Spot on, Bob. Banshees are my first love, and I know I've got one of the bestest-most-completistest collections in the country. I love the old trout to bits, even though she does sound like a cat in a washing machine. Saw her last at the Festival Hall for the Dreamshow gigs, but it just wasn't like the old days any more.
😉
Since you started a wee rant, I'll have one as well...
Rant Part One: I had this vile nemesis on eBay, who's clearly a very late starter when it comes to Sioux, but also certainly has a helluva lot more spare cash than I do, judging by the nonsensical prices he was prepared to pay for things. But I have some extremely rare vinyl bootlegs that I don't think he even knows exist, so I can live with him having a dodgily recorded promo video that Siouxsie vetoed and refused to let be seen. Little swine.
I had to balance my extremely competitive nature with my natural Aberdonian meanness, and am proud that in all my collecting, I've never once paid more than two-thirds of the generally accepted dealer standard price.
Rant Part 2: My Smiths/Morrissey collecting pursuits have had to go into hiatus since that bloody Record Collector '100 Smiths Rarities' issue, which meant that every man and his dog is now bidding ludicrous amounts on eBay, and dealers have hiked up prices accordingly. Knowledge is power indeed, but I do resent it horribly when the great unwashed casual Moz fans who didn't know anything before 'Irish Blood' start interfering with the fiscal health and sanity of oldies like me.
Anyway, where was I? Aye, Magazine and Joy Division and The Fall. Not with the depth of passion that I have for the Banshees, Steven Patrick, Damned or Mr Lydon, but fine nevertheless.
You're not the first person to tell me I'd love the Dickies. My mate Chelsea Dave keeps mentioning this. And aye, I always thought Gen X were a bunch of t..ts.
I'm now going to spend the next hour racking my feeble old brain to work out the identity of Sc...
🙂 My current pet hates are two bands beloved by unimaginative undergraduates and middle-class Sunday supplement readers with no critical faculty. These bands are making shedloads of money despite being basically talentless musically and positively criminal in the lyrics department.
For future reference, it's worth noting that the Weasel immensely enjoys sounding off about petty annoyances and assorted oafs, and is happy for any thread she initiates to be sidetracked onto such activities. Ranting is good for the soul. Rant on, my friend.
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