Stirring sleeping demons

East Fife Mail, April 1, 1992

At an age when I am supposed to have outgrown all passing fads and crazes, I still carry that demon deep inside which every so often surfaces, screaming: “I want that and I want it now!”

Growing up has a lot to do with suppressing that tormenting voice within, but it never goes away.

Twenty-odd years ago I passed a music shop and gazed longingly at an electric guitar, wrestled with the demon, ran a quick check on the birthday countdown and announced “That's what I want”.

I'm sure my parents decided there and then that there was no way they were going to allow anything with such a volume capability across their doorstep.

They'd tolerated my sister's complaints when I'd nicked her tennis racket for Elvis impressions in front of the mirror and indulged me to the extent of an acoustic six-string for my Bob Dylan phase. Going `electric', however, was the limit.

The years passed and I eventually had to start dealing with my own children's pointed fingers and wide-eyed “I want that”.

‘My Little Pony’, ‘Cabbage Patch Kids’, ‘He-Man’, followed by computer games, make-up, ear-rings, football strips, all, for brief spells, became the centre of ‘intelligent’ conversation.

Parents eventually reach a point where their eyes glaze over and the demands surfacing from a couple of feet below you drift in one ear then rocket out of the other.

One day though, something stirred my demon. On a family shopping trip we passed by a music shop and before I could control it, out shot the forefinger and an excited yelp: “I wantýthat”.

The kids looked at one another and sniggered, the other practical adult pointed out more ‘pressing’ needs, mundane things like shelves, carpets, school blazers…

They stunned the demon but did not kill it off.

Saving the pennies I eventually stumbled upon an old amp, 45 watts of solid power: raw noise - I bought it. It sat there in the spare room, latent energy, just waiting for a jack plug. I was committed now and, in due course, the second half of my master plan was realised. The family gathered round, all wearing a look similar to the bewildered dog, as I unpacked my first ‘axe’.

The dog was first to flee as windows rattled, pictures shook and the floorboards rumbledê

Six months on I've become a bit of an embarrassment. There are constant apologies to neighbours; the children, mortified by the youngsters who assemble outside the house and pogo on the wall, pretend I'm not quite the full shilling or an eccentric relative on an extended visit.

As for me, I couldn't be happier, I'd waited 20 years to deafen myself and those around me and I'm going about it with a vengeance.

It doesn't matter that I'm not very good, I'm loud and that's what counts. I also think doctors should check out the therapeutic qualities of electrification. It's great for easing tension and venting aggression, drowning out the little ructions that little humans, especially boy v girl seem to develop a passion for.

It's a great tool for emotional blackmail. The threat that I'm going to occupy centre stage at my offsprings' weddings has already persuaded them that single-status or eloping is certainly required.

And it also seems to have silenced that demon. I say seems, because I’ve seen this Royal Enfield 250cc motor bike that I vowed I'd buy way back when I turned 16.

Picture: Papafox