Apparently it’s quiet folk day in my brother’s kitchen. Lyle Lovett, The Kingston Trio, other lovely but slightly soporific things have been wafting into the air this morning. Until now, when a peppy, poppy song came on. I peeked at the iTouch to see who was singing, and it’s the Psychedelic Furs.

How excited am I! Pretty excited. Because I feel like I’m filling a gap in my education just by sitting here. That band name is one I’ve heard forever, I feel like, without actually knowing any of the accompanying music.

Except I guess that’s a big lie, since they sang “Pretty in Pink.” Huh.

As ever, I feel woefully ignorant on the English punk/new-wave front. In fact, the other day I was happily singing and bouncing along to a song I know perfectly well, but confessed to my brother that I wasn’t sure who sang it. “The Cure,” he replied flatly. Then, to rub it in, “He has a fairly distinctive voice.”

That he does. This all makes me feel like I need to lock myself away for several days with nothing but The Cure, Depeche Mode, the Psychedelic Furs, and other groups of their ilk for a thorough course of study — from which I will emerge clearheaded and cool.

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