“Poo... wee... jobs...” a small
voice gleefully cries, intermittently interspersed with hysterical
giggling. This is the sound of a pre-pubescent me recording over one
of my Dad's Andy William cassettes. If you listen carefully in the
background you can hear a justifiably angry Old Dear shouting, “Are
you recording over my Andy Williams tape?”
Back in those days I wasn't a huge fan
and was more interested in saying “naughty” words than listening
to his music. Fast-forward to the mid-90s and the release of Danny
Boyle's excellent big screen debut, Shallow Grave. Aside
from introducing me to Ewan McGregor, Shallow Grave
helped me to understand my dad's earlier enthusiasm for Andy and
prompted the beginnings of my vinyl collection. I have many happy
memories of sitting in a friend's car or hanging out in another
friend's barn belting out Happy Heart.
Last year, The Boy and I contemplated
visiting Andy's Moon River Theatre in Branson for his annual
Christmas concert. Although we knew he'd recently been diagnosed with
bladder cancer, we thought being Andy, he was indestructible. Branson
is far off our ideal North American travel route and pretty tricky to
get to. On hearing about Andy's recent demise, I'm gutted we never
made it but at the time it just wasn't practical. I can't believe
I've seen other crooners like Tony Bennett live doing the festival
circuit but not Andy. I'll forever regret not seeing one of my
musical heroes but I'm at least comforted by a whole array of fond
memories sound tracked by the man. RIP Andy.
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