A curtailed Midweek Mixtape this week, due to the fact that living out of a rucksack is not conducive to the Peak Music Bloggery™ that we have all come to expect/long for on ANBAD.
So, this week features less poking fun at Blur bassists, and more moving quickly on to the new bands.
Oh, OK then, there’s still room for a picture of Alex James looking foolish.
After last week’s fuss, I’m so over Lana del Rey now. So over. All that “is-she, isn’t-she fake?” fuss is just so tedious, although here I am still yapping on about her.
So, I’m going to focus on the one aspect that has been half-forgotten whilst her mostly-drab MOR pop silently grinds its way to centre stage: her big, deliciously over-inflated lips.
Cor, look at them. They’re like big, kissable pillows on the front of her head. Yum yum yum.
Alex James From Blur celebrates Lana’s lips in the only way he knows how.
Guy Purssell lives in Camden. When I was 16, Camden was the coolest part of the UK, merely because Blur, Elastica and, er, Menswe@r used to drink in Britpop haunt The Good Mixer. These days it still retains a certain caché, except that now it’s Amy Winehouse falling out of pubs there rather than Damon Albarn. Here, Guy reveals the duality of the Camden scene…
Glastonbury Festival 2009
After a Thursday night spent tragically missing East 17, wondering from field to field in the rain, catching great sets my Kap Bambino and Metronomy and having the news of the King of Pop’s ™ death gradually filtering through from “blatant festival rumour” status to a full on “Oh Shit!” reaction (through the haze, I somehow remember sitting at the Stone Circle at about 5am adamant that it is actually a fake death by MJ to escape the crippling debt, child molestation accusations and massive workload of the O2 residency…seriously, mull it over! Well, it sounded ok at the time….)….ANYWAY, after all that and much more besides, it’s time for the festival proper to kick off with the full music schedule.

It’s a jungle out there for musicians. Even if you aren’t being stabbed on stage for playing badly, by your own band mate, you still have a struggle for survival on your hands.
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