My daughter and her friends are all over My Education and all went to see the film and are now passing round the book and panting for the DVD to come out.
I've just read it. It doesn't ring true. It just doesn't add up. I smell a rat.
I like Lynn Barber and think she's a really good journalist/interviewer, not least because if you read about someone she's encountered you get quite a vivid flavour of them: their appearance, mannerisms etc. But not about this man she claims to have had this weird affair with, approved of and encouraged by her parents; the man who whisked her off for dirty weekends all over the shop; the man who, when she thought about it (or is that "it up") forty odd years later had such a profound influence on her life; the man who wound up in prison (where? when? convicted for what exactly?) but came out just in time to take her to tea in Oxford with her boyfriend.
"Yeah ... right" as the modern girls would say. They're lapping it up though.
Anyone else read it? Am I now so riddled with rancid cynicism that I'm the only one who didn't buy it?

Apparently Fabio Capello wants David Beckham to be a part of England's World Cup entourage even though his injury means he can't be one of the 23-man playing squad. He will bring to the party his influence, experience, what-have-you.
He's going as Bez.
I'm all for it.
All manner of congregations of people gathered in a common cause - pop groups, offices, football teams, whatever - need their Bez. It's an oft-derided but much under-estimated role.

I've just done something I've always tried to avoid. Used the "f" word in front of my daughter who is 16 and probably uses it and hears it a million times a day. But not from me. Nor to me from her.
The reason? GLW went for an early Tesco-run. A pattern seemed to be emerging in Steve Wright"s Sunday Love Songs, which I was half-listening to. The alarm bells started ringing. And out it came: "It's not f***ing Mothers Day is it?"
Isn't the calender already a minefield of "obligations that can easily skip your mind, even if your heart's in the right place" without creating artifical ones?

Since it was hauled up for inspection on here the other week I've been listening a lot to the Frank Sinatra album Watertown. In fact it's my new Favourite Album (Beach Boys Today is sobbing in the lavs and swapping notes with Hard Days Night and Songs From Northern Britain about what a fickle bugger I am).
Anyway there's a song on this album in which Frank sings the word "born" as if it was splelt "b o y e n". In another, the word "lawn" rhymes with "gone". He's sort of "playing" a character on this album so maybe he's playing up the New Joisey-ness a bit, but it's only just occured to me that Frank Sinatra sings with a very proounced regional accent. So, to American ears, does he sound like Guy Garvey?
And what are the other American equivalents of the Billy Braggs, Proclaimers, Cerys Mathews, Shack etc. i.e. people who either exagerrate, or don't bother to disguise, strong local accents when they sing?
And what do those British singers like Robbie Williams and Elton John who put on American accents sound like to Americans? What area are they presumed to be from? Or do they sound as silly as Dick Van Dyke pretending to be a cockney?

I was half listening to the Radcliffe & Maconie show earlier and Miranda Sawyer was on talking about a singer she'd been to see. Beth someone ...didn't quite catch it. But, anyway, she said that Beth was working on a new "LP". Such a great word (or is it a phrase?) And one that I haven't heard for ages. Much better than "album", which sounds a bit pretentious.

Beatles, Stones, Who, Small Faces, Kinks, U2, Oasis, Blur, Led Zep, Stone Roses and so on ...

obviously in some of those cases some of the luggage is important but most 'groups' are really duos and they go awry when the 'duo' stop clicking.

Turn On, Tune In, Dress Up.
Barmy but brilliant remix of the new Paul Weller single No Tears To Cry

Enjoying the new-fangled Word very much, but it's distressing to read of the infestation of mice at the Word office. I say we club together and buy the poor buggers a cat and a supply of Whiskas ('it's puuuur-fect'). But what is it to be called?
Meanwhile, perhaps it's also time to freshen up the theme music for the podcast. Might I suggest ...

I don't know if Radio 2 operate some sort of set playlist when it comes to oldies, but the fact that I've heard She's Not There by Santana at least twice just from casual sporadic listening over the last couple of days suggests they might do. Which is fine by me. Its one of those records you never mind hearing. And it's one of those records that's succeeded in sticking around. Like Chris Rea's Driving Home For Christmas. Bit of a flop on first release, but it's stuck around. It's hard to pinpoint why some records stick around and some - more dazzling in their day - don't. A good example is The La's There She Goes: not much of a hit in its day but it stuck around in a way the much-more-talked-about contemporaries The Stone Roses never did.
And if there's one current record I'd bet on sticking around it's Alicia Keys' version of Jay Z's Empire State Of Mind. Probably not much of a hit with the massive - lyrics are a string of cliches and she manages to stretch the word bridge across about eight syllables - but I think it'll still be played on the radio well into the '20s & '30s.

Next year’s inductees into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame have been announced. Abba, Genesis, Jimmy Cliff, The Hollies and The Stooges. Very nice I’m sure for those people and well-deserved. But what about those who were on the shortlist but failed to make the grade: Laura Nyro, Darlene Love, Kiss, Donna Summer, LL Cool J, Red Hot Chilli Peppers and The Chantels? Laura obviously isn’t really in a position to give a hoot one way or the other, but Darlene must be a bit crestfallen, particularly as she’s had the benefit of intense lobbying from “The Boss” (she’s been popping up on stage with him in the last few days to sing “A Fine, Fine Boy”, a song Bruce first started doing over thirty years ago).
And what does it mean anyway? That The Hollies are better than Kiss? Well, I for one prefer them, but so what? Music isn’t athletics. You can’t really measure or compare quality or even achievement. It’s all a bit silly really. I’d rather boil my head in oil than listen to a Stooges album but good luck to them. I’m sticking with Darlene Love & The Blossoms singing Laura Nyro’s Stoney End.

Q. Which media enterprise was described by its founder as being “written for the moment . . . we live in an age of chatty scraps”?

Clue: Begins with “T”, ends with an “R”

(A: Tatler magazine, according to Clement Shorter when he resurrected the ancient title in 1901. This fairly highbrow literary fellow also coined the word “celebrity” although he had in mind the likes of Tolstoy and Thomas Edidson, rather than fringe players in the Hollyoaks squad.)

I’ve recently taken delivery of a large haul of what can loosely be called Sunshine Pop.
It‘s not a genre that crops up much here. It’s not everybody’s cup of tea, I suppose. Some find it a bit cheesy and twee, but for me it’s catnip. Ladle on the strings and horns, the harpsichords and harmonies, all laced with cheerful good vibes and I’m purring like a kitten having its tummy tickled.
I’ve only recently started exploring beyond the well-known acts like The Mamas & Papas, Beach Boys, Association etc. and it’s a bit like Northern Soul in that you have to sift through a fair bit of mediocre stuff before you discover the odd true gem. Like this little treasure by The Sundowners. It may be forty years old but I heard it for the first time last night and, for me, life’s just that teeny bit better for having done so.
I’m off to the Billet for a cold scoop now (and then another) with this lovely tune ringing in my ears, and I present it to the Massive in a spirit of good vibes. Have a groovy weekend y’all. Peace & Love.

What is the connection between Keith Moon, Kevin Godley & Vince Clarke?
It‘s the same thing that links Willie Rushton and Marianne Faithful.
And countless other odd pairings, particularly in the worlds of Hollywood and football. Possibly in rock’n’ll too, but I can’t think of any others. But I’m sure that with the vast depository of useless information at the the Massive’s disposal we can come up with a few more.

Walk Right Back: The Everly Brothers 1960-1969. 50 songs. £4.99 at i-tunes.

Ah well. Good innings and all that.