TRUMP’s latest batch of batshitness, culminating in his proposition that Gaza be ethnically cleansed, immediately made me reach for my mandola and turn the Dead Kennedys’ prophetic California Uber Alles into Mar-A-Lago Uber Alles and you can hear the result here
 
I am Emperor Donald Trump
I have a mouth where most have a rump
Still you made me President
 
As feared, we are witnessing a far-right takeover of the US federal government, with the destruction of minority rights and climate change legislation and the pronouncements of Trump about Palestinians just the beginning. We are also seeing the start of the fightback at state level, and it is essential we show solidarity.
 
It is plain that while diplomatic relations with the US federal government should be maintained for the moment, separate links to California and the other states fighting back should be established by the British government along with new agreements with Canada and the EU. And we should make clear that the “special relationship” — as if it still existed — is now over. Anything less is appeasement.
 
And now on to happier things. I organise all my gigs myself, mostly with the sterling help of volunteer promoters in the nationwide DIY independent venue network, and the ones last week were prime examples – Wednesday at Here We Aren’t, the throbbing nucleus of the Peterborough underground scene based in a rehearsal studio on an industrial estate, Thursday at the Needle & Pin in Loughborough, a lovely micropub and a veritable Tardis of a place, and Friday at the Red Lion in Wirksworth for the redoubtable MusicWirks co-operative. 
 
And then on Saturday, after the Seagulls had managed to lose 7-0 to Nottingham Forest despite having 62 per cent possession and nearly as many shots as their opponents, I had the privilege of joining my friends Rachel, Mark and Stu at a benefit for the Boom DIY collective in Leeds, currently crowdfunding for a venue since their current one is soon to be demolished and they need to refurbish and develop a new space. Many such collectives run like this, getting short leases on soon-to-be-demolished or redeveloped properties and moving to another when their time is up: if you’d like to help them, here’s the crowdfunder.
 
This was quite an unusual gig for me, being an evening featuring the magnificently named Horsebastard, whose chosen musical style is described as “equestrian grindcore,” a subdivision of the metal genre of which I was previously unaware. I have to say they were magnificent, the kind of sound Karlheinz Stockhausen might have concocted if he had been asked to write a symphony for pneumatic drill, piledriver and drums. They were so much better than I anticipated that I joined the moshpit, a brave thing to do at 67. I emerged unscathed — in fact slightly better than unscathed because the stiff neck I’d been suffering from actually improved as a result — and on my return home I had the best night’s sleep I’d had for ages. 

A change of subgenre for Horsebastard may be in order — chiropractorcore, perhaps. 
 
And, wonderfully, Richard Burgon MP was at the gig. He is not just a standard bearer for the left in Parliament, but a lifelong metal (and punk) fan. I performed at his adoption party, and he was my guest at Rebellion Festival a few years ago. A proper socialist and a lovely bloke. Good to see you again, comrade. 
 
This week I’m on tour in Wales, and have just returned from a show where my support was the brilliantly named Tractorbator, whose monicker was inspired by notorious “tractor porn” Tory MP Neil Parish. Tractorbator and Horsebastard in the same week. Now all I need is Death By Milkfloat to reform. 
 
I do love a silly stage name. 

Obviously.