What do you do when your Mum starts singing along to hip-hop?
Specifically, 50 Cent's 'Do-do, doo-doo' song (I searched the interwebs to try and find the song, then realised it was pointless because they all sound the same by the virtue of sampling one piece of someone else's music and looping it over and over again as a man talks over the top).
I'm glad this is not my mother. My volunteer host – Rose, is harmonising with the already melodiously-challenged song in a way that says 'Here's how to make the world feel awkward.' Daniel, her son, is in the kitchen, creating a plate of mismatched food that is both questionably edible and incredulously non-identifiable. I feel his pain between the walls that separate us.
When Rose came in, I was expecting this, “What the hill are you playung Diniel?” (kiwi phonetics, I know, it's weird). But instead, she raped the atmosphere with Mum-song.
The solution: Snow Patrol.
Anyone can sing to that and be respected. Straight away, out came the conversation through the mellifluous stretch of sound-rolled-on-honey. The world was right again.
I feel that Snow Patrol may yet play a part in shaping the Earth to its humanitarian zenith; you can't possibly be mad at hobos or begin tribal genocide while 'Chasing Cars' is playing in the background. It's just plain sense.
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