Glastonbury 2015: How did Suede go down?

Suede were astonishing last night - headlining the John Peel Stage. Obviously, having neither Lee Nelson or Kanye West on stage with them gave them something of an advantage, and obviously my waistline and hairline makes me a bit biased. So don't take my word for it. Here's a quick round-up of Suede reviews.

It's fair to say that the Western Gazette's reviewer hasn't exactly kept up with the band over the years:

Starting with two lesser known songs, Brett Anderson, Bernard Butler and co entered the stage as though they owned the place, with a studied nonchalance that they had more than earned as a band that at one point nearly did.

There was a lot of smoke and those flags blocking the camera views on the BBC coverage, but even so, I suspect the return of Bernard Butler would have been a bit more noticeable.

And, not wanting to carp, but... Mercury Prize. Three number one albums. Fastest selling debut album in a decade. That's a bit more than "nearly did", surely?

Anyway, the paper warms up:

And then, as the first few notes of megahit Trash were heard something suddenly snapped.

Lead singer Brett Anderson's standoffish manner was thrown aside and his utter delight to hear thousands of fans still remember the words became plain for all to see.
[...]
Comperes say a lot of things: but when the guy closing the tent after Suede exited told the crowds they had just watched the best performance of Glastonbury, I couldn't help but agree.

While the Telegraph's liveblog tried gamely to enjoy Kanye, they were getting reports the highlights were elsewhere:

Hard to believe, but people are watching other bands at Glastonbury now. Rupert is at Suede, maybe with all those people that signed the petition saying Kanye shouldn't play.

Rupert Hawksley: God knows what Kanye West is up to on the Pyramid Stage but it would be a miracle if he gets a response to any tune quite as raucous as the one just experienced at the John Peel stage as Suede rattled through Brit Pop classic, Trash.

The NME news desk tried to keep a sense of journalistic detachment, but couldn't quite:

1996 single 'Trash' was played early on in the set, followed by more Britpop favourites including 'Animal Nitrate' and 'We Are The Pigs'. The former track saw the first big singalong of the night. Anderson kept stage chat to a minimum, but did encourage the crowd to "fucking have it" during 'Trash', while he spent a large portion of 'Killing Of A Flashboy' writhing around the floor. An acoustic 'Living Dead' saw the frontman put his mic down to allow the audience to sing, and early single 'The Drowners' also drew a frenzied crowd response after Anderson performed much of it while hanging onto the safety barrier and greeting fans.

Disappointingly, The Guardian's liveblog was so obsessed with Kanye that it didn't manage to mention Suede at all. They should have listened to the Mid Devon Gazette, which recommended Suede as a fine alternative to a man who needed a helicopter to get on stage:

If however, you are staying in and are determined not to watch Kim Kardashian's other half, the BBC is devoting much of its schedule to all things Glastonbury tonight, so do a spot of channel surfing and you should be able to find some music more to your personal taste.

Cue a video of 90's favourites Suede who are on the John Peel stage at roughly the same time as Kanye.

Panic Manual reviewed the set from Toronto, where - apart from when those sodding flags got in the way - there was a great view:

wasn’t actually at Glastonbury, but rather, I was at home, in Toronto. Now before you question the authenticity of my review, I have assured you I have taken the appropriate measures to simulate Glastonbury as best as I can at home, including:

- Rain, it was pouring rain outside. I opened the windows so the sound of water coming down on the earth would resonate in the background as I watched the show. A sound many Glastonbury fans would be familiar with.

- I watched it on my 40 inch TV in high def, which frankly, makes me feel a lot closer to the stage then 95% of the people at the Peel stage

So, what are the advantages of this superior view?

Having access to cameras on stage, I could tell Bret and co were ecstatic about being at Glastonbury even Richard Oakes tried to muster a smile, maybe he saw a hot dog in the crowd or something.

That's just mean.

But is that really the best way to watch the gig? Is it?

The rest of the set read like a greatest hit’s list, including everyone’s favorite b-side about a heroin addict, The Living Dead. The crowd absolutely lost it when the group ended with Beautiful Ones, which had the crowd LALALALALAing so hard I could hear it through my speakers.

It was at this point I wished I was there and not my living room. Sometimes you just can’t replicate a live experience, no matter how you set it up. An encore set of She’s in Fashion and New Generation sent the crowd back to their mud filled, dirty tents happy. I would have cried if they brought an orchestra or something for Still Life, luckily that was not the case.

But if you're crying, you'd at least be crying in the privacy of your own home. I'm presuming you'd have shut the curtains first, anyway.

Getty let you embed images on blogs now, you know. Here's what people were either seeing on their home screens, or squinting at to spot in the melee of the crowd:

 

View image | gettyimages.com

 

Gaaboard were watching:

Suede aren't great but they're singling without autotune and singing their hits which puts them about 10 places ahead of that twat on the Pyramid stage!!

It wasn't all faint praise, though:

Jaysus I think Suede are hitting the mark. Have seen them at Glasto twice. It just didn't work the year I seen them outdoors but I think they might have been hitting the needle a bit too much back then. Indoors they are immense.

The Singletrackworld board was also experiencing mixed feels:

Northernmat: Suede - meh, never really got them. Lead singer bloke looks old now.
Scamper: Lead singer of suede looking old? I take it you are about 20, Matt?

Let's give the last word to DigitalSpy commenter Barbeler:

Suede have saved Glastonbury as far as I'm concerned. It was a magnificent performance that made every other band I've seen so far look like dreary amateurs.

The misfiring reappearance of Lauryn Hill

Lauryn Hill's trying a comeback, and started in Brixton.

Now, her live performances have sometimes been a bit mixed, but anyone who buys a ticket for Hill in 2014 is pricing in that the event could be erratic-bordering-on-inexplicable, right?

But a late start, angry tweets and poor reviews marred her first sell-out gig at the Brixton Academy in London.

Oh.

The 39-year-old singer, famous for her 1998 album "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill", arrived on stage with a five-piece band and three backing singers at 9:58 p.m. on Saturday.

The show, with tickets selling for 55 pounds ($90), had been advertised to start at 9 p.m., with doors opening at 7 p.m.

Okay, so an hour late. That's not a good start, but it's a Saturday night. We're all okay staying up a bit late on a Saturday, right. Especially for a great gig.

It was great, right?

When she arrived, Hill spent 80 minutes performing a combination of re-worked hits from her debut album, the only solo studio album she has made, and delving into pop and rock territory.

Songs from "The Score", another award-winning album Hill recorded as part of the Fugees in 1996, were left largely untouched, along with a number of tracks from her 2002 MTV Unplugged 2.0 album.

Hill also performed covers of "Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)" by Nancy Sinatra, The Flamingos' "I Only Have Eyes for You" and a few Bob Marley classics, including "Soul Rebel", "Jammin'" and "Is This Love".

To me, that sounds okay - if I'm a big enough fan to go and see her, that she does some solo stuff and a few classic seems a good mix.

Yuichi Miyama, a 31-year-old paralegal from London, said on Twitter: "Lauryn Hill is the most disappointing concert I have ever been to. That's heart-breaking."

He explained to Reuters at the concert that he didn't recognize a lot of the songs Hill performed.

"The bottom line is Lauryn Hill is a singer and there are a lot of songs on that album that she sings certain things in such a beautiful way," he said.

Wow. You admire Lauryn Hill as a singer, and yet think that she has chosen to sing things in the wrong way. I can see why you might be disappointed. I can't see why you didn't know this would happen, and didn't choose instead to stay at home and listen to the album. Because the album always sounds like the album, and Lauryn Hill live - when she turns up - never sounds like the album.

First night: Kate Bush

I suppose those of us with tickets for subsequent nights of the return of Kate Bush have one thought as we turn to the reviews this morning - 'dude, don't fuck it up for us'. Ridiculous, of course, to worry that she might be scared away by the harsh glare of the critics.

Ridiculous because she's a grown-up woman and not a kitten.

Ridiculous because, having built the event up over the last few days, how could the reaction be anything other than a warm embrace?

(It's understandable how the media have hugged Kate's return so close; her, and the new Doctor, have been the two pieces of light in what feels like a never ending month of despair and gloom. Who wouldn't seek out some comfort?)

So... what did people think? Did they like her?

Kate Bush comeback greeted with huge cheers

Okay, Tim Masters on the BBC News website, that tells us all we need to know. Let's move on.

