Thursday, 6 December 2007

On a steel horse, apparently

I am a sophisticated music fan. The 3,000- odd tunes on my iPod range from the sublime to the cor-blimey. It's therefore fair to say that I have catholic tastes. And that's "small-c catholic". It doesn't mean that I only like Gregorian chant, by the way.

So I'm only slightly ashamed to admit that I used to have the teensiest of soft spots for Bon Jovi. Now, don't get me wrong, here, I wouldn't seek their music out if I had a choice. But they were all over the place in the 80's. To be honest, I really preferred acts that didn't have such a hair product collateral - Led Zep, Motorhead and Deep Purple wouldn't know one end of a L'Oreal can from another. But in the pubs and clubs I went to at the time, you couldn't really get away from New Jersey's finest. I even got persuaded by a friend to see them at Milton Keynes Bowl about twenty years ago. They were actually rather good - a little polished, perhaps, but not offensive.

But I must admit to trying to stifle a little giggle when I saw a full-sized billboard promoting their latest tour. They're playing at the Ricoh Arena in Coventry next year. There's a picture of the band putting on their best mean-and-moody into the camera. There is a lot of leather and accessorising from International House of Horse Brass. At least one of them looks like he'd much rather be having a bit of a sit down with a digestive biscuit and a brew. The passing of time can indeed be a cruel thing.

But it wasn't the band shot that made me nearly steer off the road. It was the tagline, in words three feet high:

"The Lost Highway Leads to Coventry."

Now, I'm sorry. That sort of thing probably makes perfect sense in Montana, the Big Sky Country. Or in places like Nevada, Arizona, Texas, even. I can imagine a Lost Highway winding an epic route through breathtaking scenery. You're on a one-way ticket to Nowhere City. You just don't care. You're a man with a score to settle. The rules of society don't apply to you. It's just you and your ride. On the Lost Highway.

I'm afraid this sort of thing doesn't really translate very well over here. Mind you, I suppose its difficult to give the A444 from Nuneaton to Foleshill the same feel.

5 comments:

Tom said...

The reason for the mean and moody was undoubtedly that they had missed that morning's Metamucil and were feeling a little crampy.

I was sure that the Lost Highway was somewhere in Kentucky or somewhere else down south USA. All this time it was leading to Coventry. Huh. Who knew?

City Girl said...

Nope, not here in the South. I just checked. Most definitely Out West.

Although, I believe the Lost Highway does intersect with the Highway to Hell somewhere in Arkansas.

You shure got a purdy mouth, Boy.

Rebecca said...

We gave our Lost Highway to New Mexico in exchange for a pan of chicken enchiladas in green sauce. What can I say? We don't have good Mexican food in Montana.

Anonymous said...

Can you say that you have ever been to coventry?
what right do you have to pass judgement on it when you yourself are a small minded idiot with the blogging power of a ant
And if coventry is such a nowhere place then why do people repeatedly come here?

fatboyfat said...

Anonymous: I actually spend every day in Coventry. I work there. And I quite like it.

Which is why, if you'd actually spent a little time reading what I'd written, you'd have noticed that my ant-like powers hadn't actually been spent deriding the place. I was actually taking the pee out of Bon Jovi.

Do try to keep up, sunshine. Shall I type slower in future? Will that help?

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