Thanks to everyone who wrote in to identify the clip of Dylan playing “Mr Tambourine Man” that I posted.


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Someone’s put up large printed signs all down Stockwell Road and around Brixton Academy, large black letters on a bright orange background, their authorship unknown but their message starkly clear.


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You’ll have to excuse me if I sound as hoarse as a hacksaw this morning and seem more than a little rough around the edges, but I am in slow recovery from an extraordinary night in the company of The Hold Steady, who for today at least are officially the best rock’n’roll band on the planet.


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This is just a quick postcript to my last blog, about Joe Strummer and The 101'ers.


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I found myself last night for the first time in decades in Ladbroke Grove, an old stomping ground, not much-visited since I lived around there for a year of largely wild times that ended badly in 1977 with a recuperative fortnight in intensive care.


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THE NEVER-ENDING SAGA OF THE NEVER-ENDING TOUR

Just some thoughts on the comments about Bob Dylan’s 1987 Wembley show, posted below by Steve, who was at that show, didn’t recognise a single song Bob played and is baffled when people describe Dylan as a genius for trashing his back catalogue ‘for his own amusement’. Steve, as he says, just doesn’t get it.


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I haven’t been drinking, and I’m not being merely mopey or hoping that someone with the right kind of clout will read this and give me as a result of what I’m about to say a substantial pay rise – I really mean it when I say I can’t think of a better job than editing Uncut.


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Editor's Letter

The Father, The Sun And The Holy Ghost… An interview with Hiss Golden Messenger


One bright Sunday morning, MC Taylor is driving through his patch of North Carolina, past New Hope Creek and the Eno River, over the Chatham County Line and the James Taylor Bridge in Chapel Hill, near the Haw River and the valley that he has meditated upon in song these past few years. Through...