Oh, alright. What else?

There were no songs from Bush's first four albums, which meant fans did not get to hear early classics such as Wuthering Heights, The Man with the Child in his Eyes or Babooshka.

But fans did not seem to mind missing out.

Tim then speaks to two fans who seem keen to insist that they didn't mind missing out:

Julie Beynon, from Glasgow, told the BBC: "That was really surprising. I noticed she played a lot from Aerial which I didn't have a problem with. I think it might reference the fact she was much happier in that period of her life. It felt quite joyous and celebratory."

She added: "I'm not disappointed - I thought it was stunning comeback. To me it was like musical theatre but with Kate Bush songs. It was a a weird hybrid of different styles, and completely innovative."

Elizabeth Hobson, from Enfield, said: "She does what she wants to do. We might have liked to hear some of the songs we love from a while back - but hopefully everybody's going to be really nice about it and we might see some more of her at a later date."

Okay, Elizabeth from Enfield doesn't explicitly say "well, it's fine that she's done all this tonight, providing she comes back at Christmas and does some of the Top Of The Pops ones." But she kinda does.

The Telegraph's Bernadette McNulty enjoyed herself, although possibly not quite as completely as she might have hoped:

Throughout, the pace was resolutely mid-tempo,the narratives sometimes obscure and the skits often hammy - in one artists' scene from the Aerial segment, literally as exciting as watching paint dry.

But apparently it was still thrilling.

The Daily Mail sent Jan Moir. Presumably had she not been invited, there'd have been a chance she'd have cursed the entire Apollo to sleep for a hundred years. Her copy is, as you'd expect, poorly banged together:

Bush had asked that no one would film her performance on their mobile phones and iPads. There was one request to do this before the show started – an announcement that was cheered by many in the stalls.

It's not clear whether Jan is telling us that there was a request not to do this, or if they were asking that any photography be done before the show.

For The Guardian, Alexis Petridis got the tickets:

Her voice too is in remarkable condition: she's note-perfect throughout.

Backed by a band of musicians capable of navigating the endless twists and turns of her songwriting – from funk to folk to pastoral prog rock - the performances of Running Up That Hill and King of the Mountain sound almost identical to their recorded versions - but letting rip during a version of Top of the City, she sounds flatly incredible.

And Hannah Ellis-Petersen didn't, so was stuck outside getting fan reactions. But this was an evening when even the fans milling about on the streets of Hammersmith were kinda starry:

Daren Taylor, drummer for band The Airborne Toxic Event, had taken a similar journey to make it to the opening night.

"I've flown in from Los Angeles today just to see Kate Bush," he said.

"It's not easy to express what Kate Bush means to me. Her music touches me, and I'm sure everybody here, in very unique ways. I don't think any two people will tell you the same thing that her music means to them."

The New York Times' Ben Ratliff gets off to a clunky start:

Kate Bush Returns to the Stage, and Her Fans Are There to Welcome Her

'Ticketholders turn up to gig'. Okay, Ben, I'm holding the front page.

He has taken the trouble to find out the name of some of the other participants:

The songs use repetition, much more than her earlier work, and slow, hypnotizing grooves; the drummer Omar Hakim found the center of them, and Ms. Bush finally began to move to them like a dancer.

Meanwhile, Claire Rutter in the Mirror was, erm, reading Twitter. Now, you might laugh, but how else would we know what Boy George thought?

Poor Culture Club star Boy George couldn’t make the show tonight, as he sadly tweeted: "Had to miss Kate Bush tonight but hopefully I will catch one of the shows."

The Mirror, there, sharing the view from someone who doesn't even have any solid plans to go to one of the shows later.

Billboard chips in with a setlist:

"Lily"
"Hounds of Love"
"Joanni"
"Running Up That Hill"
"Top of the City"
"King of the Mountain"
"And Dream of Sheep"
"Under Ice"
"Waking the Witch"
"Watching You Without Me"
"Jig of Life"
"Hello Earth"
"The Morning Fog"
"A Sky of Honey (prelude)"
"Prologue"
"An Architect’s Dream"
"The Painter’s Link"
"Sunset"
"Aerial Tal"
"Somewhere in Between"
"Nocturn"
"Aerial"
"Among Angels"
"Cloudbursting"

And although there were no fan photos, DigitalSpy gathers some of the official shots.
Louder Than War's Dave Jennings, like many reviewers, consciously echoes Imperial Smash Hits' parody of old school rock writing:

The whole show was like a religious revival, a west end blockbuster opera and a rock show as one. She carried on from here with Top of the City which was followed swiftly by Joannie and a simply brilliant, nay, breathtaking even, version of Hounds of Love.

I hope that "nay" was a conscious echoing, anyway.


The Daily Express sent Simon Gage:

The second half sits halfway between the early set and the conceptual with Kate's hippy side coming to the fore on tracks from Aerial with giant projections of birds in flight, characters playing painters, an artist's dummy the size of a child...

It would be easy to laugh just like it's always been easy to laugh: some of it is daft, some of it wilfully daft but that's what makes English eccentricity so cherished.

What Gage nearly captures - and what hangs over most of the reviews this morning - is a slight sense of unspoken awareness that if this had been a theatre, rather than a rock venue, and the name on the tickets an arts ensemble rather than Kate Bush, there might have been a temptation to shout 'get on with it' at some points of the show.

But, generally, the reviews are positive, and warm, and it's more than a 'dog walking on hind legs' approval for something you'd never expect to see.

Are there no dissenting voices? Not many; they keep pretty quiet. Only one brave head put above the parapet on that hotbed of counterthought, Mumsnet:

Shrieking, arm flapping and mincing.

What am I missing? I'm sure she's a lovely woman but good lawd I cannot see the appeal.

A bit of a kicking later, the poster returns, bruised, to the keyboard:

Blimey this thread might be the most contentious one I've ever started on MN

In short, then, the world is (mostly) chiming with that classic Smash Hits letter:

Oh Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate
It's love I feel for you, not hate, hate, hate

Glastonbury 2013: How did Beady Eye do?

Yesterday, as if the story of Wayne Rooney turning up with a box of Tesco Vodka and a Pot Noodle wasn't enough to convince you that Glastonbury isn't officially dead, Beady Eye turned up to "open" the festival.

Except they were over on the Other Stage, so it wasn't really opening anything. As initiations go, it's on a par with 'first person to buy a blanket at Joe Bananas'.

You'd have to conclude that what happened here was that the appropriate slot for Liam and his Rest Of Oasis to play would have been so far down the bill that this "surprise" opening slot was a compromise that soothed Gallagher's ego without having to move more successful or interesting groups off the stage later.

But what did people think?

Tim Jonze for the Guardian particularly liked the covers of Oasis songs:

Beady Eye tracks such as The Roller are, it has to be said, shown up by the former bands' glories, but closing track Bring the Light matches their peaks for sheer verve at least.

The NME report was, erm, surprisingly factual:

Playing a set heavy on material from their latest album 'BE', they began with 'Flick Of The Finger', one of a few songs to employ trumpets and saxophones in an effort to recreate the album's psychedelic sound.

I'm presuming that sentence didn't require someone to solve a CAPTCHA before publishing it.

The Guernsey Press And Star captured Gallagher as he twisted about, trying to reconcile the last eight years he's spent boring on about how the Festival was terrible with turning up to start things on one of the secondary stages. Why, Liam declares, he hasn't changed. It must be Glastonbury that's changed:

Liam said the festival had got better, crediting the organisers for its success. “It’s Michael Eavis, isn’t it, and the family who run it,” he said. “They put a lot of work into it.”

If only they'd been involved in 2004, eh, Liam?

First night: David Bowie - Five Years

On Saturday, BBC Two did what feels like the sixteenth or seventeenth Bowie night. You can still watch the cornerstone documentary, Five Years, on iPlayer, unless you're reading this in the future, or overseas, or on a print-out.

But what did people think?

Tim Footman at Cultural Snow liked it:

Although the basic narrative will be familiar to many, some of the freshly unearthed archive footage is a real shock to the senses, looping as it does in and out of the stuff that gets trotted out for every 70s nostalgia fest (Starman on TOTP, bits of Cracked Actor and so on). Moreover, the fresh interviews prove that there’s nothing inherently wrong with that much-derided format, the talking heads doc, provided the heads are judiciously chosen and given sensible questions to answer. Indeed, so rich were the pickings from people who worked with Bowie in some of his most productive periods (with Visconti *and* Eno *and* Fripp you’re spoiling us) that – completely irrationally and unfairly – I felt cheated by the very few omissions; why, for example, did we hear the recollections of guitarist Carlos Alomar and drummer Dennis Davis but not bassist George Murray? Were Angie Bowie or Iggy Pop washing their hair?

