It’s long been clear that many musical artists are, frankly, narcissists. I mean, why else would they want to be onstage, opening themselves up to what could be a worldwide audience one day? So it maybe comes as no real surprise to find that there are a lot of songs where they are talking (or […]
A double dose of 1997 this month, after Infest (and of course the writing of Memory of a Festival: 028 that followed it) took up my time at the end of August.
I have no idea how this one came up. A particular song was mentioned in the pub on the Monday night of Whitby last month, and all of a sudden five or six of us were coming up with a long, long list of songs along the same lines.