The second week of a new Premiership season prompts a thought that unpredictability is in short supply these days. To make matters worse, I just caught a bit of London’s celebration of being handed the Olympic baton. Scenes of flag waving tourists outside Buckingham Palace were accompanied - with soul-suffocating obviousness - by the sounds of Queen and M People. The whole thing was topped off, in decidedly unsurprising fashion, by the Red Arrows.
A lot of folks it seems don’t enjoy being exposed to music they’re unfamiliar with. These days it’s pretty easy to take absolutely no chances when choosing music. I-Tunes allows you to try before you buy. Radio turns its chosen singles into familiar friends before they hit the shelves.
Where’s the excitement in all this? Far more thrilling to take a wild stab in the dark, which is what I did when I picked up Three In A Cell by The Peddlers. Flicking through the racks in the soon to go bust Sister Ray I stopped at this album for a reason I couldn’t actually put my finger on. Something in the back of my mind told me that this was one of those records I had one day made a mental note to look out for. Something in the name or the sleeve was dimly familiar, and on this slimmest of hopes I forked out a tenner.
Turns out to be a pretty crappy record – a weird sort of English lounge jazz brightened by some choppy Hammond organ and marred by some sloppy scat vocals. Having heard it I have even less idea of why I might have been looking out for it. But the point is, even though I lost this time, I played the game. And doesn’t this mean that actually I won? The answer, of course, is no. Sorry, I mean, yes.