Is This The New Puritan Age?

As my Rio Karma blasted out The Who Live At The Royal Albert Hall during my self-inflicted torture on the treadmill, I noticed that Daltrey was singing a song about a girl who gives quality hand-jobs (Mary Ann With The Shaky Hand). Then it struck me that last night I had listened to a Beatles song, also from the 1960s, about a student who kills his teacher (Maxwell's Silver Hammer). It made me wonder. Could these be released as songs if they were written today?

The first song quite clearly encourages us to treat women as sex objects (dance with the pretty girls, but go home with the one who puts out), while the second would surely have the National Union Of Teachers threatening a national strike if it were released today and became a hit.

Obviously there is hardly any limit to the songs from the 1960s that could be interpreted differently today (a Billy J Kramer song called "Little Children" appears to be a training manual for Jonathan King and Chris Denning) but in most cases this was because it was a more innocent age. But there are other songs which are, well, rude or cutting edge, that were quite comprehensible in their original meaning. Are there the equivalents of these today? It doesn't seem so. Avril Lavigne seems to sing mainly about staying virginal until she gets married. The only stuff that is "cutting edge" out there appears to be the anti-homosexual rantings of some Jamaican hip-hop stars. I've got no sympathy for their point of view, but I'd rather have that than the anodyne non-controversial crap being spouted by the new generation of Bobby Darins in the "charts".

Recent books

I recently finished Life of Pi, by Yann Martel, and at the moment I am working through Andrea Levy's Small Island. Life of Pi is a bit of a curate's egg that I have to admit I found to be ultimately unsatisfying. I can't fault the writing, which more than once reminded me of the late, great, Richard Brautigan. But as the book developed Martel seemed to fall in love with magical realism, a style that I had (clearly forlornly) hoped would be little more than a short-term fad beloved by Ben Okri, a few reviewers in Granta and Time Out, and no-one else. That said, the books sheer style carries the reader through to the end (ehich, like I said, I wasn't that keen on). And about three-quarters of the way through there is a section of sheer imaginitive wonder that would not be out of place in an Arthur C Clarke novel (except, of course, that Yann Martel is a better writer). Half recommended.