Actually, given Angie Bowie's track-record as an unreliable witness - claiming, variously, to have invented Bowie, bisexuality and possibly the concept of music - keeping her out the way was probably a wise move.

In The Guardian, Sam Woolaston concedes the programme was "better than most music documentaries", which he puts down to the subject, rather than the approach. But not before he has some fun at the programme's expense:

No, don't stop, more! Of Queen Bitch, Suffragette City, Fame, Golden Years, Young Americans, Ashes to Ashes, even Let's Dance. They're all rudely interrupted though. By Rick Wakeman, saying: "I got a call from Dave, he called me directly." A direct call, eh Rick?

Ha ha. Yes, that does sound stupid, except... it was worth noting, surely? Wakeman wasn't opening his eyes wide at the concept of a person-to-person call, more at the idea that Bowie spoke to him, rather than the more traditional 'have-your-people-call-his-people' route; that Bowie knew who we wanted, and went directly to him. Worth mentioning, surely?

Which Sam actually, sort-of acknowledges:

And Rick Wakeman's unpicking of Life on Mars is fascinating, because it's Life on Mars and it's Rick Wakeman (plus I'd show off a bit if Dave had phoned me, directly or otherwise).

Well, sort of.

For Michael Deacon in The Telegraph, it all comes down to class:

There was a bonus pleasure in being reminded that not only did Bowie have an incongruous speaking voice, but so did his early Seventies bandmates. Wafting around on stage: gold-bloused glamourpusses. Open their mouths: bricklayers from Hull.

The Scotsman's Aidan Smith spotted a brighter star than Bowie in amongst the contributors:

Five Years’ funniest contributor? Actually, that was Robert Fripp. If you know me as a prog-rock fan, you probably think it tediously predictable that I’d nominate someone from King Crimson, but, really, Fripp was hilarious. Did he think he was on Jackanory? Slightly alarmingly, did he think Jackanory was a forum for rude anecdotes (too rude to repeat here)?

Incidentally, after saving his readers from a fit of the vapours by repeating Fripp's anecdotes, Smith then details the upsetting plot of a crime programme where a kid was traumatised by seeing his mother, a sex-worker, murdered.

It makes you think, doesn't it, Helen Nianias over in Fabulous magazine's Tellyboxing column. What was it that made Bowie such a legend?:

Is he a the biggest genius of our time, or just a shrewd businessman? It’s a tricky line to tread. However, the opening shot of Bowie himself is breathtaking. But not because of what he’s wearing or saying or doing. As he descends a flight of hotel steps...

Yes?

...you see just how strikingly tall and thin he really was in his ’70s heyday.

David Bowie. He was tall.

Maybe someone should be pitching a show in which people measure pop stars and plot them on some sort of a graph?

First night: My Bloody Valentine - MBV

So last night, then, Kevin Shields hit 'send', or possibly 'return', or issued an instruction to release the babies, and all of sudden, we had a new My Bloody Valentine album.



Squee, as I believe they say.

What is the world making of it?

Caspar Llewellyn Smith doesn't want to rush to judgement:

We should honour Shields and co by not rushing this, and publish the real review of the album in 2035.

Just kidding! Of course he wants first dibs on a review:

so, yes, very, very early impressions: it's not a great leap forwards – it sounds not so much as a continuation of Loveless but a record completely akin to it ... although you can hear the vocals and instruments in the mix more clearly; and the closing track, Wonder 2, is that hallucinatory drum and bass tune Shields once suggested he'd gone and recorded. If that had come out in the mid-90s, the Britpop boys would have all taken their Beatles songbooks and gone home crying.

Must be exciting for the NME, though? A new record by a legendary band, and them with a shiny website ready for a first impression review. Right?

Er, no. They scrape together a tracklisting, but their blogs - presumably the best place to stick a quick response - is leading on something about Elton John wearing funny hats. (That might make it sound like NME haven't updated the blogs since about 1976.)

The LA Times seemed willing to have a go at a review, but struggled with technology and fact:

[Updated Feb. 2 at 7:27 p.m.: An earlier version of this post misidentified My Bloody Valentine as British. The band was actually formed in Dublin, Ireland. Also, as of late Saturday, the new My Bloody Valentine album reportedly is available at the above website. However, the site remains crashed as of this writing, possibly due to a crush of visitors. We'll update as we hear more -- good luck, everyone.]

The Mirror threw the ball to its readers:

Are you excited about m b v? Leave your comments below

This 'write your own review' approach hasn't yet got a single taker.

Peter Paphides' review is acute on the process of release:

Slowly but surely, something about this “sudden release” business is becoming clear. It won’t be for every artist. Young bands seeking to establish themselves have little to gain from springing new works onto an unsuspecting world. Neither will it work for your journeyman rocker who puts out a similar record to the last one every two years, seemingly untroubled by its sonic proximity to the last one. For artists who have had trouble dealing with the expectations of their audience, however, this might be the best way. Screw the build-up. What is the “build-up” anyway? Isn’t that the bit between the announcement of the release date and the release itself? The bit where we all talk about how much we loved the earlier records and, by doing so, place impossibly high expectations on music we simply haven’t had a chance to get nostalgic about?

Gideon Coe is excited:

That's a record worth listening to again and again. Several times today to start with.Beautiful. Any chance of another? No hurry. #MBV

— Gideon Coe (@gidcoe) February 3, 2013

But perhaps Beach House have it right, though:

Don't read what anyone is writing/going to write, just listen to the new #mbv record without some idiot clouding your thoughts

— Beach House (@BeaccchHoussse) February 3, 2013

First night: Over the Hump - Eurovision 2012

We've all had some time for it to settle in now: apparently Engelbert Humperdinck wasn't a secret weapon at all. Indeed, I'm hoping he was just using the Song Contest as a cover for a jewel heist in Baku, otherwise it'd be questionable why he was there at all.

Graham Norton seemed genuinely concerned that Hump was going to be distraught at the result, quickly forming a theory that this wasn't a vote against him, just an unfortunate side-effect of having gone first.

Plausible, I suppose - at a rough estimate, a couple of million people would have spent his song bellowing "Mum! It's starting!" or "Is this part of the contest?" or even "Лайно, де вони отримують цю страшну розминка хлопець з? Він одягнений, як він прийшов на похорон." But that would probably shave your score by a couple of dozen votes at most, rather than nearly the lot, surely?

Engelbert is sounding upbeat, to judge by his words to BBC News:

The 76-year-old said he "did the best for my country".

"I've had many highs in my career and Eurovision has been a wonderful experience," he said.

"I want to thank everybody, especially my fans around the world for their words of support.

"I did the best for my country, the rest was out of my hands."

The BBC said that at least he was spared the humiliation of Nul Points. But that might have been all he was spared, to judge by the Associated Press copy:

Amid the usual jamboree of youthful exuberance — and questionable taste — this year's Eurovision Song Contest featured a pair of elderly acts among its most high-profile contenders.

The night opened with some two-note crooning by the UK's black-clad veteran act Engelbert Humperdinck, who Scottish comedian Robert Florence acerbically remarked on Twitter looked "like an inaccurate waxwork of Johnny Cash."

Russia's Buranovskiye Babushki, a group of six grannies, offered a similarly static stage show, but did liven up their act "Party for Everybody" with some choreographed baking in an onstage oven.

The Press Assocation ran a ruler over just how bad things were for Englebert:

Questions will be asked about the decision to hand the baton to a 76-year-old, leading to one of the worst outcomes for the UK. Until 2011, the public had a say in who represented the UK and with which song, but that was abandoned when boy-band Blue were chosen to sing I Can, in the hope an established name could bring home the title. They managed to come 11th last year, a respectable position in comparison to this year.

Yes, he's managed to make the awful Blue performance look like some sort of high-water mark.

The Telegraph worries that even as a failure, this fell short of spectacular:

Sweden are officially the winners! And we didn't even manage to come last. Second last is more embarrasing than last, really, because it's not even funny. Poor Engelbert. Bet he's got the right hu... never mind.

