So I dissed Morrissey for cancelling a tour because he had a cold. It turns out that he has cancer.
Well, excuse me for not spotting that. He said he had a cold.
Not that my personal opinion has any weight, but I wish him well, and sincerely hope that he gets better, and has many happy years ahead. I still don’t like his music, though, and I wish he’d stop making it, because I find it catchy, and don’t like waking up to find myself humming it.
It’s been announced: Malcolm Young, musical director of what was once one of the finest rock bands on the planet, AC/DC, has dementia and can no longer function as a member of the band.
I am really not much of a fan of AC/DC — you can tell, if only by the way that I haven’t gone the extra mile to use a little lightning slash in place of a regular slash in their name — but this is sad news. I had a grandfather who suffered from dementia, but he was well into his late 70s before it kicked in. Malcolm Young, aged only 61, is very young to have this particular affliction. It’s not pretty and it means a massive loss of dignity all round. Having just read Jesse Fink’s The Youngs: The Brothers who built AC/DC, my respect for how Malcolm fashioned the band’s sound is stronger than ever, even if I can only feel sad about how they calcified in the aftermath of Bon Scott’s death. Given that Malcolm was the band’s chief riffmaker, I don’t see how they can go on being as uncreative as they’ve been for the last quarter-century or so (bar the occasional good song:
Anyway. It’s been a ride, guys, but this is surely fate telling you to bring this franchise to an end, and to look after your damn brother. He’s earned it.