Helen Shepherd has various Google-related superpowers. She can see you right now. That sudden download of all your search history? It came from inside the house.
I don’t know if you know, but Alex is actually quite a nice person*, when he isn’t forgetting my birthday. So nice in fact that he asked me if I’d like to write a short guest entry for his fabulous blog, about my favourite song. I said yes without thinking of the consequences of my actions, as ever, and so here I am mulling over what my favourite song is.
This is the sort of question that usually makes me drop and roll, the horror of being judged as worthless and irrelevant is just too much to bear, and I never tend to impress when it comes to musical competitiveness. To work out what song I could suggest to be my favourite song, I turned to a process of elimination, walking through the forests of my youth to remember what once was.
I remember when I lived for Slipknot’s first album, swearing I’d never love anything more. Then, I went through puberty and realised most people could understand my pain, so that was abandoned.
I turned to my Last.fm, hoping for some answers, but there was not much to report. Yes, Turn Me On by Kevin Lyttle is perhaps my most adored, (second) most played song since 16th July 2009’s reset, but is it my number one definitive smash hit wonder? I’m not sure. Turn Me On has a specific context in my heart, and whilst I do love it, I think there is probably a song out there somewhere which has been intrinsic to my identity much longer.
I checked all over for answers, under my desk, in old playlists, when suddenly like a bright yellow guitar falling from the sky, I clocked the song I could say that, perhaps, could be, the song I might be able to name as my favourite.
I’ll give it a bit of context, that seems to be the gig in these sort of things: Diamonds and Pearls came out in 1991, when I had but two tender years to my name and, not that I remember this, but it was the album my brother got for Christmas that year and managed to appal my lovely, Catholic Nanny with (though retrospectively we realise she probably just found it hilarious).
In those between years, I remember sitting in the car shouting along to the lyrics I now realise are completely inappropriate for such a young thing to be shouting. This song recalls it all: the house parties I’d insist on playing my (mostly terrible mix) CDs at, the singalongs at the bus stops of my glory years, going to see Prince at the O2 the day before I started university (not that he performed it, man of faith he is now). I admit, even the video has something so me about it, begging the questions am I like this because I love the song, or do I love the song because I’m like this? So, the song I think I will choose is Gett Off, by Prince.
*Lies. All lies.