Mark My Words

Mark, My Words: why every great band needs a Rick Astley sidekick

Every day, something new threatens my fragile faith in reality. A sociopathic Honey Monster becomes Prime Minister. Those two posh women tell everyone on...

Mark, My Words: Club NME is back, and I feel like a proud parent

The everyday heroism of music journalism so often goes under-appreciated. I’m not saying we’re exactly the same as doctors, fire-fighters, lifeguards and ambulance crews, but...

Mark, My Words: Respect to Idris Elba for not even knowing what Cats is about – I’d have taken the cash too

Outside of the odd pointless Pointless answer, a shame-free Glastonbury and the occasional Google ranking boost from being abused by Liam Gallagher on Twitter,...

Mark, My Words: I don’t hate this year’s Mercury Prize shortlist and it’s making me question reality

Like Jeremy Hunt hearing a fox being ripped apart by dogs and instantly getting an erection as tiny yet firm as a thimble made...

Mark, My Words: ‘Chasing Cars’ is proof that your radio hates you

So tell me, when was the moment you lost your last, flimsy shred of faith and respect for humanity and began to look forward...

Mark, My Words: stop the everlasting ‘80s revival, I want to get off

The Tron dancers grab their neon poles and sink beneath the stage. Matt Bellamy, his jacket covered in flashing dot matrix lights and his face transformed...

Mark, My Words: how long before the viral Glasto fans become the new superstars?

I’m beginning to believe there’s nothing Piers Morgan can’t ruin. He could present me with the Nobel Prize for literature and it’d instantly be rendered...

Mark, My Words: what it’s really like taking a baby to Glastonbury

The most broken people at Glastonbury? Not the unconscious Minion face down in a carton of dried falafel vomit in an otherwise empty Pyramid Stage...

Mark, My Words: James Arthur doesn’t deserve a Glastonbury slot – he should earn one

Quick, don’t think, just shout out the most Glastonbury act that pops into your head. Billy Bragg, you say? The Levellers? Chumbawamba? Coldplay? King...

Mark, My Words: sorry Glasto-moaners, you’re going to the wrong festival

I’m starting to believe that the internet is much like Pete Doherty eyeing up a fried breakfast. Never satisfied. Netflix original movie, socialist politician,...
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