The bard pays homage to his two muses: his wife and his football club
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Far flung
JAMES WALSH happily maroons himself at possibly the most-difficult-to-get-to festival in Britain
STAR-STRUCK: Miki from Lush meets Walsh from Star
MARY CONWAY is disappointed by an incoherent show that fails to question stereotypical assumptions about the Soviet Union
JOHN McINALLY welcomes a rigorous class analysis of the history and exploitation of sectarianism by the Scottish ruling elite
WILL STONE, JAMES WALSH and MARIA DUARTE review Souleymane’s Story, Sunlight, Good Fortune, and After The Hunt
ALEX HALL recommends an exhaustive investigation of the means by which the Starmer faction assassinated the left
DAVID MORGAN recommends a refreshingly inspiring novel that features encounters with some tremendous women
Howlin’ Fling festival
The Isle of Eigg
FROM the ferry, Eigg comes into focus slowly, gradually. It’s a shimmering thing, dominated by the rocky outcrop An Sgurr. It barely looks real, but it is a basalt bastion of optimism: a community-owned Scottish island, the last landlord bought out by the people 26 years ago.
One of the hundred or so living on the island today is Johnny Lynch, or (as his wheelie bins proclaim) Pictish Trail.
Johnny runs Lost Map records, purveyors of a dizzying roster of folk, electronica, and genre-bending experimentation; a miraculously sunny weekend in August marks their Howlin’ Fling, the best, and possibly the most-difficult-to-get-to festival in Britain.
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