Phil Collins and the Meaning of Life: Oxymoron?

I was reminded by a friend that I have been a little remiss in my musical tastes section on my blog profile. She, who on a couple of extended visits to mine was subjected to an album played endlessly on repeat*, declared: 'you seem to have omitted Phil Collins from your musical interests ... shame on you! He got you through dem bad times, sister!' Ahem, yes, I have omitted him indeed. This is not so as not to appear incredibly un-hip (as, no doubt, the very use of the term 'un-hip' will) but because (1) I had completely forgotten about him, and (2) even had I remembered, I suspect that the music will not so much hit a raw nerve as bring back memories best left. 

So, although it has been pointed out to me that Phil Collins' music is about as trendy as gyrating octogenarians, I stand by my musical choice at that time, not least because I have a tendency to resist music fascism. I certainly bought the music in a happening place, Crouch End no less (ok, it was in Woolworth’s, but still). His music may not be my taste now but it was one of three** things that helped me through a tough time and when people are metaphorically wielding sledgehammers and smashing up every area of your life you need all the help you can get; you don't stop and question the fashion-status validity of this aid. So, cheers Phil, you may not make it onto my playlist these days but for a time you spoke words that were meaningful to my life.

* this would have been one of the tracks:

Nowadays, I would be more likely to listen to something like this:

or, this:

**The other two are Jesus Christ and kind and patient friends/family; to my God and King and to these friends I owe a debt.