Three is a magic number

Before I left, I mentioned to some folks that I was planning on leaving my MP3 player and packing three CDs to see me through my trip (Come to think of it, some of you were more interested in this than the specifics of my trip – hell, that’s cool, I would be the same).

So what made the cut? Firstly, the criteria; one had to be Scottish, one had to be a new release (2008 or 9) and the other could be anything – “the Classic position”, as Dad, an expert in this field, called it.

The results are surprising; two of the three CDs aren’t actually mine, and the third was delivered to me by mistake by an Amazon second-hand seller last year. I doubt Chris Moyles will give me a name-check on Radio One on the validity of my choices, but ho hum, you know me. To the results…

The Scottish post was probably the most difficult to suss out. Idlewild and Belle and Sebastian were thrust forth as suggestions that fell on deaf ears. Franz Ferdinand and The Proclaimers were early candidates, but were sent home with the other potential choice’s sympathies.

Hatful of Rain by Del Amitri made it down to the envelope opening stage. But out of nowhere came Paisley’s own Gerry Rafferty, with On A Wing And A Prayer, a quite stonking, forgotten gem.

M&D’s record collection also came up trumps when it came to picking a new CD to stick in the bag. Almost everything I have bought over the last year or so has been ancient, making this part rather tricky, but there were possibilities.

In the end, it came down to three (after I realised I didn’t have Washington Square Serenade by Steve Earle on CD, and also that Dan Wilson’s Free Life came out a year too early for consideration).

The Red Album by Weezer and Little White Lies by Fastball traded blows with each other, but only succeeding in clearing the way for Raising Sand by Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, an endlessly listenable album I have my folks to thank for the pleasure of hearing.

So far, so Dadrock. Yet all that remains is “the Classic position”, a position destined for a choice so comfortable and reassuring that a million middle-aged forefingers are waiting to be drummed on car steering wheels upon its very mention.

Women hairdressers and football dads, start your engines… it’s Like You Do, the 16-track best of the Lightning Seeds that I love more than oxygen. I already owned all the LS albums before mistakenly receiving this in the mail last year, but it encapsulates everything wonderfully and there is nothing I would rather encourage Tanzanian adults and children to dance around the room to more than this.

It was almost banished early on, as a result of Lightning Seeds cancelling a gig in Edinburgh in August that I was very much looking forward to, causing R.E.M.’s Out Of Time to start preparing its holiday wardrobe. The Cars’ debut album also began searching for its Rough Guide To Tanzania. But like a weak heart welcoming home an errant lover, I couldn’t leave Like You Do behind.

So that’s that; let the abuse begin. But before you let rip (and as Neil Buchanan used to say), try it yourself. It was bloody hard!


Ross

PS I only actually brought the Lightning Seeds CD with me. Gerry Rafferty is copied onto my laptop (complete with many wobbly laser skips) and Robert Plant and Alison Krauss’s victory is merely a moral one; I forgot to copy the CD before I left. Also, the house I am currently staying in has no CD player or electricity…