genitalia

A sad indictment of the supposed-progressive society we live in is the proliferation of tribute acts set around, for want of a better term, the "Swing" variety.

Each week, in both the "Liverpool Echo" and "Crosby Herald", I am confronted by garish advertisements in their leisure time section offering nights-out listening to this.......shite!

Most annoyingly, they prove ever more popular. Are people really that dumbed down? Do they think they're on some kind of renaissance-kick because they force themselves to go all weak at the knees at a Michael Bubble wannabe? Mr. Bubble has a lot to answer for. Sure, he's tapped into a lucrative market where little of no originality is needed, where punters will kiss his arse repeatedly for doing very, very little.

Mr. Bubble and his ilk, when the Revolution comes, will be hung awkwardly by what little remains of their genitalia, whilst a four-year old with a rather large power tool drills 6" nails liberally into their skulls.

Music cannot be made in a vacuum. Inspiration comes from the past. And tribute acts, in their own secular way, can provide a form of nostalgia we all need. But for crying out loud, don't talk down to people and never give them just a night away from their problems.

Music has a responsibility to promote spirituality and social conscience.