Nothing, says ANDY HEDGECOCK, can rescue this undistinguished amalgam of ponderous melodrama and shallow philosophical speculation
SAUDADE isn’t an English word but I wish it was, so I am appropriating it for international socialism.
It describes a state of profound nostalgic, melancholic longing for something or someone that one loves but is forever gone — or didn’t exist in the first place.
There has been a lot of it about over the past few weeks, largely in the context of chameleon entertainer and all-round pop genius David Bowie, whose artistic reaction to his own impending death was the match of his 1970s triumphs.
Monster profits on the Tube, paternal dilemmas for time travellers, and an alien abduction buddy saga
New releases from The Jayhawks, Primal Scream, and Max Subar
JAMES WALSH tells you everything you could possibly want to know about what comedy is on offer at the fringe
JEREMY CORBYN says we should never forget the horrific reality of nuclear weapons, or cease our efforts to rid the planet of them entirely



