Free. Free. Free. Free. The word is everywhere and it doesn’t sound as cheerful as it used to. “Free” used to extend the promise of a life-enhancing little extra to brighten your day. Years ago, when I was learning the magazine huckster’s trade, I was told that you could secure an interview with Kurt Cobain or Kylie Minogue or the Risen Christ if you liked, but none of them would be as good on the cover as the word FREE in bright red on a bright yellow background – even if the cassette you were giving away only had Hothouse Flowers and the Paris Angels on it. It didn’t matter. Free was fun. Free was your friend.

Now free has turned nasty. Never mind the burden of encumbering crap you’re faced with in the course of your day (farewell, thelondonpaper, we hardly knew ye). Free is now lapping around all our ankles like a rising flood. It carries not the promise of a nice little something for nothing, but the threat of working for nothing, at least for those of us in what are now called (pretty generously when you think about it) the “culture industries”. What happened to the music business is now happening to everyone else – “they came for the A&R men, and I did nothing…” – and worse, it’s got influential cheerleaders.

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