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Heavy metal, reggae and other music you never hear belting out of cars anymore

IF someone’s getting on your tits playing stupidly loud music in their car, what are they belting out? Grime. Trap. R&B. So what happened to the traditional music you used to hear at traffic lights?

Power ballads

Celine. Whitney. Mariah. The sort of belters that could dry wet hair in 20 seconds. But who is delivering these plodding misery-fests now, apart from Adele? Have young people simply decided such ballads are a load of histrionic rubbish? Well done. We’ll forgive you for TikTok for that.

Punk

Punk tore 1970s rock a new bumhole, making the prog dinosaurs extinct overnight and mercifully stopping music being Yes and Genesis for the rest of time. Did punk lose its impact due to anarchy totally not happening? Would you rather watch something good on streaming than listen to Sham 69 while inhaling glue? To be honest, yes.

Reggae

In the 1980s reggae was as ubiquitous as legwarmers. Everybody wanted to be reggae, white people especially – The Police, Kate Bush, Paul Nicholas out of Just Good Friends. But then, like Cannon and Ball and Little and Large, the reggae just stopped. What happened? It’s a sad day for multiculturalism when people don’t want to listen to the authentic Jamaican sound of Sting. 

Heavy metal 

Time was when heavy metal seemed to be the all-conquering, dominant music of the age. Then Whitesnake, Iron Maiden and their ilk faded away, taking with them their poodle perms, elongated tongues, spandex, Satanism-lite and pointless guitar solos. Pity today’s generation, who may not turn into gurning, taste-free idiots who think all women should wear miniskirts and thigh-length boots. Or in the case of Alice Cooper’s Poison video, just go topless.

Shakin’ Stevens 

Once ‘Shaky’ dominated the UK like Shake n’Vac. We were simply living in the world he had immaculately carved out with his twinkle-toed moves, a Welsh take on rock’n’roll that was better than Elvis. And yet current generations ignore his genius. Do they not want easy-listening ersatz rock’n’roll a mere 70 years after it was popular? They’ll be saying they’re not into banging harpsichord concertos next.

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In-jokes in front of everyone, and other annoying habits of giggly couples

AN evening with a giggly couple who are ridiculously into each other is horrific and sickening. Here’s the sort of crap you can expect from these freaks:

In-jokes in front of everyone

Mid-conversation, one of them will say something you don’t quite catch and they’ll both laugh so hard they might cough up a lung. But when you awkwardly ask what it means all you’ll get is ‘Don’t worry, you had to be there’. Wherever ‘there’ was, you’re actually pretty glad you weren’t.

Laughing at factual statements

Usually you wait for a punchline before laughing, but not when your brain is so rammed full of love hormones that something actually being funny is old hat. One of the couple can be talking about opening a new ISA and the other will be reacting like they’re huffing laughing gas watching Billy Connolly onstage in his prime.

Nauseating pet names

The couple are using so much of their brains being in love that they can’t access the prefrontal cortex that contains their real names, relying on stomach-turning pet ones instead. Sure, you could ask why she’s Shmoopie and he’s Mr Grimp-Grump, but it’s going to be another case of ‘you had to be there’.

Referring to themselves as ‘we’ or ‘us’

They are standing so close it looks like they’re trying their best to absorb each other, and they seem well on the way to doing so. You didn’t think you had a problem with people changing their pronouns, but it turns out you do when they become plural, like a sci-fi hive mind but incredibly soppy instead of threatening.

Speaking for each other

The absorption process is almost complete, so when you ask one of them a question, the other one answers in their stead. But be honest, if you could travel around with a spokesperson who answers all the boring questions people ask you, you’d quite like to have a minion to tediously explain how long you’ve lived in Wimbledon.

Posting online about how sickeningly happy they are

Even when you’re not with them, their snorting, guffawing romance still manages to reach you, often in the form of social media selfies of themselves mid-snog with inane captions like ‘Out with this one!’ or ‘I can’t believe it’s only been three months!’. At least it’s there for you to look back and chuckle sadistically at when they discover they’re horribly unsuited and actually hate each other.

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