Picture the scene – 1989, the uncoolest kid of his era stumbles into Sundown Records and buys an album on the back of hearing one song on the radio and being taken in by the alluring nonsense daubed all over the record sleeve.
Three Feet High and Rising blew me away and for a few weeks, I was the coolest damn kid on the bus(read: in my own mind). I loved the cavalier disregard for preceding musical standards, the fun, the poetry, and the verging-on-mentally-ill private humour interlaced between the music.
I think the tinnitus was cemented in stone around this time. A most unfortunate flaw on my budget Walkman(though frankly the real Walkmans were even worse from memory): whenever I tried to move the walkman, change its settings, adjust my posture, scratch an itch, think a wrong thought, the volume was suddenly ramped through the roof, leaving me with blood pouring out of my ears, screaming, as I dived on fire out of the bus’s rear window under oncoming traffic.
I was holding onto this baby until I got my gigantic abandoned warehouse flat, with an OTT industrial elevator, a big arch-shaped window overlooking a suspension bridge, and a spiral staircase. Then I would’ve blasted it out while doing my kung fu exercises in front of my harem, wearing those pyjama bottoms the Burmese tribesmen crafted for me out of respect for saving their crippled children from the angry tigers.
Alas, I have since learned that all of that is bullshit reserved for adverts, bad films, and bumfools, so it’s never gonna happen. Well I’m still secretly holding out for those trousers if I’m absolutely honest but maybe let’s not go there. Oh we already went there? Well kiss my face and call me Nancy. My bumble bee jalopies to you all. (No not YOU)
So being a penniless fuck-up facing a cold unforgiving world of sick games, I sold the album instead. It made me quite sad.
Here’s my favourite track off the album: Jenifa Taught Me, by De La Soul: