan apartment, later sectioned into five boxes and carried around the world with him on his travels. Alone at home, I ran my chubby fingers over the spines and marvelled at the names and colours. I had many favourites among the titles, mainly in his collection of sixeties psychedelia, but for some reason I keptfinding myself drawn to Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. I believe it was the platform boots he wore on the cover. Apparently, aged six, my aim was to be a drag queen. Regardless, I insisted that my dad play this for me and would dance along, howling “you know I read it in a maga-ZAY-ee-ee-een…”. Between the howl, and the naughty thrill I got out of thinking that she had electric boobs (tee hee), rather than boots, this song was the apex of my young musical loves, only to rivalled by the joy of yodelling “Bee-el-ze-bub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for meeeeeeee!”, whenever I convinced him to put on Queen.
I have many other fond memories of this record collection* but this is the particular one that comes to mind tonight, as for some reason I have been humming “buh-buh-buh-Benny and the Jets” to myself all night. Not to mention doing little sidesteppy dance moves in the street, much to the amusement of the panhandlers in Central Square and the cool kids hanging out outside of the Middle East. That’s what Elton John’s tinkly little piano does to me. Public bopping. Lordy.
*one of which is of myself, again aged VERY young, absolutely stark raving furious, because I was utterly, unshakably convinced that the Beatles and the Rolling Stones were the same band, and so it was simply selfish of them to put out records under two names. I believe the logic there was Rolling Stones–> Rolling stones gather no moss (god knows where I heard that expression, aged that young)–> Cover of Rubber Soul contained greenery, and was thus considered mossy–> My insane six year old self concludes that these so-called “Beatles” were obviously the Rolling Stones in disguise, meant to confuse astute young listeners like myself! An obvious conclusion!
Enough randomness for now. I’m heading to bed. Hopefully, my telepathic communications will rouse my father and convince him to send the entirety of said record collection to his loving daughter. It really is amazing.