I inherited a lot from my mom: writing skills sufficient to merit employment, a profound appreciation of red wine, and absolutely terrible taste in music. She used to listen to this local radio station, Lite 96 FM, that played a consistent rotation of adult contemporary hits — Elton John, Celine Dion, Jon Secada, Eric Clapton, Mariah Carey. She loved all of it, and so I loved it too. There was nobody we loved more than Phil Collins — prolific hit-maker, master of the overwrought love song lyric, and (in our opinion) handsome-as-fuck bald dude.
As I got older and tried to get hipper, my musical inclinations eventually branched out to incorporate some (but not much) cool person music. But to this day, for every indie jam on my playlists...
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