Got it Taped

Technology has advanced so much in recent years it can be hard for old fogies like me to keep up. IPods, MP3s, MP4s, multi-media tablets, Bluetooth, Internet, Intranet - it's easy to get lost in a world of must have gadgetry. As I hurtle towards the half-century of my life, occasionally I hark back to more simpler times when email was something someone from Yorkshire would greet the postman with and high-definition television meant turning the contrast button on a black and white set...

Clearing stuff out from the loft the other week, there was - among the plethora of dust covered junk that I just couldn't bear to throw out - a large cardboard box full of cassette tapes. Most people under the age of twenty-five years will not have a clue what I'm talking about (okay, I know that can be said for the majority of my ramblings on this site but that's another matter) There were dozens of tapes covered in enough dust to threaten airspace in the skies above Edinburgh. Some dated back to the mid 1970s when I was but a teenager. Back then there were no MP3 players, the Internet was something American scientists spoke about and the term download hadn't been invented yet.

The tapes contained music I had taped from the radio in my formative youth. The 1970s version of 'downloading music' involved setting up a small cassette tape recorder next to a transistor radio in my bedroom and recording music  - I use the term loosely for that decade - from the sometimes crackly sound of 'Wonderful Radio One' on the 247 frequency. Sunday evenings between 6.00pm and 7.00pm was when the Top 40 was played on Radio One. This was best time to record the best selling hits of the day although as Radio One joined Radio Two once the show was over - no 24 hour pop music then, younger reader - you ran the risk of recording Sing Something Simple immediately after. However, this was eminently cheaper than buying records - large black vinyl round things, young 'uns - although the downside was you had to try and cut out the inane cackle of disc-jockeys such as Tony Blackburn, Dave Lee Travis and Noel Edmonds (three decades and more later I'm still trying to avoid the smug bearded one on television)

I pored over the tapes and my mind drifted back to simpler times, growing up in Aberdeen, falling in love for the first time and leaving school to begin my first job. I realised, to my considerable anguish, that I no longer had anything to play these tapes on. It looked like their contents would be lost forever - until I saw something advertised on the Radio Times magazine's Home Shopping catalogue.

There, among the cheap garden ornaments, carpet cleaners and miniature ovens was something called a T2-MP3 hand held converter/player. It looked like an early version of a Sony Walkman, the cassette playing contraption that you could actually walk about with (hence the name - smart, eh?) that came out decades ago and was the forerunner of today's MP3 players. Not only does it play cassettes  but the converter - as its name implied - actually converts tapes into MP3 format which, in turn, allows you to play them on an IPod.

For less than £20 it was too good an offer to resist and my small but perfectly formed package - I can hear your innuendo from here - arrived the other day. I have made a start on the mammoth task of transferring my old tapes to MP3 format and expect to complete this task by the time baby Ava leaves school...

Regular readers of this blog  - Mrs Trevis of North Wales - will already know that I'm a sad old geek. Something to which my daughters will readily testify. If you see a fella wandering the streets of Edinburgh, headphones plugged in, smiling inanely, there's a fair chance it will be me listening once more to the 'happy, happy sound of Radio One' and music from decades gone by. Do what you can to help. Call the Care in the Community helpline without delay...

Bland FM

In this multi-media age of instant communication, satellite broadcasting and micro technology, it's small wonder my two daughters stare at me in disbelief - a trait they do with alarming frequency I might add - when I mutter rumblings about listening to the radio when I was a child. Growing up in Aberdeen in the early 1970s there was only BBC radio - none of the commercial mass media of today. And, it pains me to say, there was only BBC Radio One that played 'the hit parade' (the top 20 as it was then, dear reader) Being the BBC there were no commercials but the downside was you had to put up with the gibberish spouted by the likes of Tony Blackburn, Noel Edmonds and Dave Lee Travis. Yes, mine was a troubled childhood...

Nearly forty years on, I still listen to the radio and, at first glance, one would believe there is more choice than ever before. There's even radio on the television thanks to the Freeview digital broadcasting system. Many of the numerous radio stations now broadcasting are much of a muchness. I still listen to the BBC as my preferred choice - Radio Five Live is quite superb and my usual routine is listening to the excellent Nicky Campbell and Shelagh Fogarty on the Five Live Breakfast show. This week, however, I fancied a wee change and tuned into Forth Two, one of Edinburgh's 'local' radio stations. It was as if I had been transported back to the 1970s...

Now Forth Two is okay if you like music from decades gone by and indeed its strap line, as it never fails to inform you after every song, is Music from the 70s, 80s and beyond. But it's far too cosy for my liking. The DJs, most of whom have been there for years, never so much as utter anything controversial and you are constantly reminded of which station it is you're listening to - just in case you're too old to remember - what time of day it is, what the weather's like and what it's going to be like, what the traffic's like and, for all I know, the pollen count when wee Jeannie McGlumpher at number forty-two cuts her grass. Oh, and there's a queue at the Newington Post Office, so there may be a wee delay in getting your pension...

I suspect Forth Two is like many other radio stations in Scotland. Bland. I thought with the digital age there would be a good chance that such a change would at least begin to make Scottish radio more lively, interesting and diverse. More stations, after all, mean more voices. I thought there would be room for different styles of music, for different political perspectives, for stations to be less afraid to experiment.

There are some commercial radio stations in Scotland that cater for mainly the under 25s. And Real Radio does try to be different but seems to me to play commercials after every second record. And it has Robin Galloway...

