NORTH COUNTRY BOY: There's what the nme describes as "speculation" over the future of the Charlatans following the announcement of tim Burgess' plans to record a country-tinged album with Linus of Hollywood. Maybe it is the end for the Charlies - we hope not, but they've always behaved like men who knew what they had to do, and so if they decide there's no more, then that's fair enough; although it will mark the final conclusion of the Baggy Adventure if the band David Quantick described as being "left to carry the bag" call it quits.
Amusing that Tim goes alt.country at just the same time as one of No Rock's other favourite sexpixies, Cerys Matthews, makes a similar musical journey...
(By the way, can anyone explain why the Charlatans photo album on the nme site includes a picture of Penny Smith and Nick Kent?)
Anyone in New York, by the way, can pop down to see Tim djing at the Union Square megastore, where he'll be showcasing the best of British Talent, apparently. We're assuming this won't be Atomic Kitten.

KISS-OFF: Those of us who've been trusted with keys to the office at some point have all snuck in late at night, haven't we? Normally its to have a wee before the cab queue home, but when Robin Banks found himself in town, refreshed, late at night he opened the doors into Kiss FM, pulled off the tape that was playing out, and started swearing and blearing and beering. His future doesn't look that bright right now.

BEYOND 100: Somehow, in our coverage of the musicians in the 100 Greatest Britons yesterday, we neglected to mention Cliff Richard. This wasn't intended as a slight - although the goodwill left after Mistletoe and Wine and Saviour's Day is patchy to say the least. Let's instead remember Cliff as the way I'm sure he'd want to. Called to appear on Comic Relief's live show with the cast of the Young Ones, Cliff obliges. He's later shocked to discover the live video which is released featuring him has swearing on it, and insists his part be excised for further pressings. Never mind the cost, and never mind this is all in aid of charity. And never mind that the works of Mayall et al were already well known for being swear-heavy. His saintliness was far more important than that.

Further beyond: We made a frantic note to mention this before, and then ignored it - but how grinding must Costello's teeth have been to have heard his version of 'She' being used on the Thatcher segment? The man who wrote Tramp The Dirt Down must have been slightly pissed off, we'd suggest.

EVERYTHING HE TOUCHES TURNS TO GOLD?: Interesting piece in this week's FT Creative Business supplement, when the man behind Atomic Kitten and Blue's label, Hugh Goldsmith, settles on their big interview sofa. Apparently he's really nervous about 'fessing that he is the shady figure writing for his own acts pseudonomously as I. Hope - he claims there's no conflict of interest in choosing his own songs to go on albums that will sell a lot because, erm, Blue actually really like his songs.
The FT suggest that he's the greatest A&R person in the UK is probably true, which is worrying - Billie just about broke even; Atomic Kitten have survived through luck rather than judgement (let's not forget they were dropped and then hastily undropped as Whole Again became a sleeper hit); Martine McCutcheon was a no-brainer, short-termer and, let us not forget, he signed Jonathon Wilkes - Robbie William's flatmate. So, one jewel in the crown in Blue, then. And this is the best A&R man in the country - is it any wonder the major labels are in such poor states? And lets not even get into how many copies of records his stars have sold in the US, shall we?

AUTUMN OF '02: At least Tegan and Sara know that someone's reading their tour diary on Chartattack, although since its Sara's mum the likelihood we'll get the real juicy as they tour the States with Ryan Adams is low. Still worth reading, nevertheless.

WHALES TAPDANCING: Why, when the BBC has the beautiful Music site does the team at BBC News Online feel the need to try and run a critical piece on new rock? Hung on the not especially topical discovery of a two month old issue of Rolling Stone proclaiming 'Rock is back' (on this basis, expect BBC News to be running 'Women make music' sometime round Christmas), the nme's James Oldham claims that the musical landscape has changed. Oh, if only... But the nugget reviews of the bands shows that the landscape hasn't changed at all, or at least not yet. (If it had, then why would there be a news story suggesting that mainstream music has morphed? Surely it'd be as redundant as reporting 'It rained in manchester?'). "Did the music for an advert with Kylie in", "supported the Rolling Stones", "spawned a top 30 single", and "does head-stands on stage" are amongst The Best Things They Can Find To Say. Yes, these bands are excellent, yes, they're doing great things - but there's no seismic shift yet. Otherwise you'd not fall back on saying "the nme writes about them" - it'd be "they're on the cover of Newsweek/ never out the Mirror."