The Mail might have spotted the weak link in our entry:

Humperdinck’s song was written by Sacha Skarbek - who teamed up with James Blunt to compose You’re Beautiful - and record producer Martin Terefe.

So, next year it's off to Sweden - a rare opportunity to enjoy Eurovision in a nation where gay people don't get hit on the heads with batons. It's normal to joke that winning the contest is a bit like getting an expensive and ugly gift, but the head of Sweden's SVT is quite confident, she tells Dagens Nyheter:

SVT can be trusted with the job of organising one of Europe's largest television events, says Eva Hamilton, stressing they have no intention of spending crazy sums of money. The event is also expected to create jobs.

- I cannot say what this will cost, but I can say that we have no ambition to keep up with the constant arms race and demand the entire country's GDP for this kind of thing, she says, referring to Azerbaijan.

So are Sweden enjoying their moment? Yes, but - if Svenska Dagbladet is any indication, not so much as they're enjoying the discomfort of their neighbours:

It could not have gone worse for Norway in yesterday's Eurovision Song Contest in Azerbaijan's capital Baku. Not only did the country came last with only seven points, nearly half of those came from eternal rival Sweden, who also swept all before them and won the whole competition.

Ah, yes, poor Tooji. At least Engelbert has a long career he can point to. Norway's Tooji is still young, and will have a lifetime of living down his loss. Could you imagine any way the night could have been worse for him?

Actually, Norway's Aftenposten points out it was his birthday yesterday as well. Still, he's philosophical:

It wasn't so bad it deserved seven points. I am not worse than Ireland, who entered hyperactive Teletubbies. I know that I'm not, so it must be something that the universe is trying to teach me.

The Irish Independent is delighted that those hyperactive Teletubbies have saved some cash:

JEDWARD'S bid to win Ireland's first Eurovision prize in 16 years fell as flat as their hairdos last night, as the twins finished in the bottom half of the table.

That Ireland won't have to host the competition next year will come as a relief to some at the head of RTE, given its accumulated losses of €50m.

Despite it being their second time in a row to represent their country at the Eurovision, their rendition of Waterline in the Azerbaijani capital of Baku failed to attract the affection or the votes of the millions watching the competition across the continent.

The Grimes' twins, John and Edward, 20, from Lucan in Dublin, delivered a solid performance and gave it their all, but it was a devastating return after the high expectations ahead of last night.

And the decision to go ahead with the event in repressive old Baku? Did that create an awkward evening, a sense of trying to have fun while ignoring the screams outside?

Not a bit of it:

Azerbaijan and the city of Baku have proven to be worthy hosts of Europe’s favourite TV show with a wonderful evening of entertainment put on by host broadcaster Ictimai Television. The show was opened in a very impressive fashion with a stunning fireworks display around the hall and amazing night time vistas of the Azerbaijani capital. This was followed by a very impressive display of Azerbaijani dancing in the hall after which last year’s winners Eldar and Nikki performed their winning entry Running Scared.

The interval act was equally impressive, featuring Azerbaijani superstar Emin who kept the audience and viewers entertained whilst the votes were being verfied.

Mind you, that's just the verdict of the Azerbaijan official news agency. They might be a bit biased.

First night: The Stone Roses, Warrington Parr Hall

It's a shrewd move, playing a quasi-secret small comeback gig, especially when you're a band who weren't always that good live in the first place. A sense of occasion, people who feel they're part of a chosen few - you're not going to get bad feedback from that, are you?

More importantly, while the Stone Roses' reputation for clunking live performances was a fair one, they've all got a lot more experience under their belt now, so it'd be worrying indeed if their Warrington Parr Hall date yesterday had picked up where the Reading 'mare left off.

Gordon Smart, of course, would never have had any doubts but did find a subtle way of pointing out that everyone has got older since the last time round:

One [fan] even held up a walking stick as Ian Brown played tambourine and did his trademark monkey-style dance.

The songs were, perhaps wisely, drawn from the first two albums, and mainly the first, but the Roses' ability to try out things that must have seemed a good idea at the time is still there, reports the NME:

There were no new songs, but there were a few surprises. At the end of 'Love Spreads', Brown broke into a rap, which appeared to feature the phrase, "Stone Roses up on the stage".

XFM see a band who have taken the car out of the garage, and are happy to see the engine still runs:

There was no encore, but the band members hugged with a palpable sense of relief.

There's also a reminder of what was most irritating about Roses fans the first time round:

Mani, meanwhile looked, in the words of one onlooker, "Mad for it".

Oh, God, "mad fer it" and the hats. I'd forgotten.

But - with a crowd who had to prove they were fans to get in (although the barrier was 'do you have a CD you can show us') and a few miles from the Roses' Camelot of Spike Island - this was mostly about laying that ghost of 'not being very good live'. It's probably a good sign that Brown could joke about it. The NME again:

Before 'She Bangs The Drums' he quipped: "Are we in tune yet?"

First night: Suede

Last night Suede v2.0 reformed - without Bernard Butler, in other words. And how was it?

The NME has a scrappy review:

With Bernard Butler's replacement Richard Oakes on guitar, Neil Codling playing rhythm guitar as well as keyboards, Mat Osman on bass and Simon Gilbert on drums, singer Brett Anderson led the band through a hit-laden set, though at one point the rest of the band left the stage for him to play 'Stay Together' B-side 'The Living Dead' alone on acoustic guitar.

It's accurate, but... well, you don't come away thinking "it's like I was there."

There is a setlist, though:

'She'
'Trash'
'Filmstar'
'Animal Nitrate'
'Heroine'
'Pantomime Horse'
'Killing Of A Flashboy'
'Obsessions'
'Can't Get Enough'
'Everything Will Flow'
'She's In Fashion'
'The Living Dead'
'The Asphalt World'
'So Young'
'Metal Mickey'
'The Wild Ones'
'New Generation'
'Beautiful Ones'
'Saturday Night'

A lot of the blousy numbers, then. It's a pity they didn't check to see if Curve's old wind machine was available for the night.

Live4Ever detailed Brett's reaction at the end:

Frontman Brett Anderson (pic), who has reformed the band without former key member Bernard Butler, told the crowd at the end of the show: “All I have to say is I loved playing tonight. It’s been beautiful. Lets do it again in another seven years time.”

Let's hope he hadn't actually forgotten he was meant to be doing it about, ooh, now, tonight, in Manchester.

For a bit more depth, TheDavidX offers up a bit more colour:

They played it fairly safe songwise, opening with a triumvirate of crowd pleasers that I'd count among my least favourite Suede songs: She, Trash, Animal Nitrate. But I had to admit, they were stunningly powerful. By the coda of Animal Nitrate I had goose bumps down the back of my neck and left the swag stall in Andy's capable hands to join the heaving throng.

The only songs that might conceivably considered surprises were (and I'm doing this all from memory, I'm sure the set will be somewhere online if you want cold hard fact rather than my romantic recall) Pantomime Horse, Asphalt World (which seemed a bit shorter than usual, though I might have imagine that) plus a solo Living Dead. Otherwise it was all the hits you'd expect: Filmstar, Flashboy, Heroine, Everything Will Flow (sounding surprisingly good here, always an underrated number I reckon), Can't Get Enough, She's In Fashion, etc. The only real clunker was Obsessions which the band seemed to have forgotten how to play and Brett sounded like he'd given up singing it properly after the first verse.

And that's pretty much it. Nobody much blogging about the gig in the way there would have been dozens of reviews a couple of years back - now, it's all YouTubes and Twitters.

Talking of YouTube, then, here's some squint-and-listen-hard instant video. First up, She:



Animal Nitrate:



And The Living Dead:



Finally, the lovely people at TheQuietus have turned the set list into a Spotify playlist. You'll have to provide the cheering and bloke pawing at your arse for yourself.

First Night: The Osbournes Reloaded

Before the programme aired, the misgivings about Sharon's latest vehicle for making cash from her brood had sat mostly within the Fox Broadcasting family - affiliates dropping the programme, the network slicing airtime and junking the idea of a series in favour of an unspecified number of one-off "specials".

But now the programme has aired, the question is: What did America think?

For Variety, it was "a disjointed mess":

Ostensibly a variety show shot in front of a boisterous studio audience, the program featured a mix of live and taped elements -- the first problem being that among the show's central family, only Jack Osbourne appears to have any natural aptitude for the hosting part of the gig.

