I’m a critter of habit when it comes to reading about music. Twice a month, the doormat is raucously clattered by magazines arriving via Royal Mail. My favourite remains Word Magazine, an erudite pot pourri of stuff I like and, importantly, will like while Uncut features much of the same but written and edited, methinks, with less warmth and sophistication. I always reckon that Word Magazine understands me more. I buy The Observer when its Music Monthly is attached; it’s a decent publication but slightly hit and miss and, in recent months, in my opinion, more miss than hit. I suppose Observer Music Monthly has a wider demographic to cater for so one shouldn’t moan if it caresses the mainstream a little too often.
My weekly ‘fix’ comes with Friday’s Guardian. Its weekly ‘Film and Music’ supplement is a treasure and today’s, a classic, is what prompted me to pen these words. My favourite music journalist, the pithy and intelligent Alexis Petridis, travels to the backwaters of
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