I have been sleeping with the radio on lately. The CD player in my bedroom is broken, so I turned BBC 2 radio on the other day and have left it going since. (I know. I'm single-handedly perpetuating global warming. Sorry about that.) I am hearing all kinds of great things I wouldn't have, though. When I get up in the middle of the night for a wee, I hear it. When I am trying to calm myself down after hours of paper writing, I hear it. When I'm drifting in and out of consciousness during my AM snooze-fest (usually a good 45 minutes of alarms every 9 minutes), I hear it. (Apropos of nothing, why did they pick 9 minutes? Not 10, not 5, 9. And I think every alarm clock I've owned is a nine-minute snooze. ?!?)
Some of what I hear is good. Some is a bit odd. Some of it is Terry Wogan. But Sunday mornings are the biggest mixed bag of all. Early on, there is a show that is all religious music. It's gospel, it's classic churchy stuff, and it's a bit of pop-Christian stuff. Very little deviation from Christian thus far, but since there's a national church here I guess it's understandable. (That said, today they had an atheist and a Christian debating the acceptability of non-Christian faiths in the UK, and the Christian made my favourite point about how annoying it is that it is has become cool to assume all smart people are atheists or agnostics.) Not my favourite show on Radio 2, but not the worst, either.
The WORST one comes on at 9AM. It's nothing but love songs and dedications. Seriously. Love song. Dedication. Love song. Dedication. Repeat. Now, I have certainly been known to like a love song now and again. I have always been a fan of the soulful singer songwriter, and as was highlighted in my 40@40, the Quirky Love Song genre is one of my favourites. But I hate power ballads. Really hate them. Hate the over-singing. Hate the key of sap. Hate the slow-paced power guitar background. Hate the soprano saxes and the keyboard solos and the key-change bridges. Hate absolutely everything about them.
What a sucky sucky idea for a show. It's positively awful. I had to fly out of bed to turn the radio off so the woman screeching "Show Me Heaven" would stop. Which, by the way, seems to be a very frequent analogy in the power ballad. Lots of stars and moons and soaring through the heavens crap. Find a new metaphor for pete's sake.
But the one good thing that came out of this was that it helped me put my finger on why I hate Coldplay. They claim to be a rock band, but they're really just power ballad singers who don't bathe as often as they should. Martin is an oversinger extraordinaire. Not to mention a mumbly. Enunciate, man! It's not that hard!
Listen, Coldplay. It's nice that you love Gwyneth and all, but it still doesn't change the fact that she can't act and looks like she needs a sandwich. Shut up already.