GLASTONBURYOFTHEMIND

I go pick up a copy of the Joe documentary from Anna. There’s a dark blue gash on the wall opposite, a postcard from Grenada, and a brochure for a Latin music fest. Michael Buble wants to do a Bossa Nova album, loves latin music, has a 60 something Brazillian guitarist on his album. Good shit. Back home from Anna’s I was and I was hoping to groove on the smart formalism of White Stripes to get me out of wherever I was - but for some reason - professional interest/pique/jealousy - had to go instead for the tv fix. There was a Harvey Goldsmith starring reality show on telly. Samanatha Mumba on come back trail. This show was like some ludicrous indicator of what is wrong with the music business, its taste, its economic model, its priorities. (Harvey telling Samanatha she has to pick someone out and sing to them as if she wants to make love to them perticularly striking. Nothing Buble doesn’t do of course but Mumba ain’t no Buble.) The tune is Sex Pistols Anarchy In The Uk.