The premiere's centerpiece, oddly, hinged on a staged (and most likely not legal) wedding, in which an audience member was bushwhacked by a "Get married now or else" ultimatum from his girlfriend. Although it was rather uncomfortable to watch, at least that drawn-out interlude offered a respite from watching Ozzy, Sharon and Kelly curse, with little faces appearing over their mouths to prevent even lip readers from being offended.

The Hartford Courant's Roger Catlin didn't enjoy himself:

That they'd be the cutting edge for Fox made them seem a little dated as well. The network must have realized what a dud it had on its hand. Not only did Tuesday's show not start a season - it was a one-shot teaser for an unannounced future season - it was cut from 60 minutes, to 40 to 35.

And from the cutting, we may have been spared the sight of Kelly singing - or even Ozzy doing a number. As it was, we were left with some unpalatable filmed bits - of a cussing kid version of "The Osbournes" annoying people in a theater, to Ozzy and Kelly spending a day at a fast food drive through - a ploy David Letterman did much more wittily years ago - that ended up with them throwing food at the cars in line.

Yeah, but what does the Courant know about entertainment anyway, right? Let's try Entertainment Weekly. Surely Ken Tucker was entertained, right?

It seems a lifetime since, in 2002, the Osbournes came across as refreshingly nutty on their MTV reality show. On The Osbournes: Reloaded, Ozzy, Sharon, Kelly, and Jack were just pathetic. No wonder Fox kept chopping this proposed hour-long "variety show" into an ever-smaller size before airing it. The network is supposed to air five more Reloadeds. Don't hold your breath. Or maybe, do hold your breath: The stink of this show will last a long time.

So, then: Not entirely a warm welcome, but still more popular than Sharon's ITV teatime show.

First Night: Fifty year-old woman relies on her spectacles

Saturday night saw Madonna kick off her Suck Me Hard tour in the Millennium Centre at Cardiff. So, was it worth kicking a bunch of kids' charity football tournament out for?

The reviews are in.

The South Wales Echo found, perhaps unsurprisingly, that people prepared to blow the cash for the tickets were delighted, and thrilled:

Die-hard fans said they enjoyed watching her prowl around in her stylish outfits and vowed to continue to buy Madonna’s records.

Well, yes - that would be what would mark out a die-hard fan from a fair-weather one, presumably.

Sarah Pearson, 27, of Aberystwyth, said: “It was fantastic. I danced the whole way through it. I paid £250 to get into the golden circle without having to queue, but it was well worth it.”

God, yes... a couple of hundred quid is so worth it to avoid having to stand up for a little while. In a queue.

But some people were worried they didn't get value for money:

Susan Harvey, 49, of Whitchurch, Cardiff, said: “I expected her to say thank you to us, considering we came along for the opening night. Her singing was good, but there was no interaction.

“She didn’t do any of the traditional stuff that everyone loves her for. For £85 a ticket, I was really disappointed.”

Since the show considered a fair amount of showing off, and a bit of celeb-mate name-dropping, the Echo concludes that this section of the audience is upset that there was no ho-hum soft-porny bits.

But it's not Madonna's fault if it was a bit flat. It's us. We've let her down:

Una Magill, 30, from Belfast, said: “It just wasn’t as good as her last tour. I think the audience was a bit quiet. There was no drive from the crowd.”

Bad audience. How dare you not make Madonna's eighty-five quid show a success.

While she might have decided to dispense with diamond-encrusted dildoes, Madge did attempt to whip up a bit of a lather with some sixth form politics. Of course, the right wing media have bounced all over it, because it was frankly lame. Right Pundits were the first:

Well, during the concert she used an interlude to knock people over the head with not-so-subtle images to demonize McCain and sanctify Obama. Surely it wasn’t intended to be subliminal, but it was about a subtle as a train wreck.

During an interlude images of fire and brimstone, destruction and … gasp …. global warming, were flashed on a screen. Those images were followed by images of Adolph Hitler, Zimbabwe’s Robert Mugabe and … you guessed it …. John McCain.

Later, the same screen was used to project images of peace, love, doves and rainbows. There were images of Beatle John Lennon, Al Gore, Mahatma Gandhi and … you guessed it … Barack Obama.

It's almost as if Madge is a Republican. Does she really think this sort of thing is a help to the liberal movement? It gives the right an open goal to kick for, and makes anyone on the centre-left look like they have no sense of perspective.

Of course, she wanted a reaction. And a reaction she has got. Tucker Bounds, McCain's press spokesvoice, pops up in the New York Daily News:

In a statement, Tucker Bounds, McCain's spokesman, slammed Madonna and labeled Obama as a kindred celebrity.

"The comparisons are outrageous, unacceptable and crudely divisive all at the same time," he said. "It clearly shows that when it comes to supporting Barack Obama, his fellow worldwide celebrities refuse to consider any smear or attack off-limits."

And he does have a point.

Back with the performance, and Bloomberg's Mark Beech was taken:

And forget about an encore. When Madonna was finished, bright lights came on saying ``Game Over.'' She meant it.

It's that queenly attitude, and arrogance, that help explain why she is the world's most successful female artist with 200 million record sales and counting. Madonna kept her talent bubbling through the two-hour gig.

Does arrogance really make her popular? Really?

Unlike the South Wales Echo, for whom the diehard fans were the ones delighted, Bloomberg reckons the die hards were the disgruntled:

Many Madonna fans left the Millennium Stadium in ecstasy. Her tours are all different, with new songs and fresh ideas. Only a few diehard fans were muttering about the sacrilege of reworking old tracks. (Heck, they are Madonna's creations: she can do what she likes with them. And she's known for sacrilege.)

For Showbiz Spy, Guy Rithcie "explains" Britney's cameo:

MADONNA's husband GUY RITCHIE has explained how BRITNEY SPEARS came to make a cameo appearance in his wife's new stage show - it was based on a real-life incident.
[...]
the concert included a special video appearance from Spears, who is seen dancing in an elevator.

And Ritchie admits that Spears' role in the show was created after Madonna saw a video of a similar incident.

He says, "Britney in the lift is based on real footage the missus saw of someone stuck in a lift for 48 hours. The dancing is inspired by what happened inside."

Well, that Madonna had basically copied an idea from the viral that was attached to that New Yorker article about the bloke trapped in a lift is hardly news - BoyCulture spotted it straight away - but that doesn't actually explain what Britney was doing in the video, does it?

The FT's Ludovic Hunter-Tilney was less-than-impressed:

The sense of incoherence reached deep into the production. High-tech visuals brought absent collaborators such as Kanye West and Justin Timberlake to life on a succession of screens, yet the technological wizardry failed to gel with the live action. "Devil Wouldn't Recognise You", a tired ballad from Hard Candy , found Madonna in gloomy gothic robes performing within a circular structure on which vast images of raindrops were projected. The devil of the song's title would have struggled to recognise her amid the murk.

Dance routines were subdued, and too many songs found Madonna indulging her recent but rudimentary enthusiasm for playing electric guitar, which had the unhappy effect of leaving her static as she concentrated on some elementary chord change. "Borderline", from her debut album in 1983, was transformed into kindergarten stadium rock. "Ray of Light" sparkled, but the lack of movement as Madonna plucked away leached the song of vigour.

The FT's final verdict?

The show's calculated nature was revealed by her unwillingness to go off script: her first cry to the crowd consisted of the unpromising request, "Are you with me Cardiff? Have you had enough?" towards the end of the show.

Helen Pidd, who went for The Guardian, offers four stars but warns Maddy to drop the guitar hero stance:

At first, it's a good gag seeing the first lady of pop inexpertly brandishing an axe. Her Grade One chords work a treat on a grungey version of Borderline. But as the set wears on, and she plays her way through some of her greatest pop songs - even Ray of Light - you long for Mark E Smith to come on and unplug her amp.

In The Observer, Amelia Hill met some more annoyed fans:

Lynne, wearing her best silky cowboy shirt and pink, flashing angel wings, is outraged. 'It's bollocks, that's what it is,' she said. 'One and a half hours late and she still hasn't bothered to come on stage? It's disrespectful. I've driven down two hours from Birmingham. This just isn't right.'

Madonna might do well to remember that - however in charge she likes to feel - at the end of the night, her tours are underwritten by the people picking up the tickets. Hill reports that by nine o'clock, the auditorium was starting to ripple with boos.

And DandyWalker was getting annoyed:

We waited, and waited and waited. Where the hell was that bitch???!!!!

The crowd started to get tetchy, 3 hours had passed of just starring at an empty stage. No support act to ease the wait, nothing. Just other peoples body odour and, and baring in mind the audience was mostly men who would hold hands, over powering aftershave.

Eventually, she puts in an appearance:

Suddenly it was as though the last three hours was merely a limbo stage. It's almost like she wanted to completely numb our senses to make sure we paid full attention. The lights went down and came up and revealed upon her throne there she was. The crowd were immediately won over, she had us where she wanted us.

Of course! It wasn't a fantastically rude failure to appear ontime, or try and keep the crowd entertained while waiting. It was all part of the show. Being bored to tears was part of the experience - how clever Madonna is.

So the audience forgave her. Being a Madonna fan, you learn to forgive. Lose yourself in the details, forgive, believe. Like MadonnaTribe:

There is a main set of screens at the main stage - which move and change shape and layout and are presented in the shape of a cube at the beginning of the show - and a double layer of semi-transparent cylinder-shaped screens above the satellite stage.

Then, there's a whole lot of smaller platforms, stage and ramps, and even conveyor belts, which disappear completely in the stage layout but pop out when the time is right. The catwalks is shaped as a ramp at the very beginning, then is transformed into a flat runway with steps coming down from the main stage, and then again in a conveyour belt. There's a platform moving from left to right (and the other way round), smaller platforms coming out around the satellite stage, this stage itself rises up, lowers down, and generally speaking there's a diffuse use of props and other smaller elements that Madonna had not used possibly since Drowned World Tour.

The stage goes up, and then lowers down. At least Madonna isn't setting out to disprove that what goes up must come down, then. Maybe that's for the next tour?

Madonnalicious, meanwhile, denies that the booing even happened in the first place. Sort-of:

The crowd booing because she was late on - NOT TRUE. The crowd did boo and then cheer and then boo but this was down to a rather disappointing, half hearted attempt at a mexican wave by the crowd. They booed when the crowd just didn't bother participating! Not because M was late on stage.

So the audience was booing itself, then. If this level of re-education keeps up, she won't even need to bother showing up for the next tour. Just get someone - perhaps in crotchless panties and stripper boots - to go on stage after five hours and tell them that Madonna has said they've had a great time. The audience will happily fall into line.

[You might also like: First Night of the 2006 tour]

First night: REM at SXSW

They had a new album to push - an album so modern, it's being streamed online, if you can imagine such a science-fiction concept. So, how did REM go down in Austin?

Like Elliot Spitzer at a Catholic Mother's Meeting.

Village Voice tried to be kind, but:

The songs are a bit louder, brasher, angrier, but still exploding into that sunny, boppy sort of R.E.M. chorus that's simultaneously recognizable and forgettable. The song bitching about Barbara Bush's post-Katrina Superdome quips is half-finished at best; "I'm Gonna DJ" is half-clever at worst. Michael Stipe these days is prone to corny non-sequitur exclamations -- "Hey!" "Whoa!" "Yeah!" -- amid his typical half-loopy, half-preachy banter: anti-war, pro-Obama (called that one), etc. He's endearing, but the band's flaccid, and the crowd is even worse, beaten down by New One after New One and barely perking up when the dudes deign to toss out "Drive" or "Fall on Me" or "Man on the Moon."

Austin360 couldn't even work out why they'd show up to a new band fest. Then it got it:

SXSW has become a recognizable youth culture brand. It's where old bands go to be young again.

Or to try, anyway. Did it work? MTV News' YouAreHere blogger Aaron Pinkston seemed impressed, charmed but not quite convinced:

I came to the show not being a huge fan of the band, just because they weren’t really part of my generation. However, with that said, leaving the show I definitely understand why the line to get in went for a mile down Red River Street. I was highly impressed by R.E.M.’s performance and definitely hope to one day see them perform again!

WNYC's Soundcheck blog liked what it heard, but...

R.E.M. bit into mostly new stuff, with an opener that was, well, heaven. I haven’t heard anything on the new album besides the single — and that’s a lot, mind you — but that first song sounded wonderful. New songs kept on coming, and I can’t wait to hear the new record. Sigh … I leave midway through the set to catch a ride, as we have another big Soundcheck on tap tomorrow.

... if it was that good, wouldn't you have stayed to the end?

The concert blog lists the set as played, while the merest glimpse of the band live has turned up on the YouTube:

First night: Tom Petty at the Superbowl

Tom Petty was a slightly odd choice for the Superbowl's half-time entertainment - not quite from the top of the tree, where usually such slots are filled from, and probably quirkier than you'd expect the NFL to go for. I mean, you'd have thought Steve Miller or whatever form whoever's still around from The Cars would have been a more obvious choice for a football match which couldn't run to a McCartney.

Still, he doesn't have tits which could have fallen out. Four years on, and they're still haunted by the merest whisper of a nipple. Even the teenage boys who freeze-framed the moment on their parents' TIVOs have got over it, surely?

Tom was at least lucky to be following on from Jordin Sparks' terrible National Anthem at the start of the game. She'd started Houstonesque over-emoting on the second bloody line, a degree of over-early, over-faux-emotional noodling which even a pre-crackpipe Whitney would have thought twice before attmepting; it left her with nowhere to go but to tail off . Viewers were left wondering if they'd got the wrong programme - "did she just mumble something about Canada?"

So, Petty was coming onto a pitch where expectations had been lowered. Carrie Brownstein on NPR thought that Petty's lower profile was suited to the event:

Within this context--a battle between grit and glamor--Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers were the ideal Super Bowl half time performers. There was little that Fox or the producers could do to super size or glamorize the performance. No amount of lights or camera trickery could produce action that wasn't there. Petty is no spectacle. He and his band looked like dads dressed up at their daughter's wedding. Petty played some of his best-known songs, from "American Girl" to "I Won't Back Down". The delivery was staid and earnest, with very little flash.

The Chicagoi Tribune also noted that - a flying V aerial shot apart - there was no spectacle, but also that something else was missing:

Other than a few stray pot-smoking references in some of his biggest songs, Petty has never exactly been a lightning rod for controversy anyway. That meant no chance he'd play "Mary Jane's Last Dance" or "You Don't Know How it Feels" with its "Let's roll another joint" refrain.

"It was strongly hinted" by the NFL not to play those songs, Petty told Rolling Stone recently. "It's a family show."

But is it, really? Wouldn't a 'family' show have got Igglepiggle or Hannah Montana or someone who people under the age of 25 relate to in?

WISN remembers it's a football game, and tries some sport-related metaphor - and then quickly abandons the attempt:

Looking increasingly like the grisly Gregg Allman of the Allman Brothers Band, Petty was the quarterback of the ensemble and directed his boys like the set was a drive down field. Drummer Steve Ferrone kicked off the show by hammering on his snare drum to propel the jangle-pop of "American Girl." Strumming Rickenbacker guitars, Petty and lead guitarist Mike Campbell conjured all the song's Byrds-like charm as the crowd roared like they were seeing the Beatles at Shea Stadium.

Really? Like it was The Beatles at Shea Stadium? Because that's quite a pitch of enthusiasm. One imagines if the Beatles had done four songs at Shea Stadium and then made way for some sports, the audience might have reacted with something other than polite applause.

Ultimately, though, the less-than-memorable half time show lived up to expectations. Ejazz sighs:

So Tom Petty's appearance has been forgotten. Except for the management and concert promoter. Which put tickets on sale in conjunction with his appearance. They call that synergy. People are high-fiving each other on private jets as we speak. But does Tom Petty belong at the Super Bowl? Do you think Tom Petty was a guy who played varsity ball in high school? Did you live through the sixties? People like Petty were outcasts, not BMOCs, never mind athletic heroes.

Petty - who refuses to licence his songs to adverts - wound up at the biggest advert of them all, selling himself for a handful of full auditoriums.

First night: Amy's on the road again

Last night was the first night of Amy Winehouse's UK tour at the NIA in Birmingham. So, how did it go?