Tomorrow morning I'll skip on being patronised by Bland FM and return to BBC Radio Five Live. And the traffic report for central London...

Guilty!

Presenter Noel Edmonds has stopped paying his TV licence fee as he does not like the BBC's "threatening" manner towards those who evade the charge. "Auntie's put boxing gloves on. I'm so incensed by the idea that I'm guilty of something that I actually cancelled my licence fee a few months ago," he said. No organisation would threaten him, he added. "They haven't found me, and nobody's come knocking on the door." From the BBC News Website

The arrogance of this irritating, talentless 'merchant banker' takes my breath away. Years ago, when the BBC thought Noel Edmonds had talent, we had to part with hard-earned cash to pay our licence fee to fund inane drivel such as Noel's House Party and Mr Fecking Blobby. Edmonds is to light entertainment what Russell Brand is to the George W. Bush Fan Club.

From his early days as the most annoying DJ on BBC Radio 1 - in the true tradition of Smashy and Nicey - to his cringe worthy, patronising hosting of Deal or No Deal - forty-five minutes of people opening empty boxes - Edmonds has always been full of his own importance. He is so far up is own backside I'm surprised he sees daylight.

So I make this plea to the authorities. Edmonds is blatantly breaking the law, refusing to do what the majority of the people do in this country without a fuss. Don't fine him £1,000. Send him straight to jail. I'd like to see him try and deal out of that...

Addiction

My name is Mike. This isn't easy for me but I feel I have a duty to my family and friends to tell them openly about my problem. It's not something I'm proud of but, while I'm not a religious person, we all have our cross to bear. Perhaps by bringing this out in the open I may find the help I so urgently require.

My 'habit' has worsened considerably since last Christmas. At that time I received an IPod Touch as a gift. Until then I didn't have a real problem. But now it threatens to spiral out of control. Ladies and gentlemen, I have to confess to - downloading cheesy music from the internet....

Pre IPod days, I used to download albums via my laptop. I felt in control this way and would download things like the fabulous Red Hot Chilli Pipers and their Bagrock classics. But the IPod means I can download music without the need for switching on a computer. And now I feel I've reached the stage where I need help.

The warning signs were there a few weeks ago when I downloaded Phil Collins' Greatest Hits. No, that's not an oxymoron. That started a trend. From Collins it was the short next step to Genesis. Talk about a Land of Confusion...

But things have worsened considerably. I read a newspaper review of the film Mamma Mia which said you'd be better off not going to see the film but spending your money instead on ABBA's Greatest Hits. Which, I'm afraid to say, I did. My problem now seems to have reached its nadir. My daughter Michaela picked me up yesterday and drove me home. She had Radio 1 on in her car so I felt I was safe enough from cheesy music. But, lo and behold, some listener who clearly has a similar problem to mine e-mailed Fearne and Reggie's Request Show and asked for The Wurzel's Combine Harvester. I tried desperately to control my feet but they were soon tapping away to the line 'I've got 20 acres and you've got 43' and I was hooked. Later that evening despite strenuous efforts to resist temptation, I reached the the IPod and downloaded The Wurzels song.

My name is Mike. Please, someone, help me escape my addiction to cheesy pop music....

For the Record

Last night I was at the Dropkick gig at The Ark in Edinburgh's city centre where the wonderful Ally Kerr was providing support. After Ally's stint was over I did something I've not done for a few months now (no, not buy a round of drinks before anyone suggests) I purchased Ally's new album - Off the Radar - on cd format.

I was reminiscing with my good friend June from Seattle the other day about buying music. Buying music is now so different to when fortysomethings like us were growing up. In the 1970s there was a certain anticipation and a thrill of actually going into a record shop (listen to old Grandad here!) and choosing an LP. The enjoyment one got out of browsing through albums, admiring the vast selection of album covers and discovering something you hadn't seen before and whether you would spend your hard-earned pocket money was palbable. In days gone by you could even ask to hear albums in specially created 'booths' akin to telephone kiosks where you could don a set of rather primitive headphones and listen in something approaching privacy.

After selecting your purchase, the shop assistant would carefully scan the vinyl for any marks or scratches. And then you would get the record home and devour the album notes as the stylus on your record player made a wee scratchy kind of noise before the music came on. And when it came to singles - 45s as was - there was the challenge of seeing how many records you could stack on your record player before a mis-shaped record centre would grind your stylus to a halt and you would leap to retrieve the record before any permanent damage was done.

When I was a teenager I used to think I had a relatively decent record collection until I saw some of my friends vast collection of vinyl. One mate used to have so many record carrying cases he could have built the equivalent of the Berlin Wall - yet he knew exactly where to find a specific record.

Nowadays, you don't even need to leave your house, you just download tracks via your computer - it's all so 'instant'. Other than a wee icon on your pc/IPod and the music itself, there seems nothing tangible about the purchase. And on those 'singles' that do have more than one track, the iconic 'B' side has been replaced by a somewhat nondescript 'Track 2'.

Now I don't expect my two daughters to even come close to understand what this is all about. But for those of us who were around in the days when there was only one music show on the television to watch all week - Top of the Pops (and even this has been scrapped by the BBC) - and taping the Top 20 off Radio One was one of the highlights of a Sunday, the wee nostalgic nod to the days when vinyl was king may strike a chord.

Or I may just be playing with history at the wrong speed...