Arts and Entertainment

The Week in Radio: Williams was quick on his feet, and willing to cover mishaps with self-deprecating humour

She even flirts with a guy I used to fancy, coyly placing ants in his mouth

Saturday night Sunday morning

RECORDS: NEW RELEASES

Iggy Pop: Naughty Little Doggy (Virgin, CD/ LP/tape). Mr Pop has said he flung this album together in a hurry to pay the rent, but the only evidence of undue haste is in the production: the guitars are yapping instead of barking their heads off. Otherwise, Naughty Little Doggy confirms Iggy's standing alongside Neil Young and former MC5 guitarist Wayne Kramer in a trinity of pensionable Americans who still do the brawny rock thing as well as ever. The reason that Pop remains a master of adolescent riff- fests is that he has the hormones of a teenager. He is the older generation's degenerate. But the hedonism is tempered with hindsight, and the record finishes with "Look Away", a requiem for his fellow proto-punk, Johnny Thunders. Naughty but nice. Nicholas Barber

You think everyone enjoys drugs?

sex, drugs and rock'n'roll; Meet Anne Baker, the Woody Allen of substance abuse; it's great to be straight

Sleeping with the NME

Mary Wright reads a first novel that's in love with rock journalism; The Lonely Planet Boy by Barney Hoskyns Serpent's Tail, pounds 8.99

Rock and roll suicide

TOUCHING FROM A DISTANCE Deborah Curtis Faber pounds 9.99

REVIEW : These boots were made for women

On the Glam Rock Top Ten (C4), Dave Hill of Slade - the guitarist with the grown-out tonsure haircut and the fondness for top hats - reckoned that his contribution to civilisation has been curiously overlooked these past 20 years. Gazing lovingly at a snap of himself in his chart-topping peak, he oozed pride. "It was me what popularised them," he said, as the camera panned down to the 6in high patent plastic platforms he sported. "Basically I was wearing women's boots long before they became available for men. You wouldn't wear them now, but I'm not going to look at myself and say, what a twat." That was the great thing about Dave Hill: he was never afraid of being in a minority of one.

The other side of Iggy

A series of passport photographs by Iggy Pop reveals a cheery side to the godfather of punk and author of the song 'No Fun'. Taken this year, they appear in 'little pieces from big stars', an exhibition at Flowers East, London E8, curated by Brian Eno in aid of War Child, the charity which provides treatment and therapy for the children of Sarajevo. For a report on the show, see Cries & Whispers, Review, page 32

Fashion Update: Glitz without the glamour

Francis Hodgson, curator of Zwemmer Fine Photographs, believes David Sims is the new Bailey, writes Sophia Chauchard-Stuart.

BOOK REVIEW / In Brief: The Dark Stuff - Nick Kent: Penguin, pounds 9.99

This long overdue collection from 'the living legend of rock journalism' comes Judy Garlanded with quotes about Kent from such celebrated interviewees as Morrissey and Lou Reed. It also boasts the considerable coup of an introduction by Iggy Pop, in which the author is described as 'a great palsied mantis'. If there is an element of fantasy in the idea of a rock journalist whose peer group was not other journalists but the stars he was writing about, no one feels the need to acknowledge it.

REVIEW / You'll never get to heaven on an electric guitar

FOR ANYONE gradually acquiring an allergy to the electric guitar (don't worry: you're not alone), Words and Music (BBC 2) was the place to be. For the last three nights, distinguished musicians and sparks introduced and played their own standards solo into an unblinking camera. In a sentence, it was Top of the Pops meets Open University in The Late Show studio. In a word, it was heaven.

Live music? I can't stand the sight of it

FOR SEVERAL thousand years, nobody paid much attention to the live band at gigs. The Plato Experience, the Rockin' Togas, the Hey Nonny No Band, Jake and his Jacobeans, Gus and his Augustans, and every other combo throughout history were just there to provide the sounds; nobody wanted to watch them, just to dance to them. What, after all, was there to watch?

FILM / No crock of gold at the end of this rainbow alliance

FILMS attacking apartheid can be too fond themselves of divisions into black and white. So it might be thought an advantage of Friends (15) that it's a moral blur. A tale of three Johannesburg college girls, each (rather neatly) from a different ethnic background, it first shows them together on their graduation day. The giggles of the group photograph are interrupted by chants from a passing protest. Sophie (Kerry Fox), an affluent white girl who we've seen setting off for the ceremony from her spruce-lawned family home, half raises a hand in solidarity and lets out a muted 'Amandla]' Her face betrays foreboding, almost distaste.

JAZZ / Counting bars, local heroes: Pubs not clubs are where it's at, argues Phil Johnson, who caught the Stan Tracey Quintet at the Albert in Bristol

In the etiquette of jazz, audience conversation is governed by rules of bewildering complexity. At Ronnie Scott's and the Jazz Cafe there are numerous signs telling patrons to shut up while the band is playing, but so constant is the noise you'd probably have to stand on your chair and scream before anyone told you off. At Bristol's jazz pub, the Albert, it's more straightforward. Stand at the back and you can normally get away with a whispered conference, but if you dare to talk during the quiet moments of a bass solo the reaction is instantaneous. First there's a sharp look from the formidably large landlord, then there's a loud shush; finally the ultimate sanction comes into play: the clip round the ear. Not surprisingly, it's an effective policy; the audience listens and the musicians love it, so much so that a while ago they named it as their favourite venue in a straw poll by the organisation Jazz Services.

ROCK / Led and Stones brought forth bubbles

CRAFT and graft; the sweating brow of the horny-handed son of toil; the simple satisfaction of a job well done; all the usual connotations of the suffix smith are appropriate to the band whose name begins with an oxygenated chocolate bar. There's only one Aerosmith, and the doughtily libidinous US hard- rockers have no trouble showing an affectionate Wembley Arena crowd - young enough, and numerous enough, to be their children - just why America regards them not so much as a band as a way of life.
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