A COUPLE of months back, I found myself sleeping in a teenage girl’s room. At this juncture, I should probably point out that I was staying with in-laws, accompanied by my (non-teenage) wife and that the girl in question was elsewhere.
The reason I mention the sleeping arrangements is that the bedroom walls were covered with posters of boy band One Direction.
An Anglo-Irish five-piece, the band came third in the seventh series of the X Factor. Not coming first seems to have been no barrier to popularity. Their debut album, Up All Night, was released in November and, at the time of writing, was at No 2 in the UK. For inexplicable reasons, it also got to No 7 in the Belgian charts; although only in the Flanders section of the Belgian charts. It appears that their Walloon neighbours were less keen as Up All Night peaked at just No 65 there.
Rather like the Walloons, One Direction’s appeal is largely lost on me, but not on my young in-law, who had covered the posters, and indeed, one of the pop moppets in particular, with dozens of kisses and love hearts. In some ways, it seems a pity that we don’t continue to advertise our passions in the same way in our adult years. M&S elasticated waistband trousers and cholesterol-reducing yoghurts may not set young pulses racing, but they have a place in my fat-clogged heart.
Those who prefer their musicians with a little more grit in their souls should try the Harry Papadopoulos exhibition at Street Level Photoworks in Glasgow. Harry P snapped everyone from The Cramps to Bryan Ferry via Blondie, as well as emerging Scottish talent such as Josef K, Orange Juice and The Bluebells, whose Ken McCluskey co-curated this exhibition.
www.onedirectionmusic.com; www.streetlevelphotoworks.org; www.thehighlight.co.uk