Eighteen months ago, I made a playlist for my son’s sixth birthday party. He chose the music: Michael Jackson’s Bad, Dizzee Rascal’s Bonkers, Tinie Tempah’s Pass Out, some Jessie J and One Direction. I downloaded the tracks I didn’t have and at the party, after an hour’s football, followed by snacks and one of those mass pile-ons that small boys love (why?), I put my phone into the dock and pressed play.
The sound that emerged was OK. But it couldn’t really compete with the screeching of 20 children fuelled on sugar and additives, so I turned the volume up. The noise was horrible, like a badly tuned radio being put through a final rinse and spin. “Darn it,” I thought (or a stronger equivalent), “the speakers have blown.”