When that great, gigantic meteor eventually hurtles towards us and civilisation crumples into a heap of molten fire, I know exactly which CD I'll reach for to take the edge off: Coldplay's A Rush of Blood to the Head.
Nu metal is now old metal. That places Limp Bizkit somewhere at the forefront of the Bronze Age, smelting a heady mix of rock and rap in a clay pot of 'nookie' and backwards caps.
Phil Collins, the ferret-faced uncle of pop, with his vocal sack of heartache from his Su Su studio of emotional longing, is a living, breathing revelation.
Do you own any greatest hits compilations? Maybe buried in your car’s snuff box you’ve got Queen's Greatest Hits II or Michael Jackson’s Number Ones, or even B*Witched’s Blame It On The Hits. You’re only human after all.
In 1998 a song about the male appendage reached the top of the charts. I can’t think of another song with a similar subject matter to achieve the same dazzling heights of success since ‘My Ding-a Ling’ became a hit for Chuck Berry in 1972.
When two likely lads from the fishing port of Newcastle upon Tyne stormed the charts with the soulful, easy listening pop gem ‘Lifted’, the fishing community rejoiced as one of their own had hit the big time.