I'm with the father of Gonzo journalism, Hunter S Thompson, on this. He (allegedly) said: "The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side."
However, that fact doesn't stop us shaking our fists in anger and frustration on his and our behalf. Illness had never extinguished his urge to paint, which was as vital a part of his existence as breathing. There was so much work he still had to do, projects in the pipeline, paintings for us to glory in.
Lee Daniels, whose current film, The Butler, starring Forest Whitaker and Oprah Winfrey, is breaking box-office records in the USA, has announced that his next project will be a bio-pic of the great, sadly late, Janis Joplin. Who will play the brilliantly soulful, raspy-voiced singer? Amy Adams. Yes, gorgeous, strawberry blonde, Amy Adams, she of the perfect, symmetrical features, cheekbones, and big beautiful eyes.
'Credible Likeable Superstar Role Model' is a collaboration by performance artist, Bryony Kimmings and her 9-year-old niece, Taylor. Kimmings was appalled by the sexualised commodification of childhood which she saw in everything from clothing ranges to music, films and food ads.
There is a down-side to balminess, though – when I attended a performance by two musicians from Mike Oldfield’s seminal album, it was more Tubular Smells than Tubular Bells. Fortunately the jaw-dropping virtuosity and ingenuity of the musicians made me block out le Pong d’Homme, but it was touch and go for a while. Oi, blokes – lard on the deodorant before you set off on your round of Fringe shows, please.
That was a shameless plug, but, only in the spirit of the Fringe, which canny participants prepare for by doing advance workshops in leaflet-thrusting and self-promotion.
The master of fiction had handled the stark facts of his terminal cancer so brilliantly - going public when it was appropriate to do so, leaving that now famous statement on his website, that he was “Officially Very Poorly”.
Not the glittery posing pouches, ermine capes and saccharine music - loved all that - no, our nausea and throbbing nappers were brought on by the sheer strain of trying to concentrate on the on-screen action for almost two hours, surrounded by people for whom the film was just a minor accompaniment to the important business of the evening - eating while making as much noise as possible.
I know, it’s ridiculous, isn’t it? After all, the city already has a surplus of female commemorative sculptures - Queen Victoria in George Square, Lady Isabella Elder in Govan, and La Pasionara on the Clyde Walkway.
The policies and the leadership style - you either love her or hate her, eh? How interesting then to read a memoir by a young Scot whose feelings about Maggie are not so clear-cut.
