Alarming stuff.

The worrying thing it just why the working-class have this proclivity to lap up such common-minded shite by the rancid gutterful? I knew that much early in my (working class) childhood when I began to find meaning in things that my peers looked upon with complete and utter bafflement. When I was twelve I was creating abstract electronic experimental landscapes using tape loops and synthesisers at an arts centre in Whitley Bay, and whilst prog was tolerated and to a certain extent indulged, it was when I began to pick up records of free improvisation and field-recorded ethnomusicology that one by one old friends fell away as I broadened my cultural horizons to such an extent that might be regarded as enriching my very soul, yeah, even unto biting into the Trad. Jugular of Ceremonial Song & Balladry at folk clubs, there to transfuse my watered down proletarian blood with what I still regard as the pure drop. This is not a Folk Epiphany - Folk is simply part of the glorious equation; neither is it a case of embourgeoisement, rather an idiosyncratic seeking after that which in whose presence, as Camus once said (and famously quoted by Scott Walker on the cover of Scott 4), my heart first opened.

Three chords and the truth? Bollocks. The medium will always be the message - thus might I do something like This or even This in faith that the only truth that matters is that which you accord to yourself.