Stephen Dalton, in The Times, reported the show was alright, but misfired:

For all these churning emotions, this was not a classic show. Clearly the troubled chanteuse has other things on her mind, but the size of the venue also appeared to overwhelm her at times. The fetchingly sloppy, intimate delivery that works a treat in smaller clubs does not translate well to arenas, and some of her bouncy retro-soul hits fell a little flat.

However, The Sun's unnamed reviewer suggests the audience felt it was more than "a little flat":

AMY WINEHOUSE went into meltdown on stage last night hours after visiting her husband in jail.

The star appeared drunk and turned her gig into a crazed tribute to hubby BLAKE FIELDER-CIVIL, which had fans booing and walking out.

Hundreds left Birmingham’s NIA on the first night of her 17-date UK tour.

Now, we know when the Sun reports 'hundreds' walking out, it usually means a few, but the boos appear to have been genuine, as Amy, erm, threatened the people who expressed their disapproval:

And as fans tired of the mumbling star and began booing, Amy turned on her audience.

She said: “Let me tell you something. First of all, if you’re booing you’re a mug for buying a ticket.

“Second to all the people booing — just wait till my husband gets out.”

That's the best thing you can possibly say about a bloke who's soon to go on trial accused of beating the crap out of someone, we'd imagine.

And what of the stage outfit? Stephen Dalton in The Times was impressed:

She was dressed in a skimpy, shiny top and tight black skirt and her magnificent beehive squatted on top of her tiny head like a huge dead octopus.

The Sun, however, suggested someone should have told her she wasn't going out dressed like that:

Dressed in a tight black miniskirt and with her see-through top showing off her black bra, at one point her boobs almost popped out after she lost her balance.

Apparently, she trumped off stage before the gig was even properly finished as well - perhaps she went to join the small throng demanding their money back:

Fan James Dyas was one of those who walked out demanding his money back.

He said: “She came on stage half an hour late. She managed four songs but was slurring her words and swaying all over the place.

“She fell into the guitar stand and dropped the microphone — it was atrocious."

You could argue, though, that if you've bought a ticket to a Winehouse gig in the last six months or so, you do so on the understanding that you're not really to expect her to turn up, never mind stand up.

On the BBC News site, monkfish-faced jazz criminal Jamie Cullum pops up to offer his 'support' for Amy's professionalism:

"I don't think she'd want to miss a tour because she likes playing too much," he said.

Which is an optimistic viewpoint, but even that pales into the official response from the Winehouse camp to the wobbly show, which attempts to spin the thing:

A spokesman for Amy said last night: “It’s been a really emotional time for Amy but she was determined to do the gig.

“She broke down on stage a couple of times with real tears. That real emotion is why people love her, but it’s just really heightened at the moment."

Yes, people love being threatened with being beaten up by a thug by the person they've paid money to see. That'd be "heightened emotion", then.

First night: Victoria Beckham in America

It was meant to be a series, launching her 'career' in America. Then it was downgraded to a single special, and given the title Coming To America. Even before she attempted a high-profile feud with Eddie Murphy, the choice of sharing the title of his film about a rich but naive figure bumbling their way through a world in which they can't coast on fame alone was a suggestion that NBC were setting her up for a fall.

And fall she did. Before transmission, the Searttle Post-Intelligencer sounded upbeat:

Tonight, NBC will air Victoria Beckham: Coming to America (8pm ET/PT), a behind-the-scenes look at Posh Spice's move from England to Los Angeles. She'll go house-shopping, hang out with friends, and give interested Americans a sense of who exactly these Beckhams are. Despite their name recognition, the essence of the Beckhams is still a mystery to most of us here. After watching some of the leaked segments from tonight's special, I think viewers are going to be delighted by what Victoria Beckham brings to the table. She has more personality than a thousand Paris Hiltons.

And after the programme, E!Online managed a kind word, but I suspect that Beckham might be less than thrilled at their tone:

Granted, it was a carefully planned and manipulated peek into her life, but I found it hysterical none the less. I mean, who wears heels and makeup to tan by the pool? I had many favorite moments from Posh’s hour-long special. I loved watching her get glam for her driver’s license photo, and proceeding to ask about retouches. It was funny when her new assistant told her that David’s “not ugly.” I love that after she was pulled over, she was more concerned with her footwear than her driving. It was hilarious when she dressed a blow-up doll to fool the paparazzi. It was also fun to watch her confront Perez Hilton, who felt her chest in the middle of a coffee shop.

That's going to be a hard "they're laughing with you" spin for Mr. Fuller.
Rotophonic didn't even enjoy laughing at her, calling the programme a "trainwreck":

Having to restage the show from six half-hours down to one hour must have been challenging for the 20 editors and AE’s assigned to this project, but thank heavens someone at the network caught a look at one of the dailies and sought to minimize the misery for the audience, while still giving the Beckhams their big appearance on American TV. Even the staged vignettes throughout this painful hour were so obvious that I had to force my wife to continue to watch. Reality editing lesson one: if the subject is being shot at dusk, don’t cutaway to a reaction shot in broad daylight. Sorry Tommy Lasorda.

The New York Times is simply puzzled:

There must be a reason NBC chose to lavish an hour of prime time tonight on “Victoria Beckham: Coming to America.”

But conspiracy theorists will be hard put to connect the dots. It’s not clear what links Philip F. Anschutz, the billionaire who agreed to pay David Beckham $27.5 million over five years to play for his soccer team, the Los Angeles Galaxy, to General Electric, the conglomerate that owns NBC. At first Google-glance, there appears to be little overlap between the corporations. If anything, their film divisions are competitors.

It could be a plot by the Trilateral Commission and Opus Dei, though some paranoids may prefer to point a finger at the Church of Scientology because the Beckhams, Victoria and David, are new best friends and neighbors of Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes. That’s just plain silly. Mr. Cruise has been on chilly terms with NBC ever since he excoriated psychiatry and Brooke Shields’s postpartum depression on that network’s “Today” program.

Unless, of course, the Beckham special is Mr. Cruise’s well-plotted revenge on the network.

The New York Daily News was also puzzled, as to how anyone could be so dull as to not rise to the challenge of US summer television:

The petite Brit known internationally as Posh Spice stars in an hour-long show (tomorrow night at 8 on NBC) that seems squished together from ages of tape. Rumor has it that Posh wasn't interesting enough to warrant a whole reality series.

I'm sorry, have you people seen this summer's crappy filler TV? "So You Think You Can Dance?" "Hey Paula?" "Pirate Master?" And Posh couldn't fill a few hours? If she could frown, she should.

They didn't even buy the Posh and Becks love story:

Her soccer star husband, David Beckham, distractingly hot, opens the show, participating in ordinary spousal tasks with his praying mantis wife: They get their hair done together and pose for a W magazine photo shoot in the desert. He, glistening and shirtless; she, wearing a strapless pouf with a violently pointy bodice. It's love, all right, only set in an alternate, creepy universe

Had we been Mr. Anschutz, investing a small fortune in the hope David could inspire interest in soccer in a market beyond the teenage girls who currently are the US football world, we might be a little worried this morning. Victoria might not have landed a fatal blow on brand Beckham in the US, but she's let daylight in on how very little magic there is.

First night: Prince at Koko

Prince's secret gig at Koko - secret in the sense that you weren't ever going to get to go, so forget it - has thrilled the press. Although it's not like he was playing the Camden Falcon, is it?

We're also a little surprised by who's considered a-list these days. RWD magazine were excited, but clearly they can't get out much:

RWD - as well as MIA, Will Young, Johnny Borrell, Carl Barat and Chris Moyles - was in attendance to see the triumphant return of The Prince after a nigh-on 10 year hiatus from our shores.

Chris Moyles? Will Young? The never-more-aptly-named MIA? Are they sure they weren't backstage at BBC Four's Music Hall programme or something? And can you have a hiatus from a nation?

London Lite's Andre Pain must have been standing near, but not right behind, RWD:

Little Britain star David Walliams, singers Mika and Will Young and DJ Chris Moyles were among the stars who saw him at Koko.

Pain saw the Moment Where Prince Fell Over:

Several fans were pulled on stage to dance and, amid a party atmosphere, one girl gave him a peck on the cheek.

Apparently joking, Prince fell to the floor, but a bouncer appeared and removed the fan from the stage. Prince disappeared and then returned with his head wrapped in a towel, muttering darkly about being kissed by a stranger.

