Pop

Every new product, whatever it is, needs a bit of ‘buzz’, and indeed vast numbers of people around the world make a decent living trying to generate that ‘buzz’, while the rest of us spend much of our time trying to ignore it. Last week, though, much chatter was to be had in music-loving circles about the new single from Daft Punk, a French duo who make dance music and dress up as robots whenever they play live. I bought their 2001 album Discovery, which was awash with references to old soft-rock hits of the late 1970s, and was so influential you could hear blatant steals from it on countless

I haven’t heard the David Bowie album yet, but the Amazon order is in and Postie has been alerted as to the importance of the delivery. How often these days do any of us feel so excited about an imminent release? The ten-year gap between Bowie albums might have something to do with it, but the 30-year gap between decent Bowie albums is probably more relevant. And all this is down to the excellence of the single. Gary Kemp of Spandau Ballet wept the first time he heard ‘Where Are We Now?’, and I was blubbing well into the song’s third or fourth week on Radio 2. Nostalgia for lost

My first — and so far only — proper job in journalism was, many years ago, as a staff writer on a kids’ computer-games magazine. My first — and so far only — proper job in journalism was, many years ago, as a staff writer on a kids’ computer-games magazine. We were pretty good for what we were, but if we had a flaw it was that we were obsessed, absurdly and often fruitlessly, with being the first magazine to feature some new game that absolutely no one was talking about, usually because they hadn’t finished writing it yet. It was my introduction to a particular kind of journalistic mindset:

I had been waiting a while for it to happen, and happen it did last weekend. ‘Turn your music down,’ said my 11-year-old daughter from the next room. I had been waiting a while for it to happen, and happen it did last weekend. ‘Turn your music down,’ said my 11-year-old daughter from the next room. ‘I’m trying to think.’ At last the generation gap has asserted itself. She does like some of my music, although she increasingly leans towards showtunes and has far more interest in classical music than I had at that age. ‘It’s too loud,’ she clarified. I was playing the Pet Shop Boys’ latest album Yes