WHAT, NO METH: "Cocaine, Marijuana Found On Kid Rock's Tour Bus" reports Billboard. Which sounds to us less like a cop bust, more akin to poking about in the glove compartment.

TIT FOR TATCHELL: Aw, sweetgwen, we're having to stick up for Peter Tatchell again. Last Thursday's op-ed pages in the Guardian gave space to Dotun Adebayo to take a pop at Tatch and defend the roster of homophobic acts that come from Jamaica. He suggests that protesting outside the Mobos might not be the place to try and make the Jamaican government aware of the rampant homophobia in its nation, which misses the point terribly - Tatchell wasn't crusading (this time) against the brutality against queers in the Caribbean, he was protesting against the Mobo Awards giving prizes and kudos to acts who sing about murdering gay people. Under which circumstances, the choice of location was pretty smart, you'd have to say.
Adebayo continues " And I doubt Tatchell has the balls to go to Jamaica shouting: "I'm glad to be gay." Actually, you're probably wrong - since Tatchell has attempted to arrest Robert Mugabe, he's nothing if not a man to never back down from a challenge. And, besides, why would he need to fly to Kingston, when his protest at Canary Wharf led to a bunch of reggae fans throwing insults and violence at him?
Then, the piece becomes farcical, with a logic that runs 'Jamaica has both constitutional and cultural hatred of gays. These artists come from Jamaica. Therefore they should not be upbraided for reflecting that homophobia." So, recalling the wonderful night when Shabba Ranks was pilloried and humiliated on The Word by a razor-sharp Mark Lamarr, we're told "It's not only accepted but expected of a ragga MC. Ten years ago, ragga MC Shabba Ranks was asked on British TV to show his hand on the issue. Shabba took out his bible and began quoting scriptures, knowing that he could not return to Jamaica otherwise. On that occasion, Tatchell called for Shabba Ranks' music to be banned on Radio 1. It was, and the young Jamaican, who was then embarking on what would have been a lucrative career, disappeared from view, though at home in Jamaica he was hailed as a hero." So, what? We're meant to be upset that Shabba blew his chance because he found it easier to pander to queerbashers than his potential market? (Not that we should let the claim that the BBC banned Ranks pass anyway - they may have been less keen to include the works of man filled with hatred in their shows, but the idea that he was put on some sort of list not to be played is laughable. Indeed, Ranks appears on BBC Radio's beginner's guide to reggae, a feature on the site for Mark Lamarr's show - irony buttie, anyone?.)
"Tatchell would be better off taking the stance of Boy George, one of several gay men and women attending the Mobo awards. Boy George understands that it's not about reggae, not about Jamaicans and not about black people." No, Dotun, Boy George knows its all about having your picture taken at a swish awards do and bugger the buggers. See, your argument that Tatchell should write to the High Commission, and get the Jamiacan government to change the law, and then everything will be fine, is powerfully flawed. A government should only be the expression of it's citizen's beliefs, and if Jamaica is such a place that Buju Banton is forced to issue a denial that his US record company has apologised to gay men on his behalf - for fear of his life, as you claim - then there's work to be done. One way of getting the message across is to make it clear that calls to slaughter gay men in song are unacceptable; if it means that artists lose out on the chance to sell records worldwide, then so be it. Maybe that may persuade them to examine their consciences. A nations music can reflect the worst of a country, or it can help educate. Boy George applauding the nomination of murderous shite won't change anything. Maybe Peter Tatchell holding a placard on a windy street won't, either. But its clear who's making the more effort.

THE ORIGINAL WILL YOUNG RETURNS: Before Simon Cowell inflicted the Popstars people on us, he'd turned MFI-level actors Robson and Jerome into pop stars (often using the same bloody cover versions). Now, one half of the earlier beast he created is returning. Robson Green tells Teletext that this isn't a comeback, because "singing is something I do every now and then. I toured with the likes of Paul Weller," he says, as if it's something to brag about. The album is, of course, a load of poorly crooned cover versions including - oh, sweet chocolate ants - Me And Mrs Jones.
If you want us, we'll be filling our ears with praline over there.

