I was horrified to sit in on two consecutive women in birthing suite who had chosen to listen to Kenny G while they squeezed out their bubs.
I had (obviously wrongly) though that Kenny G music had died a quiet, well earned death years ago, and was now little more than a distant terrible memory in the collective consciousness, a dirty little secret among people who hadn’t gotten around to throwing his albums out of their collections, or a last ditch extreme emergency fall back option for easy listening radio stations.
What a pity that obviously isn’t the case. Six hours of Kenny G on repeat left me about ready to hurl the CD player out the fourth floor window of the birthing suite..