MY NINE-YEAR-OLD’S REQUEST seemed simple enough. “Mum, can I get a music player so I can listen to my own songs?”

For any parent, like me, who has winced at their Spotify Wrapped at the end of each year to find their beloved musical algorithm hijacked by their children’s ‘eclectic’ taste in songs will know an ask like this one is literal music to their ears.

Finally, gone would be the reign of musical terror inflicted on my once carefully curated playlists, that now featured earworms like It’s Raining Tacos, Steve’s Lava Chicken and my own personal nemesis Everything is Awesome.

When I was my son’s age in the mid-90s, I had a Walkman cassette player and a horde of tapes from bands I followed and loved obsessively and could happily listen to whenever I wanted. At home, in the car, out walking. It felt like a big step toward being more independent and a real rite of passage, which allowed me to develop my own musical tastes without intervention from parents.

There was also a grown-up thrill in heading down to Golden Discs or HMV and browsing through the latest releases and seeing if I had enough pocket money for a single or an album. Plus, who could forget the frantic, panicked fun of recording songs off the radio before the ads started?

Alamy Stock Photo Alamy Stock Photo

I was excited that my eldest was now taking more of an interest in music, and that he was ready to discover bands and form his own devotions and interests like I did when I was a kid. But there was one big problem that had sort of flown under the radar until now.

Namely, I’ve had to give my son my smartphone, or he had to use the family tablet to hijack my music streaming service and listen away to his own........

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