Musical taste is such a personal thing and everyone thinks there's is the definitive one.
I just wish that some people would open their ears to different sounds.
I don't think it's a problem with age either.
Young people can be just as fixed in their own grooves.
As someone with eclectic tastes, I like to think I'm willing to embrace anything, from classical to jazz to folk.
I recently made the mistake of sending an old friend Fflur Dafydd's 2009 cd ' Byd Bach.'
I've seen her perform live, but came across one track from this album, 'Aberaeron', on Facebook and followed it up with looking at others on You Tube (many have the translations, which is helpful). I downloaded the album and wasn't disappointed.
In fact, it's one of the best ever Welsh language albums.
My enthusiasm was rather undermined by the friend's reaction - 'Thanks...but give it to someone else. I can't understand Welsh and it's not my kind of music.'
And this from someone who requested I send them Huw M.'s last album!
A number of both friends and relatives do share my catholic tastes, but this person isn't one!
The greatest influence on my discovery of sounds wasn't John Peel or even the Whistle Test, but my good friend Andrew Bartz.
Andrew has introduced me to so many truly remarkable recording artists as well as great individual songs over the years ; I owe him so much.
Two of the ones who really stand out are John Cale and Tom Russell, though I have a feeling the first Thea Gilmore I ever listened to was also on one of his many tapes.
Since then I have managed to collect and savour most of the albums by these amazing singer-songwriters, a journey begun by those brown reels and celebrated by a poem in my new book 'Shedding Paper Skin' called 'From East and West' ( a tribute to the Bartzman).
Each of his tapes would have imaginative and often hilarious titles and each would contain an astonishing diversity of songs, from Aboriginal band Yothu Yindi to the blues of Link Wray.
Andrew could hire himself out as an album titler if such a role existed, because these tapes had such memorable titles , like 'Formula One Elastic and a Bag Full of Rats', 'File Under Unwanted' and ' The Saga of the Psychotic Chair'.
Which brings me back to opening ears......
It's vital not to dismiss any genre of music.
To say you're averse to Funk and then ignore Dr. John is to miss so much.
Above all, while I can only celebrate the emerging musical talent of Cymru ( and Merthyr, in particular), I have an awful feeling that a lot of these musicians aren't paying enough attention to the very best lyricists.
Discussing this recently with fellow Red Poet Al Jones, his suggestions were pertinent.
What Al called for was a tv series of masterclasses, where individual singer-songwriters would talk about their craft and demonstrate it through songs.
Just imagine a showcase like this for the likes of Dylan, Waits, Thea Gilmore, Karine Polwart, Meic Stevens and so on.
At present ( with few exceptions like Kate Tempest) all lyrics are beginning to sound the same.....like a Bullingdon Club of pop, divorced from the realities of society.
Maybe such a series could help make that important connection with the truly great wordsmiths, many of whom ( such as Tom Russell) remain relatively unknown.
It might just bring home how much words matter and how it's possible to be poetic in song without being too hard to decipher.
With Dafydd's 'Byd Bach' I can, as a learner, just about appreciate the intensity and meanings of her songs, where the interrelationships between place and people are so strong.
But language shouldn't be a barrier.
For a long time we have embraced the likes of Youssou N'Dour, so why should Cymraeg be any different?
Even if you aren't a fan of it's jazz-pop, there are tracks on the album such as 'Penrhiwllan' and 'Llwybrau' which are closer to folk and which cannot fail to move even the most sceptical listener.
Even without the benefit of Mr Bartz's infamous reels, I'll still be trying to sniff out new sounds.
This poem couldn't have been written without the influences of Kevin Coyne and earlier Dylan songs.....
FAIRWOOD DRIVE
The woman in the armchair's screaming
sitting up but buried alive
and they say there's somewhere for you
down on Fairwood Drive
another's arms are flailing
her mouth is catching flies
they tell you it'll all be fine
when you get to Fairwood Drive
the tv's always blaring
but nobody listens to its lies
all that you can think about
is moving to Fairwood Drive
you jump at every loud noise
you need to paint to survive
there is light and high room
waiting for you on Fairwood Drive
visitors bring you fruit and music
but you only want keys to outside
you wonder if you'll ever get
to that place on Fairwood Drive.
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