When I was a boy of about fourteen I remember asking my Dad if I could go to see Johnny Young’s Young Talent Time show down at the Westfield. He stopped to think for a moment, shook his head, and then sat me down at the kitchen table where all important talks took place. After Dad made us both a cup of cordial (red for me, green for him) we had a man-to-man.
“Son,” he said, “popular music is not quite what it seems to your young and innocent eyes.”
“How’s that, Dad?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Well, rock and roll is …” he trailed off and paused to gather his thoughts. “Rock and roll is the devil in the form of sound.”