Music that sounded best when I took a short cut through Burger King at the railway station this morning, and it was cold and wet and I was very tired: Heaven is a Place on Earth by Belinda Carlisle. I heard about 5 seconds of it in all, as I was in a hurry to get to the self-service ticket machines, to begin the next stage of my 90 minute pig of a commute to work. But it sounded bloody great, both absolutely earnest and stupidly utopian at the same time, uplifting but without me having to believe even for a second in the sentiments of the song. Like I said, just bloody great. So what’s the problem? Well, none for me, but it’s come to my attention via this enormous thread on ILM that there are still people out there trying to police the boundaries between ‘proper’ and ‘improper’ appreciation etc. of music. i.e. the indie-police will be out to get me. If you don’t ‘respect’ disco; if you dance in a silly fashion when others around you might be taking the music entirely seriously; if you like hip-hop ironically; if you only listen to music in shops or on the radio, but don’t buy albums, follow groups; if you threaten their precious sense of self-worth and even begin to question the distinctions by which they sustain their own priceless superiority over the dumb masses (and even over lesser beings of their own kind, in the form of the hipster): they’ve got your number. Well take this as a warning, you sad-sack twats, you won’t take me down without a fight!