Marcus Berkmann’s Berkmann’s Pop Miscellany is out in June.
I had a crafty look at my neighbour’s CD collection the other day. I was supposed to be watering his plants, and obviously I fulfilled that task with my characteristic attention to detail, miraculously failing to kill any of them in the ten days he was away. I had a crafty look at my neighbour’s
Like Nelson Eddy, Devon Malcolm and the composer Havergal Brian, the critic Greil Marcus has one of those names that is all the more memorable for being obviously the wrong way round. He is, of course, the doyen, high priest and panjandrum of American music writers, whose best-known book, Mystery Train (1975), dared to treat
The centuries will pass, civilisations will fall, continents will collide, and still bands will be breaking up because of ‘musical differences’. The centuries will pass, civilisations will fall, continents will collide, and still bands will be breaking up because of ‘musical differences’. The latest to go is Supergrass, cheeky mop-topped perpetrators of ‘Alright’ all those
How am I? Very well, thank you. Actually, now you ask, I do have this stubborn pain in the small of my back, and my right knee isn’t what it might be, and I think I have a little arthritis in my left foot, and… what do you expect? I’m in my late forties, and
When life becomes slightly too challenging, I’m sure I’m not alone in leaning towards comfort music. When life becomes slightly too challenging, I’m sure I’m not alone in leaning towards comfort music. You don’t want anything too jagged, or awkward, or dissonant, or glum. Nothing that makes the veins in your forehead throb. It needs
As fashions change in music, so does the vocabulary. There are no groups any more, only bands. Even boy bands call themselves bands, although they don’t play any instruments. Come to think of it, are there boy bands any more? Take That look like newly retired footballers. When I started this column a thousand years
Much — possibly too much — has already been written about the BBC’s plans to close down its digital stations, 6Music and the Asian Network, in a customarily pathetic attempt to placate its political enemies. Much — possibly too much — has already been written about the BBC’s plans to close down its digital stations,
Hooray for the one-click purchase. Reading one of the music monthlies, I saw that the Buggles’s second album from 1981, Adventures in Modern Recording, had been released on CD, digitally remastered, with ten extra tracks I clearly had to hear. A mere week or so later, the package came through the letterbox, slightly battered but
When school-children are asked to draw a scientist, says Trevor Nelson, nine out of ten of them draw a mad scientist. My first thought on reading this was: why is there no photograph of Nelson on the dustcover of this book? Might he look particularly bonkers? After seconds of exhaustive research I found a picture
This may seem a little late to be talking about albums of the year. You might even ask, which year? and with reason. (I have already read three times that beloved cliché of January album reviews: ‘early contender for album of the year’.) But everything is so cheap at the moment, and Amazon knows we
In November 1660, on a damp night at Gresham College in London, a young shaver named Christopher Wren gave a lecture on astronomy. In the clearly appreciative audience were 12 ‘prominent gentlemen’, who in discussions afterwards, possibly over a drink or two, decided they would meet every week to talk about science and perform experiments.
I’m sure I’m not the only Spectator writer (or reader) who doesn’t watch television any more. I’m sure I’m not the only Spectator writer (or reader) who doesn’t watch television any more. Blame middle age, or lack of time, or the grim, brutal feeling that you’ve seen it all before and can’t be bothered to
After the Christmas ‘funny’ books, here’s an even larger pile of Christmas ‘quirky’ books. After the Christmas ‘funny’ books, here’s an even larger pile of Christmas ‘quirky’ books. In practice, quirky books aren’t just for Christmas, they’re for the whole year round. But try telling a publisher that. Thousands of them have been pouring out
After many years writing about my enthusiasms, I’m still fascinated by the relationship between expectation and actual enjoyment. After many years writing about my enthusiasms, I’m still fascinated by the relationship between expectation and actual enjoyment. How often have we seen a film everyone has been raving about, and been vaguely and obscurely disappointed? Or
For generations, the Christmas ‘funny’ book has received a poor press. For generations, the Christmas ‘funny’ book has received a poor press. We have all been given one, usually by someone who thinks we still have a sense of humour. We have opened it in good faith, we have searched within for the promised mirth
An old friend of mine has a list of books he wants to buy. It’s very long and he is very disciplined (so he tells me), so when he goes into a bookshop and sees something else he wants, something that isn’t on his list, he doesn’t buy it, as anyone else would. No, he
Sometimes you can become too well known. For years Richard Dawkins was a more than averagely successful media don, an evolutionary biologist, fellow of New College, writer of popular science books and tousle-haired face of rationalism on countless television shows. It was a good living, and kept us all entertained, but for Dawkins it wasn’t
Seconds after I filed last month’s column, Oasis broke up. Seconds after I filed last month’s column, Oasis broke up. As ever on such momentous occasions, I didn’t quite know how to respond. Would a street party be excessive? Might a night on the lash be considered lacking in respect? In the end I settled
So which pop radio station do you listen to? It’s a question people who run pop radio stations often feel compelled to ask, without really wanting to hear the answer. So which pop radio station do you listen to? It’s a question people who run pop radio stations often feel compelled to ask, without really
It must be 20 years since Spectator readers first encountered the name Theodore Dalrymple. It’s not his real name, of course. Several times over the years people have told me of his true identity, which I have always instantly forgotten, presumably because I don’t really want to know it. Far more appropriate that Dalrymple should