I seem to have this habit of getting caught at the sweary bits of songs. When I first played Never Mind the Bollocks my grandmother wandered in right at the moment in Bodies where it all kicks off. You would have thought that I would have learned my lesson, but of course I didn’t. I had just moved into a basement flat and my elderly, church going landlady decided to come down to say hello and see if I was settling in OK. She walked through the door just as the title track Next began to play, not loud enough to turn down, but still with enough volume to hear the lyrics, we both stood chatting while a mad Glasweigan gadgy told us about sleeping with diseased prostitutes. I knew she knew what was being sung about, we both chose to continue the strained conversation until the word gonorrhea rang out from my speakers and I turned the volume down, made some lame excuse about needing the toilet (it was all that talk of venereal disease) and made my escape.
When I listened to this tonight I made sure my headphones were firmly on, just to make doubly sure I waited until I was alone before the needle hit the plastic, or in this case, the much less romantic, before the laser decoded the 1s and 0s.
Best track; Faith Healer