"THIS MAY BE THE BEST VIDEO WITH URINE DANCING IN IT OF ALL TIME" Normally, we'd not plug a site that heads itself retroCRUSH: The barely legal pleasure palace, but on this occasion we're making an exception as the link gives a wonderful reading of the Christina Aguilera video. But probably best to avoid clicking if you're in an office, or somewhere like that.

GET WELL SOON CORNER: No Rock is feeling a bit crappy today itself, so we're even more sympathetic than usual when we send a bottle of lucozade to Karen O from the yeah yeah yeahs, who is tucked up with bronchitis.

CAN YOU SAY 'PUFFED-UP'?: Now, we like a laugh as much as anyone, but when someone off worn-thin gameshow Popstars says that she and her Stockport-signed boyfriend are the new "posh and becks", we're just being spoiled. David Beckham is the most gifted footballer of his generation. Victoria Beckham a member of a band that smashed chart records back when that meant something. You have made it through to the last few on a lottery-style karaoke show, your boyfriend plays for a team that even us Brighton and Hove Albion supporters poke fun at. Please ask the driver about self-awareness.

I'M THINKING: THE FIRST SNUFF POP VID: Moby is trying to get a video done on the cheap ("offering fans the opportunity to direct his next video") and is, says the nme, encouraging people to send him video treatments (email them to info@d-e-f.com (subject line should be Video Comp, as they're apparently too cheap to go to the trouble of setting up a new email name for the project). Stern warnings against attachments of more than 2Kb, yer looking at a five grand budget - cheers, EMI - and you should include a short (fifty word) biog. And remember: the more humiliating, the better. (That's our hope, not an actual rule.)
Talking of Moby, we're setting up a drink for Justin from the Godless Reds for pointing out to us that when Moby sold We Are All Made of Stars to Intel, he not only broke his promise about cutting down on the relentless whoring of his music, but he went further, allowing them to cut the "people they fall apart" from the featured lyric. Next week, we expect to see Moby's artistic integrity as an item on ebay.
And, while we're on that Intel advert - Rob Walker writes about it in Slate, pointing up that Moby might actually sell records by being associated with an advert which seems to encourage music 'theft'...

SINCE YESTERDAY: People whose eyes still mist over at the mention of Strawberry Switchblade will be delighted with the latest overhaul at Deep Water, one of the too-few sites dedicated to the band that proved that goths can giggle, too.

EXCITING NEW REVENUE STREAMS: So, Alice Cooper is opening a haunted house, apparently. This first of all puzzles us - Cooper, surely, was never scary, not even in the way Slipknot or Ozzy affected to be, so its rather like McDonalds offering cooking classes in the first place - "ooh, it's a man who's not combed his hair; save me, mummy" - but then it puzzles us some more - why don't more rock stars open visitor attractions? Sure, you've got the Gracelands and the Dollywoods; and Noel Edmonds caught a cold with Crinkly Bottom (Noel being the drummer with Brown Sauce as well as an irritating TV and radio presenter, of course). But I like the idea that, rather than doing the things we can't bear to look at, Justin Timberlake could create a travelling show, with a big tent for his fans to climb inside and experience a Timbelake view of the world...

THIS IS SYNERGY: America, can you wait - as Time looks through the stuff it bought when it took over IPC, and mulls a US version of Loaded...

GREAT BRITONS? GREAT HAIRY BOOS, MORE LIKE: The BBC has been filling acres of empty air-time ("carrying out an important historical survey") to discover 100 Great Britons. Of course, trying to draw up a list of the 100 greatest people is difficult, especially when you're relying on people from the poorly educated ranks of the early twenty-first century Britons to vote for them. As a consequence, while, say, no visual artist made the list, there was a sizeable collection of music-related people in the 100-10 segment already decided. Even more scarily, John Lennon is one of the ten chosen to slug it out for the all-time title - although since Diana, Princess of Sunbathing is also there, it doesn't seem quite so incongrous somehow. Anyway, here's a rundown of the Great Musical Britons, for those of you who were too busy buffing your gun-metal cigarette cases last night to watch:

Bono - been a good month for Mr Hewson, having been claimed as the most influential person in music and now lauded as one of the hundred greatest people ever to have lived within the British Isles. We actually managed to pull together a list of several thousand greater people, simply by picking up the Liverpool - Residential phone directory and striking out every third name.

