Teenage dreams, so hard to beat

John Peel
John Peel, Fall album appropriately to hand. (Note B&W portrait of tortured arsehole/genius, Mark E Smith, on wall behind.)
Bloody hell! John Peel died yesterday.

I don't want John Peel to be dead. Why couldn't the good lord, in His infinite wisdom, have taken some other DJ unto His bosom—one who doesn't give a flying toss about music—Sarah Kennedy, say, or Chris Moyles? Peelie will be sorely missed.

To make matters worse, not only has one of my heroes died, but they wheeled another of my heroes on to Newsnight last night to give tribute. And Mark E Smith of The Fall made a total arsehole of himself. Yes, Mark E, we know you're cool and controversial and outspoken and an utter genius and all that stuff, but would it really have hurt you to say something nice about the chap who did so much for your career? I reckon it must be Scouse-envy.

(Not that Peelie was really a Scouser, you understand: he was from the Wirral, where all the best people come from.)

See also: John Peel 1939–2004 (Guardian special report)


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