No Rock And Roll Fun

WHAT THE POP PAPERS SAY: On Sunday edition
It happens when they say... the Royal Mail eventually delivers an NME, so we can get going with pop papers - although last week's never showed up at all, so that instalment might be permanently delayed.

Private Eye has got a few perspectives on the Pete Doherty story, and in particular the way the tabs have been helping keep the story running by throwing on a little cash every so often to ensure he's smacked up enough to make good copy. Especially interesting is the apparent pressure the Sun started to put on Doherty to prove that he'd actually had any sort of relationship with Kate; he handed over some snaps from his mobile; the Sun ran them, and then the next day reported that Kate was so angry about the pictures appearing she'd dumped Pete. The Sun, meanwhile, didn't pay Pete for their interview with him after his being bailed, but did settle his bill at the rehab centre - which is, of course, the same as paying him in all but name. Helpfully, too, PE is keeping track of the number of times Doherty has told The Sun he's kicking drucks: it's up to four, now.

It's an Observer Music Monthly Sunday, and the simmering gorgeousness of Rufus Wainwright is on the cover - talking about his plans for fleeing from America if the way things are going continue: "The previous day he says a German journalist had asked him if he felt like a Jew in 1933. If anything, he said, he felt like a homosexual in 1933." He also talks about the week when he realised that he needed help with his drug use - a week that had seen him record a cameo for Ab Fab, hang out with Marianne Faithfull and share a stage with one of Bush's kids. The drugs, he said, made him feel like he was in the presence of evil during that. (We're not entirely sure it's fair to blame drugs there, Ruf.) Having had such a week-from-hell with the famous, there was only one thing to do. Call Elton John for help. Elton, to his credit, came through - probably the greatest thing John's done for pop since I'm Still Standing.

The chart is the top ten rock myths, which deals again with the Mama Cass ham-sandwich incident (although, to be honest, we're still not entirely sure we believe that a sandwich wasn't responsible; early reports of her death mentioned the role of a sandwich, and although it's often suggested the autopsy ruled out a sandwich being involved at all, it didn't - it merely stated that there was no food in her oesophagus at the time of her death. Sure, she didn't choke on a sandwich, but it seems there's never been any firm ruling out of the sandwich causing a choking which brought on the heart attack which caused her death that happened in the room of the house where Jack lived.

Equally fascinating is the refutation that Michael Jackson - back when he was just freaky - tried to buy the remains of John Merrick. Apparently, he couldn't, as the remains had long since been destroyed.

Still with rock myths, there's a piece about the self-mythologising Norse Murder Dark Killer Rock. Sure, there's a lot of death in the death rock scene - Necro Butcher of Mayhem pointed out the problems of having a band where a singer killed himself, and a bassist and second guitarist killed the main guitarist: "every time we lost a member we had to find someboyd else to replace them and start the whole rehearsing process again. We suffered in that way as a band." Maybe, but think how tight the surviving members would have been with all the rehearsing. The death metallers, of course, come across not so much as being in league with Odin, as they'd like to think, as being a group of bullies.

There's some excellent Brits coverage, although the usually wonderful Simon Garfield is a bit clumsy introducing the woman behind the TV production for this year's show. It's in the hands of Helen Terry, a name familiar to anyone of a certain age, but Garfield decides to help out with the placing of her: "Terry is the large woman you may remember singing backing vocals with Culture Club." We've looked at it both ways and we're not entirely sure why "large" was neccesary in the sentence.

Terry is very self-aware of what the show is about - although she does try and claim "we're not a plugging show" she basically accepts that the whole thing is little more than a pat-a-cake for the ITV audience - "you've got to appeal to people who only buy two albums a year; we're in ITVland." This, of course, would explain why the programme is so utterly bland - obviously you have to take account of your surroundings but why should the show meant to celebrate the best of the British music scene willingly choose to pitch itself to please the people who have no interest in it? It's like FA Cup Final Grandstand electing only to show ten minutes of the actual match so as not to alienate people who don't watch any football outside of the highlights on the news.

