Get Your Phil: Preface
Many people have a unique, identifying interest that sets them apart within their social circle. Sports teams, outdoor activites, dog breeds, writers, painters, fetishes, vices... For me, it’s Phil Collins.
When I was a young child, my grandmother collected pig figurines. Every time I’d see a potholder or page-a-day calendar with pigs on it, I’d think of my grandmother. My dear friend Charlie Davis is a Chicago Cubs fan. Every time I’m in Chicago and pass Wrigley Field, I take a picture of it and text it to him; every time I happen to see that they’ve won or lost a game, I’ll congratulate or console him appropriately. I don’t have a personal interest in either of these things, but because I care about these people, I’m completely willing to unconditionally assume that there’s something to their affections that I’m just not seeing. I guess that’s how you know who your real friends are. Whenever I receive a link via email to a Phil Collins related news article, a 45 RPM Genesis single on my birthday, or a silent nudge whenever Phil’s voice is soaring across the airwaves in the car or at work, I feel validated. I feel loved.
I get it. Against All Odds. Another Day in Paradise. One More Night. Sussudio. Tarzan.
“But he was also in Genesis,” some will say, politely trying to give credence to my affliction. But for those determined to hold me back, there’s always Invisible Touch. In Too Deep. I Can’t Dance. Throwing It All Away. Like any lifelong debilitation, I have found ways to turn lemons into lemonade.
Phil Collins was my Ringo. Countless famous rockers have said how seeing the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1964 prompted them to become obsessed with playing music, begging their parents for drum kits or electric guitars. When I saw Genesis’ (pre-MTV) music video for 1981’s No Reply At All, it was over. Santa Claus caught wind of my new interest, and delivered a drum kit for me when I was 7. From there, my obsession blossomed in a way that can perhaps be best described by photos below.
If you, the reading audience of World’s Longest Voicemail, will allow it, I’d love to indulge in a recurring multi-volume series. It’s part therapy for me, but mostly my duty to assure that you all Get Your Phil.
