Back seat music

At one time the only music in my world
Was the music in my parents’ car
And it wrapped round me as we travelled far and wide
Now, a confession.
My parents are very…folkie and so as a kid I was supplied
With loads of weekends out into the countryside
Where Dad’d fiddle, Mum’d dance, we’d all get well fed
And the kids would get pigs bladders whacked on their heads
And so at the end of the day knackered from dances and spins
Stuffed on the back seat with my Dad’s mandolin
And a pipe and tabor pressed up against my shin
I was at my happiest
And I’d drift off to sleep to my parents’ back seat music

Back seat music
For me it was
Stuff like
Steeleye Span, Billy Joel’s piano man
Paul McCartney’s Mull of Kintyre and my desire was always to be here
At the thought of those tunes my legs would blur like in the cartoons
Whooping I’d would race to the car with delight
Thinking back seats back alright!
I was like an infant addict
I needed that late afternoon fix
And as I listened transfixed
My parents say I soaked it all up like a sponge.

Now not sure if you’ve heard much folkie stuff,
But it’s pretty sex obsessed
At 6 I used to sing about wanting a rumple of the feathers in the cuckoos nest
My infant school teachers were not impressed
But I didn’t know what I was saying and at 6 I was easy to confuse
Paul Simon had me thinking
All single women had diamonds in the soles of their shoes
For years
But that was way back then
And that music I didn’t choose
So in later years
On long and painful journeys
At Weston Super-mare beach on Boxing Day
Eating chips that are clammy and grey
Sat watching the cold sand shivering
I’d be bargaining for airtime, with
“Go on Mum. Your music’s boring!
I used to soak it up like a sponge?
Don’t be stupid. That’s rubbish.
I like grunge!”
Or I played dirty
When a trip was on the cards, the previous night
I’d sneak into the car with Nevermind or A Pocket full of Kryptonite
And after secretly removing my Dad’s folkie cassette,
I’d replace it with Bon Jovi’s Slippery when wet
The next morning I’d sit in intense suspense waiting for it to be played
But within seconds my Mum would make a deft high speed trade
And we’d all get an hour long Kirsty McCall serenade

My parents’ back seat music I complained about
Railed about whilst riddled with teenage angst
Sat next to a girl in the car wanting to get into her pants
But there was no chance on the way back from the gig
With My dad telling her how his son could dance a hornpipe jig
Whilst folkie tunes played in the background, all floaty and serene
At this rate I be a virgin till I was like…sixteen

But that music
That back seat music
Was under my skin
I didn’t know it then but I could never win
Because I can never escape those tunes of my childhood
And part of me
The part that wasn’t a confused young horny man
Secretly liked the sound of strings and wanted an accordion
And even now
When I drift off
On route with the lads from a weekend booze-up
Stereo thumping, bass filling our heads
There is apart of me that is shut off and
My feet are still tapping always tapping
To the strings
Of my parents’ back seat music