the turn of the year

The clock ticks 10 to 12. Slowly people are counting down to the new year. The once so fat bulk of remaining minutes is growing thinner, the final sixty seconds are already bursting with anticipation. In the background, the music is also counting down. While the ever raging sounds of Hotel California are racing through the room, Queen is snorting for courage understage. In a little while they will pull themselves from their coffins once more to adieu another year in style.

Daddy has comfortably settled into the couch. He's had a little too much to eat and to drink, but so far he's skilfully stayed clear from belching and telling dirty jokes. His darling wife eyes the clock with pride and signals to daddy he's right on track. Just a little while longer. The turn of the year dictates a suit and a well-needed trim of the old haircut. But the pink shirt dad was supposed to wear is still hanging at home, a glorious but lonely victory after a mad power struggle earlier that day. 2009 is energetically knocking at the door but daddy doesn't care much, 2009 will bring him nothing the 45 years before haven't brought him yet. Another year of working late, whining, grinding and evermore sucking pop music.

On the soothing melodies of the ever improving background music daddy slumbers gently back to the past, aided by the stream of rebelling sounds of yesteryear. And he remembers his prime, when pop music was given a brand new face lift. In those days, there was a real need for rebellion. Pop music was dominated by an evil force of boogeymen, sporting ugly warts and black eyes, which needed to be abolished. It was a beautiful time, when hair was hip and the price of a pair of pants was related to the actual amount of fabric used. In those days there was still room for musical rebellion and daddy was one of the first to take part in it. He was going to change the world, because change was good. Those oldies were only out to rob the youth of their vigor and daddy was going to bring them to a full stop.

Daddy fought long and hard in the musical revolution and is above all proud of what he accomplished. Over the years his pride became eclipsed by his swollen belly and balding head, but when daddy looks into the mirror he can still see the twinkling clearly, hidden away in his faded eyes. That mania from before, when he was re-sculpting the world of music almost single-handedly.

And he remembers his friends, his pals, who aided him in his quest against the establishment. He and his comrades who pledged eternal loyalty to each other, sealing a formal blood bond. Daddy knows they are still out there as their presence is still felt in the music scene of today. Together they led the revolution and together they earned their merits. Even now the higher ups make sure daddy still receives his yearly royalties as a soldiers of the revolution.

Their plan was twofold, their mission very clear. Away with the old, embrace the new. And that's exactly what they did. When dad got two sons he became their friend, wrapped his arms around their shoulders and opened up his record collection to them. "Take whatever you want" was his motto, and while his raging offspring were destroying his carefully established collection of records, daddy and his pals were sneakily taking over the turn of the year. There are no wars without casualties.

The sacrifices paid off. While each year the whole world is looking back at a year almost gone, the world of music closes its door for seven days. The revolution of days long gone takes center stage again and reigns supreme for kingdom come. Daddy's battle for peace of mind was successful. He outdid all his enemies, including his own self and his beloved human legacy.

And all over the kingdom the rebels of the past are appraisingly nodding their heads. All shiny and suited up. They are sitting in their hard earned leather throne while Mercury is squealing one final set of notes. Daddy only hears the fireworks in his own head when the last sounds of Queen die out, and he belches fashionably loud. He enjoys himself immensely.

The turn of the year is over, the kingdom evaporates and the coming 51 weeks daddy will retreat himself into his protective shell once more, living behind a mask of faked interest. But once a year the past is able to rebuild itself, and that's a certainty. And in that past daddy is alive, proud and well, like a hero sitting on a white horse.

Seven days per year daddy poses as a smart rebel, but in reality he is nothing more than a wolf in sheep's hide, scared to become a victim of rebellion himself. All daddies are aware of that, deep inside, but as long as the old classics keep flowing from TV sets and radios at 10 to 12 midnight, there is hope left and his plan is holding up.

Daddy doesn't care that the rest of the world misses out on a nice musical recap of the last year, because pop music is shite anyways, what is there to miss out on, right?