Vinyl Release

It’s a crime, that’s what it is! An absolute outrage! Chances are you feel the same way as I do about a favourite album that no one else in the world seems to give a fig for. I’m not talking about the one that reminds you of your first date or some other sentimental attachment. I’m referring to the LP that was released into an uncaring world and inexplicably ignored when, by every measure you employ to judge a record’s artistic worth, it should have been embraced, applauded, lauded and been top of the charts for weeks on end.

Pinch yourself. You're not dreaming, although it might get a bit Alice In Wonderland a little later on. We are dining al fresco on a terrace overlooking vineyards near Nice in the South of France. At the head of the table is our host, Michael Hutchence, who we have popped over from London to interview.

There are a number of reasons why musicians take umbrage with their work being hosted on streaming platforms. Some bridle against the scant renumeration forthcoming. Others have taken a moral stance, unwilling to be considered bedfellows with artists or podcasters who they deem to be politically undesirable. And then there are those who consider the very nature of streaming itself to be artistically damaging.

My friends and I, we were suit-and-tie guys...' This is Darryl L Lewis speaking. Don't worry, it's unlikely you'll have heard of Darryl. He's one of the people that musician and record producer Questlove invited into the edit suite when assembling the footage for Summer Of Soul, the film he created in 2021 documenting the 1969 Harlem Cultural Festival, which took place on six Sundays between June the 29th and August the 24th at Mount Morris Park (now Marcus Garvey Park) in Harlem, NYC.

Way back in the day, I was telling Jerry Garcia of The Grateful Dead about one of those weird cartoons that used to pop up in episodes of Monty Python's Flying Circus on the telly. The particular cartoon in question featured a giant big toe, sliced off at the joint, which had been re-assembled as the tip of the trunk of some kind of prehistoric mammoth – an error in extrapolation which sought to ridicule scientific assumption in a similar vein to the way the Pythons mocked religion and politics, etc.

A funny thing happens when you get to a certain age and you've had a bit of a past life; people start writing about you. You crop up in their memoirs or they mention your name in interviews and reminiscences. As a rule these things are best avoided, especially if you're thin-skinned about personal criticism, although I can mostly handle the contrary opinions and character assassinations, writing them off as differences of perspective or sour grapes.

Occasionally I get asked who was the most unpleasant rock star I encountered during my decades writing for the music press. That's a toughie, although Robert Palmer and Phil Lynott hover near the top of the pile. Far easier to say who was the scariest. Answer, without doubt: Henry Rollins.