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Glastonbury’s cancellation comes as another blow upon the painful bruise being felt by the whole music industry. Yet the magnitude of the crisis is under-recorded.
As I watch the documentary Ronnie's, I am reminded of the complicated man who brought the New York jazz scene to Soho.
Heaven knows when it will feel safe to be breathing and singing in a crowded space – the thought makes me sad.
You don’t go to Madonna for vulnerability: she is all about self-determination, pleasure and defiance.
My amusement at finding myself soundtracking such a happy day coincided with my becoming hooked on a podcast about unhappy couples.
This record is the sound of a man whose whole being has been altered, possessed even, by what has happened.
Aretha sings of God, and to God, her voice rising up to the heavens
Her lyrics on identity could have been written today, and she stood out with her unique style, confrontational and playful at the same time.
It is two weeks since my eardrum perforated on the train and I am still deaf.
“Concert in San Francisco in the 1990s. Audience complained about sound levels, you replied, ‘You don’t think I’m mixing the sound up here while I’m singing, do you?’ We cheered.”
I break songs down into small morsels, getting hooked by tiny details, passing moments that offer fleeting glimpses of heaven.
