FREE DOMESTIC SHIPPING ON ORDERS OVER $75! *TERMS AND EXCLUSIONS APPLY

Mug Of Kintyre

January is a rotten month. Music that sounded quite jolly over Christmas emerges, shamefaced, from behind its tinsel and turns out pathetic, like drunken dreams the morning after. No one’s got any money left and so no one releases a record or even goes on tour.

April 1, 1978
Simon Frith

LETTER FROM BRITAIN

Mug Of Kintyre

by Simon Frith

January is a rotten month. Music that sounded quite jolly over Christmas emerges, shamefaced, from behind its tinsel and turns out pathetic, like drunken dreams the morning after. No one’s got any money left and so no one releases a record or even goes on tour. The music papers have made their star predictions but, in reality, the new year’s tone is set by the worst of last year’s hits.

ror a while it sounded like that was going to be Brighouse and Rastrick Brass Band’s “Floral Dance,” chirpy grandad music for anti-punks of all ages. Bing Crosby was dead, always a bad sign, and UA, ever hip to the eccentricities of British teenage taste, released the soundtrack of Casablanca. The message was plain: back to the oldest wave the moguls could find.

Sign In to Your Account

Registered subscribers can access the complete archive.

Login

Don’t have an account?

Subscribe

...or read now for $1 via Supertab

READ NOW