David Bowie - if this was a list of Great People in Music, we might have been amongst the first to offer Bowie a glass of cheap supermarket champagne and a small plastic figurine. But when you've only got a hundred slots and several thousand years of history, we're not sure that Absolute Beginners, Laughing Gnome and the nazi salutes should not be enough to keep him out the finalists.

Boy George - ex-smackhead, Sunday Express writer, the singer on Karma Chameleon. He makes the list, George Orwell doesn't. That can't be right, can it?

Richard Branson - now, we - as I'm sure you know - can't stand the grinning PR gnome, but we're inclined to understand the reasons for his inclusion. Although Tubullar Bells and The Stereophonics are both on his rap sheet, for a while he headed up a record label which was prepared to take risks, and his bravery in allowing his gurning visage to be associated with a lot of rubbishy products (the cola, the Stereophonics, the trains) probably deserves some sort of recognition

Michael Crawford - we suspect that somewhere, there are is a sinister cabal of old ladies whose delight in getting The Phantom of the Opera into the 100 is only lessened by the failure of the Marti Webb campaign

Edward Elgar - it's not all pop pop pop, although music is curiously only represented by people working in the twentieth century (although you could stretch a point and suggest that Blake worked, unaware, as a lyricist). Elgar is the oldest of these, and perhaps the most popular. More importantly, he actually came up with something iconic in the form of Land of Hope and Glory

Bob Geldof - much as we wish this award had something to do with getting wanked off by Paula Yates in the back of a car, or even for I Don't Like Mondays, it's probably going to be more to do with Band Aid, isn't it? Nothing for Midge Ure, you'll notice. See, not swearing at people may make you liked, but it'll never make you popular, Midge...

George Harrison - had the good fortune to drop dead during the voting, otherwise he'd have been about as likely to make the final cut as Ringo. On the TV show last night they were clearly trying to drum up reasons why the one who didn't write any of the songs anyone actually liked should have been rubbing shoulders with the top table, and didn't really do any better than us.

John Lydon - admittedly, not the only self-aggrandising hypocrite on the list, but we think it says it all that he was also featured last night speaking up for Enoch Powell. Lydon clearly doesn't have the smarts he so desperately wishes us to see in him, but to make apologies for Powell's stinking "If I'm careful, I can make it seem like it it wasn't me stirring up trouble" speech just marks him out as the sort who was attracted to punk for the excuse to be nasty and brutish, in short.

Paul McCartney - This must hurt. Like a bloody knife, Lennon in the top ten and him left out in the cold of the lower reaches (although, a man who made Give My Regards To Broad Street must have much experience of languishing in the Isthmian, the Ryman, the DocMartens leagues.) It pains us to say it, but he's probably got as much right to be here as anyone else - you can't ignore the Beatles impact and aftershocks, even if you're not stuck in Yellowsubmarinepool. And as one half of the powerhouse behind, he'd have to be included we reckon. That's our teeth gnashing, that noise, by the way.

Freddie Mercury - Okay, I have to say, I really don't get it. Yes, popular at the time, and you can see why their pantomimic pop would have been pleasing, offering a slightly more macho version of glam/ less uninviting take on metal / briefer reworking of prog. But the continued dominance of Bohemian Rhapsody in Best Ever polls, and Dame Freddie fopping in next to Nye Bevan and Boudaceia -why, in God's name? How does anyone make the leap from 'fairly amusing musical act' to 'greatest person who ever lived'? And how do so many people make the shift that he actually comes so high up in the listing? Is it just that the teaching of history and the permanence of memory has eroded so far in the UK that 1976 is pretty much as far as people can grope backwards without fear of dinosaurs and getting lost?

John Peel - winningly, Peel popped up to say that he thought he was being set up for some sort of hidden camera show when he was told of his inclusion in the chart. I'd be tempted to put him on my list of the Greatest Living Englismen, and, yeah, given enough to choose, I'd certainly include him in an all-time list. While Lydon may have defined punk (albeit to a recipe dictated by McLaren, using ingredients made by the New York Dolls), Peel championed punk. However, Peel had already championed glam and rock, and would go on to champion a million other forms of music, while Lydon went on to become a club class, club bore.

Robbie Williams - the presence of Robbie Williams in the poll winners casts the air of credibility enjoyed by the returning office in Baghdad over proceedings. We suspect that the pile of votes written in sparkly gel pens on My Little Pony notepaper wasn't lost behind a BBC radiator simply to demonstrate how impartial and fair the process had been - "see" says the presence of Williams, "so equally was every vote treated, we even resisted the understandable and righteous temptation to anull votes for The Bloke Who Was In Take That and Sings A Bit in the interest of making the event seem a bit more solidly based." Well, that's how we're choosing to see it, anyway.

I COLLECT, I REJECT: Tiscali are currently hosting an auction of bronzes of famous (well, -ish) people's favourite bits in aid of a breast cancer type charity. Amongst the stuff on offer is a pair of Denise Van Outen's knees (expected to go for a lot, as it's unusual to find them together), Radio One breakfast scare Sara Cox's fingers doing a v-sign, the arse of Atomic Kitten and, erm, Meg Matthews tits. Keep repeating that its all in a good cause... a good cause... a good cause...

I M N IN XTC OF ST T: Delighted and excited to discover that Ecstacy of St Theresa not only are still a going concern but they've got a bilingual English-Czech website. The closing time Slowdive, the Portishead that cries sometimes in public, if you've not had the pleasure yet, nip out and get some fags and red wine and dive in.

RECORD COMPANY BEHAVES IN A NOT-EVIL FASHION: And, its our auld enemy Universal, too. Although the changes in royalty arrangements its making aren't entirely all plaques and ham, but let's not be churlish. Since the major labels screwed bands royally over CD royalties for so long (as late as the mid-90's bands were being asked to take lower rewards to help the 'new' format establish itself), a quick decision on fair recompense for online downloads is good news. So, instead of the measley single-level of roaylty, the musicians on UMG labels will take home an album rate instead - the exact value of this varies from contract to contract, but normally is an extra 25%; the 'new media deduction' has been removed (we're not quite sure what the logic behind this was in the first place, it seems a bit Window Tax style 'made up charge' to us) and the 25% packaging deduction has gone - okay, not especially generous since, erm, mp3s tend not to be wrapped up anyway very much.
So, what are they up to? The Daily Double thinks UMG is motivated to try and win artists round to the fight against Free Music Downloads - at the moment, many acts are making such small figures on legit downloads, it's not costing them anything to encourage Napsterites and Limewirers to sample their wares for free; so, by making the payments per download worth something to them, the logic runs, they'll start to become boring, hectoring sods like Bruce Dickinson and Lars Ulllllrich. We also wonder if the new contracts are being knocked together as a poison pill to discourage other labels from attempting to snap up UMG as the Vivendi-Universal fire sale starts to take hold.

TUNE IN TO DEREGULATION: The Observer is reporting that heads of Britain's radio companies are going to hold a "crisis" meeting with Tessa Jowell to moan and moan at the attempts of the Communications Bill to ensure that British Radio at least keeps some sort of inventiveness. Their main whine is that the Bill insists that each area in the country should have at least three distinct radio operators (not, as the paper suggests, services). Capital Radio's David Mansfield reports: "It's completely crazy. You've a situation where you have draft legislation that says the London market - which makes up 30 per cent of the national market - needs only one commercial TV licence but must have at least three commercial radio stations."
David, how long have you worked in broadcasting? Surely you realise that the reason there's only one commercial, local TV service on terrestrial television in the capital is because, by the time you make room for the BBC, Channel 4 and squeeze Channel 5 in, there's no space for an extra channel. Plus, of course, making TV is pretty expensive, whereas quality, diverse radio output can be made for a fraction of the cost. The broadcasters are caught pleading that they get "ony" six per cent of total advertising spend on their media, which makes us wonder why they've been trumpeting the onward rise of this figure to their shareholders for the last decade - headlines such as "Commercial Radio continues to grow ahead of the market" may have given the impression that the current, pluralistic situation was doing rather well. Indeed, for example, David Mansfield's name appears on the press release trumpeting "In line with our expectations, we anticipate that our like for like radio revenues for the six months ending 30 September 2002 will increase by 2% against the same period in the prior year." - not bad when the advertising world is caught in rictus, we'd think.
Trouble is, the proposals in the Bill don't work very much in favour of the listener, either - it would be better, in all seriousness, to have one owner forced to maintain three distinct services than three owners pumping out largely the same musical choice - it's possibly true that, in Liverpool, Magic 1548 and Juice are different services, but Magic plays a lot also played by Century; Century and City have a lot of common ground; and City and Juice are virtually interchangable. What we'd really like to see the Bill do is stop behaving like the current radio groups and seeing the wireless as a way of shifting money from person to till, and start to protect its position as a vital cheerleader for our culture.
When Chrysalis and Capital start to pretend they're promoting diversity, we have to pretend we're choking on our coffee.

