Happy Birthday to "The Grown Ups": T.E.D.

As a way of celebrating the first birthday of my debut album, The Grown Ups, I thought I would write a little "behind the scenes" feature about each of the songs on the LP. You can listen, download or buy the album over at www.mickterry.co.uk

T.E.D.

In 1982 I kept a personal diary. It is the only diary I have ever kept and I wrote in it every day. With hindsight, 1982 was a perfect choice as it captured the period between my last year at school and my first year at work. It was a year of great change in my life. Leaving school and heading out into the big, wide world had left me feeling like I was on the bottom rung of the ladder all over again, rather than becoming the adult I was so desperate to be. I had always envisaged being magically transformed from boy to man overnight when I hit my 16^th year, but, pre-conceived notions, more often than not, have a way of slapping you right in the kisser.

I was a shy kid and often marveled at how interesting other people’s lives appeared to be. They always seemed to be doing the things I wanted to do: going to clubs, playing in bands, taking drugs and having sex. In short, I wanted their lives. Instead, I lived, vicariously, through the pages of the NME, Melody Maker and Smash Hits. I looked upon music as a religion. I worshipped The Jam and The Small Faces. Paul Weller could have told me to eat my shoes and I would have done it without missing a beat. Stevie Marriot, however, was the perfect role model. He was a Mod (like me), he was short (like me) and had a blue-eyed soul voice that could tear the roof of off the joint (unlike me). Around this time I joined my first band and tried to emulate little Stevie and his Faces. It was a short lived affair and probably lasted less than 18 months, but, I knew that this was what I wanted to do. I began to set targets for myself. If I didn’t get signed by a record company by the time I was 18, I would give up. This deadline was extended to 21, then 25, then 30, after which point we never mentioned the deadline again.

Back in my year zero of 1982, a friend of mine had an imaginary friend. She would refer to him all the time, without a hint of irony: “He did this”, “He said that” or “We went there”. I was deeply envious. Although I had the friends I had grown up with, I could already feel myself drifting away from them. I wanted more than the work/pub/marriage/work/pub merry-go-round that seemed to be on offer and yearned for a like-minded soul. The imaginary friend seemed like the perfect answer, but, try as I might, I could never, quite, pull it off. I was much too self conscious and, coupled with the crunching right hook of low self esteem that hit me on a daily basis, was always left feeling like a fraud. To carry it off successfully, you’ve got to believe your own press. On my 16^th birthday, my friend sent me a card and signed it from both of them. It was a great pimp move. I still have that card somewhere……