Tim Rice-Oxley, meanwhile, talks about his experiences which gives a further glimpse into just how far the BPI went to bland down affairs. "We mentioned the Make Poverty Hiistory campaign, which I gather was cut from the broadcast..." Jesus, MPH is such a non-controversial campaign that the BBC happily allowed the Vicar of Dibley build an episode around it - and yet it was a little too risky for the BPI to allow to be mentioned from its stand. Is it that the BPI are concerned that the groups interested in promoting poverty weren't given the same airtime? (Actually, they were sponsored by Mastercard, who might feel some awkwardness if a person was to stand behind the podium - approved by their marketing department - complaining about people's lives being blighted by debt.)

Are we getting confused, or is this the second Green Day cover on the NME in about six months? There's also an older friend on the front page - "Massive 84 Page issue"; it seems to have been a while since the old 'Me bragged about its width.

There's a picture of Carl Barat, now minus the poisonous tumour (we did the Pete gag last time, didn't we?) and planning his next move: apparently he's drawing inspiration from The Man in the White Suit, which either means he's going to do songs about how business conspires to crush people who threaten their bottomline, or he's going to be asking Martin Bell who his tailor is.

Simon Pegg was the man due to be presenting the NME awards (although Nick Frost seemed to do most of the talking) and Peter Robinson managed to make him admit he'd like to fuck-butt Carl Barat and hear him call him Tamsy. (To be accurate, Pegg actually said that Barat "has got that slightly androgynous thing which, if you were pushed, you'd probably want to go with", but that's the closest thing we've heard to "I have a velcro fly and so can be out my pants and in yours in moments" for ages.)

Towers of London actually managed to be hitting the newstands as NME Radar band on the selfsame day that they were being mentioned on Look East. Dirk Tourette - on the BBC's East Anglian opty news because he smashed up a venue (alleged) - claims that TOL isn't comedy, it's intellectual. We could take this more seriously were the band not dressed like a hastily-put together sixth form presentation of More Bad News.

Billie Joe Armstrong tells the NME that he likes Brighton because it's got a nudist beach - which, yes, it does - and because "it was the scene of the pitched battles between the mods and the rockers as retold in the film Quadrophenia." Something he says he'd like to re-enact in the nude. We're a little curious as to Armstrong's thought processes. American Idiot, he stresses, is not so much anti-Bush as anti-war. And yet he's excited by a place because it was the scene of countless stupid violent battles. Now, if he'd been excited to be in Brighton because it was the scene of the Battle of Lewes Road, where during the General Strike of 1926 a mini-war was fought between strikers and management dupes trying to take the trams out onto the streets, that would be one thing. Or perhaps because it houses the chattri, the moving tribute to the Indians who died in what was, to them, somebody else's war. But no, Armstrong is excited to be in a place because it was the site of mindless, awful violence. American idiot.

Here again are The Mars Volta, who are returning, like their favourite kids TV show Doctor Who, oddly enough. Their favourite episode is the Pertwee one just before he turns into Tom Baker.

Also back again - Fischerspooner. Their first arrival was heralded as the dawn of a great new age, with many hairproducts needed to ensure we were all fabulous. The world, as I recall, snorted its milk out its nose and filed them under Sigue Sigue Sputnik. Casey Spooner says that the last album flopping was awful: "I entirely lost the will to believe in my own ability. In short it was a fucking nightmare." No, Spoons, thinking "actually, I might just be rubbish" would be counted as waking up to yourself.

reviews
live
the duke spirt - camden koko - "Dusty went to Memphis but picked up BRMC on the way"
rammstein - brixton acadmey - "so much dumb metal schlock?"
selfish cunt - whitechapel - "new songs sound like Fugazi being penetrated by a deadly human snake"

albums
doves - some cities - "too old and ugly to take the place of brandon flowers", 8
willy mason - where the humans eat - "midway between Buddy Holly and Conor Oberst", 8
tori amos - the beekeeper - "not quite a dead loss", 4
electric six - senor smoke - "even less interesting than their debut", 3

tracks
the futureheads - hounds of love - "throw yourself around on the indie dancefloor"
idlewild - love steals us from loneliness - "mighty"
fightstar - they liked you better when you were dead - "a small victory"

And, finally: A shocking time for readers of the Daily Star: On Friday, they revealed that Britney Spears photos are airbrushed to make her look better. Shocking. Thank god the Star readers were able to turn over to the topless model, where the photos are totally natural. Even if their tits aren't.

music magazines britney spears brits rufus wainwright green day keane mama cass