Oddly, by the time the 3AM Girls get round to writing about it in The Mirror, the story has shifted a little"

PITY poor little Prince after the tiny star was toppled on stage - knocked off his heels by a way-too-zealous female fan.

The woman forced a kiss on the singer before straddling him as he lay prone on stage at a secret London gig.

He flounced off in a huff - only later returning with a towel over his head, muttering that he was ashamed.

But it seems that - while RWD and the London freesheet had been attending, the supposed premier gossip column had been amongst those of us relying on second-hand reports from the frontline:

Says our eyewitness: "As soon as this woman kissed Prince, he suddenly fell to the ground."

With her hero prostrate in front of her, the woman couldn't resist going further.

"She grabbed his arm and started straddling him," our witness goes on.

"Prince looked absolutely terrified. This clearly wasn't meant to happen. Then two bodyguards rushed out and hauled her off. Her arms and legs were flailing all over the place."

Luckily, it turns out that 3AM staple Beverly Knight was on hand to offer an opinion. Unfortunately, she seems to have confused Prince, the popstar, with a senior member of the British Royal Family:

Soul star Beverley Knight really felt for him. She told us yesterday: "It was so disgusting. I can't believe anyone would be that disrespectful. What makes you think you can behave like that with Prince?"

Clearly, though, Beverly thinks that it's usually okay to straddle people you've never been formally introduced to, just so long as they've never run their own record label.

Oddly, after this, the 3AM Girls are back in the room:

The incident was the one low point of a gig that was otherwise superb, though he didn't play enough hits for our liking.

But if you were there, why are you relying on an "eyewitness" for telling you what happened? (As it turns out, they could have just looked at the photo on Stereogum to have fudged their report.)

Either the 3AMies were at the venue, and are so inept you missed the incident - like Lizzie Archer nipping away from the vegetable show and not seeing the marrow explode - or you weren't there, and are trying to make it seem like you were.

Let's turn to NME.com's report to decide:

Prince ensured the fans had something to shout about with hits including 'U Got The Look', 'Kiss', 'Cream', 'Let's Go Crazy' and an impassioned version of 'Nothing Compares To U' in his set.

That sounds like quite a lot of hits to us. Although, of course, no amount of hits could probably compensate if you were stood outside with your ear stuck against the door.

The 3AM's moan, though, is at least refreshing in a sea of pliant press which would make Enver Hoxa jealous. The Telegraph's Tom Horan stressed how blessed we all are:

But for all the Brown-style fainting and showboating, the imploring and the pelvic fireworks, what was striking was Prince's humility. This was to be a party, not an ego trip. Having invited various audience members on stage, he found that one supremely lumpen individual had somehow taken his spot at the mike. Graciously he allowed him to sing the whole song. It brought the house down.

[...]

He did a dazzling cover of last year's Gnarls Barkley hit Crazy, reinventing it as a lampoon on all the people who have questioned his sanity over the years. Yet he barely dented the vast back catalogue of pop brilliance that is his to draw on.

Most of all, he just kept laughing and smiling. Prince is clearly in the mood for a party. How flattering that he has chosen to have it here.

We are not worthy to kiss his discarded head-towel. Prince, Prince, please shrug disdainfully in our direction.

You'd expect total capitulation from Hello, of course, a magazine which treats the daughter of a 1970s pop star and the presenter of a game show on Living TV with the same overawed reverence as Prince himself:

Revered the world over for his breathlessly sexy delivery, Prince is bound to draw a crowd of glamorous ladies anywhere he performs. So the coolest names of London's night scene, among them Lisa Snowdon and Peaches Geldof, flocked in droves to see the iconic funk artist playing a trendy London music venue.

Although what, exactly, is Hello trying to say here?

And it wasn't only the girls who were eager to see Prince in action, as Grace Kelly singer Mika, David Walliams and Will Young were in the audience, too.

It fell to The Times' Kevin Batholomew to try and turn in a review that attempted to treat Prince as just another performer. He nearly managed, it, too, but even by the end, Kevin was taking the Bible Studies guy's word as law:

[E]ven at the age of 48 did nothing to belie his status as music's supreme performer, but also by an ecstatic audience.

"You give me the energy to do this", he told us. "At the O2 we're gonna turn that thang out. They're gonna be the best shows you've ever seen." You better believe it.

Hattie Collins, who reviews for the London Paper and blogs at Hattie C In The Place To Be admits the existence of a phenomenon which causes journalistic distance to crumble in the face of the little man:

eing a music journalist, it's sometimes easy to become a cynical, boozy, grumpy, faded hack. But hey, every job has its benefits. Don’t get it twisted though; just because we take great pleasure in slagging things off, even we have a day-off from the haterade every once in a while.
For me, my journalism kryptonite is the one and only Prince. Quite frankly, he could arrive onstage and fart for four hours and I’d act like it was the best show ever.

Rubbishcorp has Purple Pixie pix and Koko video.

First night: Arcade Fire

Back when I was a kid, you couldn't take cameras into gigs. Of course, you could, but you had to smuggle them in past bouncers with all the cunning of a mule crossing the Thai border. Now they're integrated into phones, it looks like the battle to keep them out has been lost, and nothing happens on stage without someone making a jerky video. So it is that much of last night's opening of the Arcade Fire UK tour in Manchester has already appeared on YouTube. Only trouble is, this eyewitness footage is somewhat less exciting than the testimony in print.

For example, the NME suggests that there was something of massive stage invasion:

Arcade Fire fans invade the stage
Band joined by all-dancing crowd for euphoric Manchester opener

- which sounds more exciting than the footage looks, to be frank.

Shine Like A Spoon wasn't impressed - what looks like an impassioned moment of inclusion to one person can be another's health and safety nightmare:

Arcade fire was... a fucking fiasco. It was all going well till the last song of the main set - I don't even remember what it was - when the singer decided it would be fun to open the gate and let some fans on stage. I was on the barrier, and should have been safe where I was, towards the centre, but one idiot decided he was going to push through instead of going to the side. I'd decided to stay exactly where I was - if I get a barrier, I'm not leaving it, even if it IS to go onstage. Anyway, I ended up with probably twenty or so people on top of me, by which point my ribs were crushed against the rail and if I didn't do something, I was about to have several broken ribs to contend with. So I did the first thing that came to mind: gripped the rail with both hands, pushed the flats of my feet against the barrier and pushed back with my shoulders as hard as I could. I did this a few times until I'd cleared about four foot behind me. Of course, the guy then got (even more) aggressive and started punching Neil in the head, and me in the back of the head/neck, while firmly pushing my spine, ribs and shoulderblades, crushing me to the barrier again. I know Neil got at least one punch in and I know the guy next to Neil pushed the guy backwards quite hard by his forehead. I also know a bouncer sent him flying in the same way, and I suspect quite a lot of other people got hits in, too. I don't know - I was, by that point, slumped over the barrier trying to remember how to breathe and operate my legs. He managed to hit me in the part of my back that stops everything else working.

It sounds a little like music editors came a little too close to having to write "Funeral"-themed headlines.

First night: The Long Blondes

The Long Blondes started their UK tour on Friday night. Popstarz was full of indie kids wearing berets (we bet), the odd journo and a smattering of bloggers.

The NME was there on expenses, and went to the effort of compiling a set list:

'Lust In The Movies'
'Weekend without Makeup'
'Once And Never Again'
'Giddy Stratospheres'
'Five Ways To End It'
'Separated By Motorways'

Obviously not the full set, as this was one of those halfway-through-a-clubnight jobs.

Dave AP got a little skin-on-skin action:

stood at the very front,
was literally 2ft away from the band
an directly in front of kate jackson
an she sang to me
an held my hand while she was singing motorways!
it was great

Mind you, that was nothing compared to what Lubey's mate got at the first night proper in Brighton:

Wow tonight was just wow! Me and Vix went to see The Long Blondes at the Old Market and we were highly impressed, Brilliant live!!! was so so random though seeing as Vick interupted a butt sniffing junkie in the toilets haha getting a whole eye full.

That's the sort of thing you seldom get in a Daily Telegraph review, isn't it? But considering nothing's meant to happen in the world without it being blogged from sixteen different angles, it's slightly disappointing that there's barely a word about their twin opening nights.

Luckily, Flickr doesn't let us down: Stephen Burch supplies some gorgeous shots of the band on stage at the Brighton Old Market. And, if you're really keen, there's some cameraphone footage, too - although, erm, with no sound.