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Cosmic dead

Uncut’s greatest lost albums

It’s quite hard to imagine that such a thing as a Great Lost Album could still exist, at a time when everything seems available....

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 apparently endless forests, Taylor's destination is Saralyn, a kind of hippy settlement just outside of Pittsboro.

Creedence Clearwater Revival – the full story, by John Fogerty, Stu Cook and Doug Clifford

John Fogerty is out on an extensive tour of the US right now, so it seems a good time to dip into the archives and remind ourselves of this great feature from Uncut’s February 2012 issue (177). At the dawn of the ’70s, Creedence Clearwater Revival were the biggest band in the world – a brilliant and driven hit machine with deep roots in American tradition. By 1972, though, it was all over, and the ex-bandmates embarked on a bitter war that still continues, 40 years later.

An Audience With… Frank Black

Pixies are back with new material and a world tour – but back in August 2006’s issue (Take 111), our forum of Uncut readers and famous fans were interrogating Frank Black about pissing off the band, his relationship with Kim Deal and why he went into therapy. Words: Nick Hasted

Kraftwerk – Album By Album

Former Kraftwerk percussionist Karl Bartos features in the new issue of Uncut (February 2013, Take 189), out now, discussing the upcoming Kraftwerk retrospective shows in London, and his own new solo album, Off The Record. As a companion piece, here’s Ralf Hütter taking us through the high points of Kraftwerk’s discography in a fascinating ‘album by album’ from Uncut's October 2009 issue (Take 149). ___________________

February 2013

Before Melody Maker swept me off the street in the manner of a benevolent old codger taking a pallid waif into his kindly, white-haired care in something written to make you weep by the venerable Dickens, I worked for a bleak season or two in the mail order department of a bookstore near Piccadilly Circus.
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