10 thoughts on “You All Know Billy Bragg, Of Course”

  1. I once saw the most distinguished Mr. Bragg on stage in Parma, joking about buying some lovely shoes to an audience of twats who barely understood half of his words and obviously didn’t laugh much. I had been sick for two days, was still clearly too ill to walk and in my ignorance (I was 21) I couldn’t give a toss about some white middle-aged Englishman and his friends (“and who the fuck is the pianist? someone from Smallfaces? and who the fuck are they? where’s my Nirvana tape?”), but my crazy then-girlfriend put me in a car and drove some 200 km to see her childhood “working-class hero”. I still hate the bitch, but I still listen to Billy Bragg. The man is clearly a saint.

    (Note that we have an Italian equivalent, the slightly older Francesco Guccini. Almost identical career path, politics, themes including folk songs etc etc. I know you don’t give a toss, but hey, the revolution will be international or won’t be.)

  2. 1985… He was what, 28 then? Looks all of 18. I only got to see him in ’90 at Pukkelpop, where he bewildered the fans of the Cramps and Rollins band..

  3. listening to his ‘best of’ makes me want to microblog every second line. not even Dylan gives me that urge. How can you lie there and think of England, when you don’t even know who’s in the team?

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