Crinkly is a Bewick Swan with an unusual double kink in her neck. She and her Bewick Swan friends should be arriving in Britain in the next few days, as part of their annual migration from Russia. If she makes it this year, she will have flown over 20,000 km in the course of her life so far. 
This has a great hat-trick of top tunes by people I know (broadly defined). First up there is Wintergreen's 'The Magic Road', that fascinating band's showstopping encore piece.. Then there is Shimura Curves with 'Noyfriend' – electropop shoegaze insanity, can you dig it? Finally, The Gresham Flyers blast past the keeper with 'Blackpool'. 
I bought this from Oxfam for one track: 'Layla (Derek Sings Derek)'. It is a cover of the Derek and the Dominos classic, with the vocals by Derek Nimmo, created by sampling him saying the words separately in various sitcoms. It ends up sounding like he has no trousers on and is afraid that the vicar is going to walk up the drive – only he is the vicar. One day I hope to hear the other song where Fortran 5 play this game – 'Bike (Sid Sings Syd)' (where judicious sampling makes Sid James provide vocals for 'Bike' by Syd Barrett-era Pink Floyd).
I picked up this novelty item at Indietracks… it is basically some bunch of chancers covering three songs from My Bloody Valentine's Loveless album. While inessential, this record is enjoyable, emphasising the enveloping oceanic end of the MBV sound over the abrasive and combative.
This is a CD-R of stuff by Ray Davies – not the guy from The Kinks, but the other one, a trumpeter who played on a lot of library music stuff from the 1970s. This is incredible. In a good way. There has been a lot of parping in Panda Mansions since this came into our life.
This concert by the former Hawkwind sax sensation marked the first time I made my way to Dublin's legendary rock venue Fibber Magees. Unfortunately, the passage of time and a few too many sherries on the night mean that I cannot tell you too much about it. I recall liking the support acts. Sketchy entries in my notebook suggest that they were Ugly Megan ("semi-electronic") and Goodtime John ("folkie"). 
The Ballroom of Romance is this occasional multi-band night, usually in the Lower Deck in Portobello. The bands on the bill tend to come from broadly the world of punk and avant garde music. It is usually an enjoyable night, even if many of the bands that play are not that great. 
Cats on Fire were some Finnish fellows who seemed like a version of British Sea Power with better tunes and a more appealing frontman, surely a good thing.
Art Brut also touched a lot of my buttons by singing songs about comics (OK so they were songs about rubbish DC comics, you can't have everything) and public transport (buses, admittedly), and they also sang a tune about male erectile dysfunction which dovetailed nicely with one about having an exciting new girlfriend. Fundamentally, though, one must emphasise Art Brut's total rock animal character, and the singer's endearing habit of beginning songs by shouting to the band "Are you ready Art Brut?" He also introduced the band – "Bass guitar – Art Brut. Lead guitar – Art Brut. Rhythm guitar – Art Brut". You get the picture.
Astonishingly, after Art Brut finished it was revealed that the festival had run out of beer. Yes, the pasty-faced legion of bedroom saddos had drunk the Midlands Railway Centre dry. So we left.
One great act I saw playing in the locomotive shed was called Disasteradio. This is basically one person, a New Zealander called Luke Rowell. The least Indietracks act imaginable, he played up-for-it electronic dance music – the kind of thing where you combine live generation of the music with weird treated vocals. The reaction was easy to imagine – armies of outraged indiekids fleeing from the venues, while others of their fellows were so incensed that a riot was a real prospect. But there were some of us who found it all rather entertaining. 
The band who most lived the dream at the festival were probably Sucrette, Japanese indie-popper from somewhere in Japan. They are a band of unbelievable feyness, with their lead vocalist singing like a little girl and the music being generally like something for people who found Sarah bands a bit too hard-edged. They also really dressed the part. I am not sure if they were necessarily up to that much musically, but I must salute them for being the feyest of the fey, proving yet again that the Japanese do all sorts of music better than everyone else. Sucrette also seemed to remain in character while wandering around the festival site later in the day. Spirit of adventure.
This is turning into one of those boring series where I drone on about bands you've never heard of at some stupid festival I went to. Anyway, outside on the main stage (at Indietracks) I saw Nick Garrie, some folkie fellow from the 1960s. He released one album back then (but only in France), before sinking back into obscurity. Then Rev-Ola re-issued his record (and not just in France), apparently to some acclaim in retro-folk circles, and then he released an entirely new album on Elefant (the Spanish indie label sponsoring the festival). 
Garrie was also joined by his daughter, her friend, and a load of other children, who provided backing vocals on a song or two. It sounds dreadfully twee, I know, but it was actually quite sweet. 
I did manage to see one band inside, the delightful Hong Kong In The 60s. This lot (two boys, one girl) play electronic tinged music that sounded largely like it would be more at home at another festival entirely, perhaps one aimed at people who like experimental music. They still worked here because they were not so forward thinking that they would frighten the horses. The music is still tunes-based, and perhaps a bit wistful and melancholic, and I suppose people might lump them in with Stereolab or Broadcast, but they are a good bit less in-your-face.
Two bits of exciting news for brainy music fans. First of all, there is a new issue of the Journal of Music out. They seem to be eschewing their previously tried and trusted approach of putting an attractive young lady on the cover, but there are some interesting articles inside. I particularly liked Raymond Deane's review of a book about music by well-known philosopher Roger Scruton, though I would have liked if it had gone on a bit longer and featured more Scruton kebab action. 
Indietracks is this annual music festival, based around indie pop music. It takes place at the Midlands Railway Centre, a railway museum in Derbyshire (near where the BNP hold their annual garden party). I found myself in attendance, lured along as much by the trains and the promise of all kinds of real ale as the music. I saw a lot of bands, many of whom self-identified as twee in a rather alarming fashion. In general, the music at the festival came from a narrow band, and I found myself primarily enjoying those who most deviated from the no-hoper indie schmindie model. 
The gang's all here.
