#and music still on MTV

[innerxsanctum]

Pet Shop Boys at the MTV EMA 2024

[user-boxer]

This user wishes MTV was still a music channel

[sunburnacoustic]

Muse at the 2007 MTV EMAs, from the microcuts.net archives (RIP)

[stfulara]

I love celebrity drama cos no way Sabrina just performed Taste in front of Shawn AND Camilla. CRAZYYY

[maryp50]

These two are just the cutest.

[star-crossed-lizards]

everybody tell me your favorite music video or music videos you consider to be iconic, ones that you consider important to the culture or that you see referenced a lot, or even just ones that pop into your head when you think of a good music video

[ofmdee]

good morning (or so long n goodnight?), ed in the helena dress 🚨

[marnie1964]

thoughts on the 70s music poll tournament?

My dude I am so afraid to look. What's happening now??

[croc-odette]

did they play no surprises by radiohead in house md or did i imagine that

[silverlininghills]

from the new video

text reads:

"NED,

SAW CLANCY N TORcH BERER JUS LIKE KEONS SED!

HOPE YOU R WELL

NED"

[dulcevenganzaa]

one of the biggest arguments for tv channels or avenues like mtv and the like is that they expose young people to legacy acts and older music imo.....which is something we don't really have today and hence why you get teens and people in their early 20s clueless about certain music genres

[rabid-dog-steve-horn]

I Still Love You (Live From MTV Unplugged/1995)

[smgvault]

Sarah Michelle Gellar, 2004 MTV Europe Music Awards.

[oh-a-very-toxic-octopus]

Okay, Discord buds got my drunken real-time rant about this, but it needs immortalising here for future me's sake.

Years ago, my dad bought a motorcycle trailer.

Or claims he did. I'd argue he bought a bit of scrap metal on wheels. Someone grabbed a fistful of box section and a bit of checkerplate and weld-bolted it all together into the most rickety piece of shit trailer-shaped rack you can possibly imagine.

It creaks if you even look at it. The floor plates don't line up properly; my dad has fallen off this trailer while loading it.

To further highlight the lunacy of keeping this thing, let me add that my dad's bike, the Triumph T160 he and my mum bought new decades ago, has appreciated wildly as a classic and is now worth over £10k. He is loading a £10k motorbike onto a trailer worth £3.50.

I have been ragging on this thing forever. Jim tries to be polite around my parents, but whenever he glimpses this trailer he has to do the turn away/headshake combo and then text me his complaints as 10-20 single-line messages sent over the next half-hour. It's law.

This is my dad revealing another foible of the trailer on the morning of The Event.

Yesterday, my dad drove from London to Anglesey. On sheer distance alone, this trip's worthy of an exacting check of your vehicle and trailer before you set off, but the tail end of the drive cuts through Eryri, the most mountainous bit of Wales, too. The area is remote and the roads are a little dangerous. You have to be prepared.

My dad, unprepared, sets off at around three. At half eight, I'm at home eating an omelette and having an important conversation with Jim about my mum-derived Clothes Trauma. It's taken a lot of gin to get me to this point. This is the most I've had to drink in months and I'm a little out of control, but it's cool, we needed this talk, I think it's putting my weird behaviour in context in a way that'll help him help me.

And then I get a call.

Jim's theory is that we've swapped roles with our parents. We're the dull ones with our full-time jobs and our eye on money and our strict preplanned schedules. Our parents are aimless and doing roughly whatever tf they want, and occasionally they need us to drop everything and bail them out.

This is an accurate take, the phone call reveals.

My dad's broken down short of Bangor. He's stuck on a high windswept road in the pissing rain without a rain jacket. It's a narrow road without a layby or any accessible hard shoulder; his car is parked in its lane with the hazards on, and everyone else has to detour around him. As this is Wales, the narrowness of the road means nothing: it's still a major trunk road and there are lorries blasting by. He is quite upset. He needs us to come rescue him.

We're on the far side of Eryri, 66 miles/an hour and a half away. I'm too drunk to drive, so Jim's roped in, even though he needs to be up for work at six tomorrow morning. My dad's mobile signal is appalling and he keeps dropping out of calls; I have to explain to him that he should use his phone's phone function instead of calling through WhatsApp before we even get the gist of what's gone wrong.

Which is this:

he left home without a jack

or the right socket to fit his wheelnuts

and a known slow puncture in one of the trailer's tyres.

His slow puncture has become a flat, and his planned method of pumping it up again hasn't worked. Thanks to the impeccable design of the trailer-shaped scrap, he can't get at the spare while he has a motorbike loaded up.

It's the most predictable and avoidable breakdown since that one time I forgot to fit a new split link when changing my motorbike chain and the whole thing poinged off outside Aldi. And at least my issue was memory and not a conscious decision to be an idiot.

Anyway, we set out. Important beats:

We lack the diesel to get there without a stop, which is always interesting in North Wales at night. The fuel station in Betws-y-Coed saves us. Thank you Shell. About halfway through the drive, my dad calls again to say he's found his 17mm socket at last and has successfully crawled under the trailer and retrieved the spare, but can't swap the wheels without a jack.

(Having since sobered up and had a good look at the photos, I wonder how the hell he got under there. The trailer sits incredibly low and he's pulled up against the kerb, so how did he get under there? Lying in the road?)

And so we find him, halfway up a mountain road in the rain and wind and dark.

The wind's so wild it almost ploughs my door into that stone wall. As we're putting out our emergency triangle and letting the Ranger's rear chevrons do some work, I am drunk but still struck by how dumb this really is. My dad confesses he got too cold at one point and had to shiver himself warm in the car with the engine on and the heated seats going. He is seventy-odd, for context.

With our jack, it takes approximately three minutes to fit the spare.

He heads off, we head home. The satnav suggests we'll be back by ten past midnight but it's more like twenty-five past.

There's not really a point to this whole rambling post. Carry a jack, obviously. That's not a lesson anyone should have to learn, which has been the running theme of 2023 so far: things go wrong and we learn nothing.

But on less of a down note, things go wrong, we learn nothing, and I get to spend an evening bopping in the car with my long-suffering yet still awesome partner, who, after a lot of gin and a lot of driving, now 100% grasps what my parents are like.

We also got to look very cool and patient and reliable in an emergency. I like it.

[brochacho]

oo whats the first song in ur spotify top songs with a number in it?? mine is 360 by charli xcx

[thelostpassenger]

"They don't make music videos like they used to." Meanwhile, Dua Lipa be like: