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Gaslight Anthem Playlisted on Radio 1

News reaches us that the Gaslight Anthem’s ‘The ’59 Sound’ has been playlisted by Radio 1. Jo Whiley will, of course, be taking credit for discovering this great band, only two albums and an EP into their career. Finger on the pulse, that lady. Kinda bittersweet for us here at ELM, who championed the band from midway through last year, to know that they are soon to be taken away from us. It’s what we wanted, honest. When we go to gigs full of screaming kids and punters who buy their records in Asda….It’ll be great.

Ah, we’re just being snobby. Here’s a terrific live version of them doing Springsteen’s ‘I’m On Fire’.

Your Guide to Glastonbury on TV

Mark RYes, it’s here again. Glastonbury arrives and, for many of us, will be enjoyed through the medium of television. Even though you wouldn’t neccesarily know that if you had much exposure to mainstream media this week, who treat it as almost an act of sacrilege if you simply don’t fancy it. So for those who will try and see some great music on their flatscreens, here is the guide to what you can expect.

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Yes, We Can! – Optimistic Rock Hopes in the Obama Era

We are, in these isles, a cynical bunch. There are myriad factors behind this fact, but a fact it surely is. Yet even in Britain, one can detect the spreading of a little bit of optimism after last weeks US Election.

One week on, it still feels a tad surreal but no less amazing. That America could put aside it’s history and reject prejudice to elect a black man proves we live in special times; it proves that anything can happen.

I thought I’d take a moment to look at what could happen in music now that the glass ceiling has been shattered, now that the old rules don’t apply. This stuff will happen. I believe! *

(*I don’t.)

Madonna releases a new album and does not appear on the cover in her underwear.

Oasis release a new album which is universally hailed as being better than the first two.

Amy Winehouse marries Lembit Opik and renounces sex, drugs and rock’n’roll in favour of greener environmental policies and appearing in low-rent magazines discussing their love.

When asked his views on a pressing issue of the day, Bono replies ‘it’s not for me to judge. I really don’t want to ram my opinions down anyone’s throat.’

Bryan Ferry rejects his label’s overtures to release a Best Of.

Queen and Paul Rogers look at each other and say ‘seriously, what the fuck were we thinking?’

Robbie Williams finally faces up to it. You know what I’m talking about.

So does Morrissey.

Chris Martin sits through a whole interview without reacting in the same way as a Guantanamo Bay inmate undergoing waterboarding.

Glasvegas admit they were formed for a bet and donate all their earnings to the Proclaimers and the Jesus and Mary Chain.

The Bedingfields are found in a crack alley, smoking from a pipe and huddling against a dead rat for warmth.

The Verve realise what we all did a year ago and just give up.

A shite indie band from the 90’s announces a tour and doesn’t sell out mind-bogglingly big venues.

The Rolling Stones don’t tour.

An edition of Q Magazine contains a reviews section containing less than 25 four-star reviews.

George Michael refrains from humping unemployed builders in public parks for up to twenty minutes.

Slap bass becomes the next big thing and every club reverberates to the Seinfieldesque boinging.

Simon Le Bon is elected MP for Sedgefield after a close-run by-election. He gets in a platform of ‘Girls on film’.

Jo Whiley presents Glastonbury without mentioning ‘the vibe’ 876 times. On the first night.

Blaming him for the collapse of his marriage, Preston from The Ordinary Boys vows to hunt down and butcher Simon Amstell.

Goths cheer up.

Duffy makes a genuinely soulful album which in no way sounds like an ersatz 60’s album knocked up in 20 minutes by a cynical producer looking to fleece braindead halfwits out of a tenner in Tesco.

The religious rap movement meets the religious right movement to form the religious rap and right movement. Artists are sickened by their own albums and campaign successfully to have themselves banned from Wal-Mart, stating they are a danger to the youth of America.

All About Eve reform with Juliette Reagan replaced by Sarah Palin.

A politician is actually honest about what’s on his iPod rather than pretending to like the Arctic Monkeys.

Rod Stewart just fucks off and gives us all peace.

Hey, all these things could happen! Any others?

Good article on The BBC’s Glasto Coverage

I was going to write an article on how shit the coverage of Glasto was, but then saw Swineshead’s and completely agreed with it. Rather than, well, nicking it and claiming the credit, I thought I’d simply point you in that direction.

From our friends at Watch With Mothers;

Click Here to read the article

Glastonbury’s Ironic Sunday Afternoon Slot

Did anyone have the misfortune to catch this years ‘Ironic’ Sunday afternoon slot from Glasto? The spot was held by Neil Diamond. I’m not sure what was sadder, watching him and his sexless band clusterfucking their way through dismal run-throughs of his hits, his elderly backing singers flapping their gravity-defying bingo-wings about whilst wearing the Primark ‘sexy lady over 60’ collection or knowing that he genuinely thought they crowd was there to see a legendary performer, rather than being there to take the piss. It started a few years ago with Rolf Harris. At least the greatest living Australian got it. They also had Johnny Cash, but there was nothing ironic in his sensational performance. But Diamond and last year’s choice, Shirley Fucking Bassey, clearly didn’t get it. Let’s face it, they are not exactly renowned as being artists with a strong sense of self-awareness, are they? And the hammy, crap performances they put on were met with a derisory, irony-filled reception that did the artists and the audience no favours.

If you truly want to make that slot golden, book Leonard Cohen. Book Brian Wilson. Book Bob Dylan. But booking cabaret acts and telling them they are legends while you wink at your audience? It’s neither big nor clever.

Jay-Z At Glastonbury

After all the hype, after all the fuss – he was fucking brilliant. No offence to Noel Gallagher, but if anyone would genuinely prefer to listen to The Wombats, they have a problem.

Festival Season Spotters Guide

It’s Glastonbury this week folks. And even though the nights are drawing in and the credit crunch is biting, it is sure to be a wonderful experience as usual. The line-up may be tosh, the Eavises may be more up their own arse than Leslie Grantham’s finger but there is the special magic and air of mystery which surrounds it. Me, I think that may just be the odour of the patrons, but what do I know? ELM is booked up for one festival, Connect at Inverary Castle, though had bought our tickets before the line-up was announced and probably wouldn’t have rushed to Ticketmaster had we seen it, but hey-ho, there was an oxygen tent and a steady stream of Tuborg last year, so let’s make the best of it. Plus, Kasabian are playing, and we are already wondering what the prize is for the first one to throw a bottle of piss just so that it lands on a live mic and causes some damage. Not really. Well, maybe a bit really.

So, armed with your Baby Wipes, ill-fitting waterproofs and amusing-if-impractical wellies, we head off to our festival of choice. Not just us, but the whole gamut of music followers. You really do get all sorts at one of these events, which is great. It can reinforce prejudices, help you make new enemies and generally provide you with a snapshot of why people are doomed as a species. And there is a bad side too, but we will gloss over that.

So here goes the Essential ELM guide to who you’ll see fumbling at a festival this season. Remember, a lot of these people are young, and may adapt. Others have no such excuse. Proceed with extreme caution…..

Professional hippy – Glastonbury-faves, these wacky, kerrazy funsters POINT BLANK REFUSE TO KOW-TOW TO THE MAN, MAN. Except when signing on. Dirtier than a cocaine and treacle orgy with Christina Aguilera, they play didgeridoos and smoke foul-smelling weed, while embracing the cosmos and lying down in front of trucks to stop roads. Very conscious of the futility of avarice, yet always seem to have enough cash for a Special Brew. Often to be seen at Levellers gigs, ELM’s view that all white people with dreadlocks are unsalvageable cunts is primarily based on people like these. And we stand by it folks.

Kewl Middle-Class Indie Kids – Like, Olly totally got this old hippy record from his Uncle, yeah? Like, The Stone Roses, yeah? Sounds a bit like Kasabian? But not as good, obviously? And Natasha, like, went to see this gig at the Carling, and it was, like, totally crazy? The Kooks were total riot squad. And we had like Diesel, which is, like, a cocktail for rock shows? But, like, my Mum got me tickets for Sex and the City The Movie, and I was all ‘Mother!’ because that was like, soooo 5 years ago? I mean, I’ll go, but just because, like, they are so me?

Mid-30’s Couple with kids and/or dog – Seriously. What the fuck do you think you are doing? Your kid does not want to see Vashti Bunyan. And if he does, he literally has no fucking chance of surviving this society of ours. Stop being so gauche and confident! You offend me! And get his fucking hair cut. Jesus. That people died in wars to let you live this way makes me sad.

Pissed up gang of teenage boys – I FUCKING LOVE THIS SONG! IT’S MAGIC! I’M DANCING! FUCK IT, I’M GOING DOWN THE FRONT! BLEUUUUUURGH! Fuck, don’t remember eating that…..

Irritating Teenage Couple in Love – So young and happy. Cunts. There’s nothing to look forward to, you know. it’s all downhill from here. He really wants to go and see Elbow love, he’s merely pretending to want to see the Pigeon Detectives because he wants to finger your dirty doughnut. Once he’s done it til he’s bored, next year you will be in that Slam Tent on your own while he’s off enjoying something else which you don’t get. And he’ll mock you for that. Run while you can!

Fat Lass Getting Her Massive Wobbly Norrks Out – Always one. Always alabaster white, always looks like what I imagine Robert Maxwell’s body looked like when they found him. Nobody wants to see it love. Do us all a favour.

I can’t wait!