Apologies to the thousands of American readers who may have been offended by the previous post. In truth, I have a lot of affection for the American people and their country, a great place last time I was there.
When I spent a long hot summer in Michigan at age 11, my dear Aunt Ina lent me her treasured transistor radio for the duration of my holiday with her. At that time, transistor radios were super-expensive and hadn't hit Scotland yet. Every day in Detroit, I would go out to play with the local kids, with my wee radio. What a treat for a music-mad boy!
Whether playing baseball with Marty and Maynard Buszek, or stealing apples from the next door garden, or chatting with the 3 girls across the road - Edith, Missee and the third one - I would have my radio turned up loud.
In Scotland there were only 3 radio stations - one for news, one for classical, and one to entertain factory workers. They didn't play much pop. But in Detroit the airwaves were choc-a-bloc with AM and FM stations. And what did they play? "Hello Muddah Hello Fadduh", "If I Had a Hammer," and a magical new sound, called Motown.
The best record of the whole summer was "Fingertips," the debut of a child prodigy called Little Stevie Wonder. Hearing it gave me goosebumps, and probably still does. My aunt (the other aunt) said "that's not the sort of music you should be listening to," and I realised I wasn't going to grow up to be a nice boy.