FORMING AN ORDERLY Q: So, those Q awards, then - Electric Soft Parade as best new act and Hives as best live act translates pretty much as "You'll find the Hives are slightly rowdy, but ESP will be pleasing in your Ikea lounge"; while we think Pink's Get The Party Started is a wonderful track, we're not sure the video works in quite the way its meant to - unless you take it as a piece with the Don't Let Me Get Me, the fish eye lens, the cap and the air-cow-milking doesn't come across as the self-parody its meant to. Freak Like Me as best single is wrong - sure, it's a great single, but to suggest the best idea anyone had was a note-for-not cover version of someone else's cut up is as defeating as putting Diana in the Best British Person ever league. Coldplay as best album was obviously a shoo-in; they might as well have called it "Best Album as Voted For By Readers of Q" and have done with at time of release. Giving an award of anything - even Best Producer - to Moby and his ego is akin to providing the evil octopus with a ticket to an all you can eat seafood buffet. No complaints about the Inspiration award for Echo and the Bunnymen and songwriter prize for Jimmy Cliff, although there is an element of "what took you so long?' Doubtless they'll explain exactly what the innovation that Depeche Mode are being rewarded for is - 'songs about heroin' surely can't be a first, can it?; and, frankly, the only merit we can find in Q Merit Gong for Tom Jones is that he's never been Engelbert Humperdink. Radiohead best band? Well, you can see how they might have thought so. And making Cowell least wanted is tame, lame and predicatable. Now, if they'd blocked Bono from going, that would be worth doing...

THIS HOUSE BELIEVES...: Hilary is coming, Hilary is coming... proving they'll let any old sod turn up at the Oxford Union these days, the Oxford Union (who like to call themeselves 'The most famous debating society in the World' (the UN might have something to say about that), are spending Thursday night considering the proposition that "this house believes that the free music mentality is a threat to the future of music." The line-up for the proposition is Hilary Rosen of the RIAA, Jay Berman of the IFPI, Chris Wright of Chrysalis and, um, Bruce Dickinson. Taking the other side is Ronnie Gurr - who signed the Stereophonics to V2, so he'll be looking to try and make ammends; Nick King of Nielsen (setting up "nicking music" gags) and Chuck D. We're slightly concerned to see that Chuck - who, as a member of Public Enemy fears their presence in Europe would put their fans at risk - doesn't seem worried that this appearance might put the braying hordes of Oxford's brightest in danger.
We're disappointed to see that Dickinson's swallowing the record industry line - what is it about heavy metal acts and the need to crush the life out of music lovers? (Maybe that question answers itself, come to think of it). Bruce clearly must believe that the reason Iron Maiden hasn't sold any records in the last ten years is down to the invention of the PC.
We're hoping MP3s of the debate will be available almost instantly.

EVERY TIME THEY FLOG A PAIR OF JEANS, RONNIE SPECTOR DON'T GET A CENT: The New York Court of Appeal has decided that The Ronettes don't have any right to get cash when their music is played under adverts or in movies, because the contract in which they sold all their rights forever to Phil Spector for a measely USD14,000 didn't make any mention of them. The band had won USD3m in a lower court, which now Phil gets to keep and spend on making records with Starsailor, which might be seen as some sort of justice anyway.

