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Just voice and piano. Not as simple as it sounds...

And for their next trick... Lovably weird adventures in psychedelia from the shape-shifting Brooklynites.

Chinese government refuses Dylan entry to the country

Not exactly a Great Lost Column or anything, but here, as promised, is the piece on Sir Richard Bishop that fell out of the current issue of Uncut to make room for David Cavanagh's superb piece on Alex Chilton. Talking of the issue, by the way, thanks for your Great Lost Albums suggestions here; please keep them coming, and we'll feature as many as we can in a forthcoming issue of the mag.

Always nice to discover your personal enthusiasms are shared by people you respect. The new Trembling Bells album promo comes with a longish encomium from Joe Boyd. Among many wise things, he notes that they, “Incorporate in their music the essence of ‘folk’ without the form that can annoy many listeners. That means that their melodies and lyrics have a sense of history and Britishness that most contemporary bands lack, but without any of the ‘heritage’ atmosphere that clings to even the best revivalists in the folk world.”

A bit of a plug today for the new issue, not least for the CD that Allan’s compiled to go with our excellent Stooges interview. The CD’s called “Search And Destroy”, and brings together 15 tracks from The MC5, The Stooges, The New York Dolls, The 13th Floor Elevators, The Monks and so on.

A brilliant concept album, full of perfect pop singles...

Apologies for the spotty service here recently: deadlines, deaths and a mildly debilitating virus have meant there hasn’t been much time to look after the blog in the past week or so.

Southern rockers' angry 10th gets back to basics and "blows the fucking roof off"...

I’m sure most of you have heard the grim news about Mark Linkous in the past few days. I can’t really add much to the memorials that have accumulated about him and his music; on the odd occasion when I met him – all well over a decade ago now – he always came across as a gentle and reserved man, who told harrowing personal stories but at the same time didn’t seem to give that much away about what he was actually like. I have, though, dug out this Sparklehorse piece I wrote for NME in 1996. As is so often the way of these things, it’s hard not to see an awful poignancy in his last couple of quotes.