Amidst steaming cobbles, Pennine poetronica trumps Mojo nostalgia any night. People who should know better cram into tiny bars and throw themselves around as one pulls out his tiny pleasure device and intones beat poetry to electronica.
They could spend £100 seeing Neil Young, but as summer storms dissipate, this is now, don’t look for it, it’s gone, Xanadu, no beard required.
Dan Pink knows you can take success and stick it: Linux, Wikipedia? Created for nothing, given away, that’s why it works.
Stuff your Glasto too, consumers, no money in this. Greater rewards make worse work. Like bygone fetishists, they welcome pleasure in plain packages, but here there’s no pain and no shame.
No Arts Council Punk Poets here. Typical. Too idle to make their own youth movement. Our fault, for giving them all those lifts.
Northern Beat Poets Rule.