OTHER MUSIC BLOGS ARE AVAILABLE: We're delighted to discover Nonstop Pop, which is kind of Jonathon Meade's restaurant column, only its about music, and it's not written by a chubby english bloke. We've been struggling with whether to mention The Minor Fall's usefull guide to music blogs, as it might come across as terribly immodest. However, if you're reading us plug it here, then you'll already have read us and made up your own mind so it's not us showing off as such, and the list is useful and, as is often the case with TMFTML, spot on.

ARE YOU GETTING IT NOW, NOEL?: Sometimes we do wonder if there might be some greater force at work in the universe. Oasis, who were so swaggery and gobby about September 11th, have pulled their Phillipines dates because they all of a sudden managed to find something in the world beyond Burnage to take an interest in when they suddenly noticed there were terrorists wandering about abroad.

COLDPLAY VIDEO UPDATE: We've watched that Coldplay video again, and we've noticed that there's actually a major flaw in it that the wailing of Chris Martin had blinded us to before. See, the Pretty Girl is lying on the ground because she's been thrown through the windscreen. (Interestingly, she's shown as having to take her seatbelt off to put a jacket on just before the crash, which is interesting - she's not, see, a badass girl who doesn't live by the rules, she was just a bit nippy); anyway, as the video runs backwards the car is shown rolling down the hill sideways. For quite a few turns. So, erm, how did she come to be thrown forwards as it stopped? If anything, she should have gone through the side door. The video doesn't go back far enough to explain how she apparently behaves against the laws of physics - we can only assume that she's so anxious to avoid listening to Martin she throws herself forward deliberately to escape...

WOKE UP. HAD BREAKFAST. WROTE THE MOST INFLUENTIAL SONG OF THE 1990s. FELT A BIT MISERABLE. SHOT HEAD OFF.: Or, in other words, with the launch of the Observer's serialisation of Kurt Cobain's diaries, we all get the chance to play pop psychologist. "I would only wear a tie-dyed tshirt if it were dyed with the urine of Phil Collins and the blood of Gerry Garcia." Hmmm. Maybe not. But if you want a snap judgement on what Kurt writes, you still can't beat Courtney's review of his suicide note; when she snapped "He's lying" midway through some of his words, she angrily caught the shortcoming of Cobain; all conviction, no courage. So, on one page, summer 1992, he's damning MTV for retailing the 'pregnant Courtney is on smack' tattle, scrawling "The old generation is going down fast fuckface"; a few months later he's boosting the Viacom bottom line recording Unplugged. We'll wait for the dinosaurs to die, he promised, and then the Now generation will be in the ascendent. If he trusted in his vision, maybe he'd have hung around. If he'd lived through this with us, I guess we'd have died for him. But he decided it was better to chicken out than to struggle away. A bitter waste.

SNAPPED: Of course, we take no pleasure in the news that Cream have had the pictures of their last night as a proper club pinched, but there's something poetic that the official record of the event has vanished, leaving people to hold the night in their memory alone. Kind of the way the club proper has gone, and will now only exist as a thing that people will tell their grandkids about and experience calling across the years as their eyes droop sometime towards old age.
Of course, since club nights all look much of a muchness from the inside, they could have just dragged out some shots of Medication and passed them off - nobody would have been any the wiser...

FUN IN THE GOOGLE RETURNS: Bearing in mind that it's merely been added to scrape some undeserved publishing money, we think there's something more Freudian than mis-spelled in the search for "The Tide Is High (Get The Filling) Atomic Kitten." We know nothing about "Rhett Miller + Model Wife" - although we're curious, and equally our interest is piqued by '"Chris Martin"+"George Bush"+"TV Interview"' - that's gonna be one dull-ass episode of Leno, isn't it? Then theres 'Justin Timberlake is always linked to African-American women', which comes as news to us - Britney's obviously not been telling us something. "Sexy pictures of Atomic Kitten girls in school uniforms" is probably one request too far; "Pictures of Dave Haslam dj" is a lot more wholesome, we'd assume, although maybe the searcher was hoping the former Debris and Hacienda bloke would be wearing a gymslip as well. And, finally, a quick hint for the clothing industry - there's a massive gap for Shakira tshirts in the market, it seems...