The First Song
‘Let me do it. I know how it works, Mum.’
The hundredth monkey phenomenon. Within minutes of the package being opened, I had mastered the machine. It was a revelation, that square box of metal and plastic. My heart thumped with possibilities and the wait for Sunday evening seemed unbearable.
Who else remembers the liberation of the radio cassette recorder? A Napster of the 70’s, but with so much less sophistication. To me, in 1971, with only pocket money and one family owned turntable rooted firmly in our public living room, it was freedom. Freedom to choose and listen to my own music, requiring only the cost of a cassette tape. I practised my dual button technique all week. I had to be ready.
On Sunday evenings, Radio 1 broadcast a show featuring the Top 20 chart singles of the week. The presenter, Alan Freeman, was my first nemesis. Allow me to explain. Disc jockeys liked to talk and talk they did, right into the opening bars of the song and interrupting the final flourish. He was infuriating, waffling on when my precious music was being adulterated at both ends. The value of those double button rehearsals – pressing the play and record buttons simultaneously – were incalculable. Any hesitation or error would cost me a whole song for a whole week. Unthinkable. With nimble fingers and whip-like reflexes, my collection of tapes grew. I was part of the ‘in’ crowd.
I often see posts on Facebook that revel in old technology, sure in the knowledge that Millennials will have no notion of our history. One cartoon caught my attention. The scene was a hospital. The staff and patient were cassette tapes personified, the patient spewing tape as if his bowel had unraveled. ‘Pencil!’ shouts the doctor. Ah yes, I remember it well.
THE END