A Deeper Cut.

Even though it happened twenty years ago, I still vividly remember the time my parents said the Wings song Magneto & Titanium Man was shit.

(Not their exact wording, but the sentiment.)

We were speeding down the A1 on our way back from Weymouth, returning from a holiday I’d won in a talent show. I was obsessed with magic as a child, and would carry a few tricks with me whenever we went away. I'd entered the first heat of the competition on a whim, while on another family break to the Isle of Wight. It only took a coin trick, a rope trick and a quick burst of the linking rings to secure a place in the final in Weymouth, where I sank without a trace. So I wasn’t in the best mood in the car to start with.

My parents let me choose the soundtrack for the journey home, to keep my spirits up. I handed my mum a C60 of Venus & Mars that I’d taped from the LP (I had eclectic tastes for a child of the 80s). We were just five songs into side A when the atmosphere turned sour. My dad turned to my mum and said, unequivocally, ‘This is crap’.

I felt affronted. I liked Wings and I loved that song. It may not have been as accessible as Jet or Band on the Run, but it was one of my favourites. I knew there was often a clash in taste between different generations, but not usually because the child liked something from their parents’ era. I quietly fumed to myself for the rest of the journey.

I’m not sure why I still recall such a fleeting and innocuous moment. It certainly suggests my childhood wasn’t too traumatic. At least it made a change from always listening to Cliff Richard’s Private Collection. Now, there’s a title that’s become more sinister of late.