#Smarts concert posts are already filled up with so many hate comments...

[scarefox]

especially since Boom keeps reposting fan posts like this (Smart is silent tho)

This is not happening. I'm having a bad dream. This is NOT HAPPENING

[theimprobabledreamersworld]

Yayy! Despite trying to fight off a monster of a cold, I’ve got a new chapter written! :D

As I mentioned yesterday, this one is written from Logan’s POV because I’ve been wanting to create a back story for him in this story :) 

I’ll post the chapter under a line on here, but please check it out on Ao3 too! I love reading comments and stuff to find out what people think :)

Hope you like it!

Taglist: @psychedelicships  @edupunkn00b  @jwillowwolf @kacklingisanart @look-ma-im-on-tv @stardustlv @lost-in-thought-20

Chapter 5. My Heart Was Made Of Stone. And You Broke It Twice.

“But the wind has changed. My walls are weakening. They’re gonna fall soon. And I’m gonna need you.”

Logan was a man who always kept his emotions in check. He never let himself get too consumed by any kind of feeling. Happiness, sadness, love, hate, anger… Ever since he was sixteen, he refused to be vulnerable ever again. If you’re vulnerable, you can be broken. He had been broken far too many times when he was growing up.

His parents were agreeable, he couldn’t deny that… but he was never enough for them. Even as a young child, nothing was quite good enough. He remembered when the class teacher told his parents that he was the first child to learn how to write his name… he stretched up to show them and they let the paper flutter to the floor saying it wasn’t neat enough. He was only four! It got worse as he got older. Every time he was proud of something he had achieved, like getting a high grade, he was always asked why it wasn’t full marks. The unattainable goals were never reached and it took a lot to even vaguely satisfy them. He worked himself into the ground for the entirety of his school life, it affected his health, but they still weren’t happy. He was never strong enough, creative enough, serious enough, smart enough… and it hurt so much to know that. His friends however were amazing, they would always encourage him and make him take breaks when they knew he was working way too hard. They could always cheer him up and he was eternally grateful for that. Logan clenched his fists… he hated how much it knocked him down when he would walk in smiling over something that happened at school, to be told they weren’t interested and to just go and study. He always set himself up for the fall almost every day… no wonder emotions became such a hinderance. Luckily, music was his salvation for about eight years.

Logan took his head out of his hands, readjusted his eyes to the light and felt how raw they were from crying before staring at the dusty piano in the house intently. He used to be pretty good at playing. He loved his classical music, and still does. Just not playing it anymore. When he still had lessons, he was always thrilled with the challenge of increasingly difficult pieces given to him by his teacher. It was funny, his music teacher was the only person who ever truly believed in him. He was also the one person who could convince Logan to perform. The last concert he ever played in was the day before his sixteenth birthday, he played his most difficult piece to date… Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu Op 66. They decided on that because it was originally a piece that no one was ever supposed to hear, Chopin never wanted it to be released after he died… but they did it anyway. His teacher said that he could then perform it however he wanted to, artistic interpretation and all that. He practiced and practiced at school so his parents wouldn’t hear it before. When it got to the concert, and his parents actually turned up, he was genuinely surprised. He walked out on the stage and sat down looking for his teacher who gave him a smile and a thumbs up, then the music began. He felt almost like he was watching himself play, he had never played with such determination before and as the final note rung out… there was silence. Before the room broke out into applause, his teacher was standing up clapping vigorously, then some of his classmates and other parents stood up too. His parents however were sat down, clapping politely with a neutral expression on their faces and Logan’s smile faltered. He gave a quick bow and walked quickly off the stage. His teacher followed him and gave him a hug while telling him how proud he was. Logan couldn’t stop the tears, he had never cried in front of another person, but no one had ever been proud of him before either. How embarrassing. The first time he had been shown positive interest by someone he respected, and he cried until the top of their shirt was damp with his tears. His teacher just held him and told him everything was okay. After he had calmed down and the tears had stopped, he went to go and join his parents for the second half of the concert, but their seats were empty.

In that moment, he didn’t get upset again and stayed unusually calm, and he knew that this was the final straw. He stayed at a hotel for the night at the insistence of his teacher, that way he could sort out his head and start looking up different apartment options. Which he did realise could be tricky as a sixteen-year-old… but he was smart, reliable, didn’t drink or smoke and had a substantial amount of money at his disposal. He waited until the morning and snuck back into his parent’s house to collect all of the things that he deemed necessary. Thankfully, the hotel manager was understanding and let him stay for the bare minimum price until he could find an apartment for himself. It took a few months, and the landlord had to be persuaded by his music teacher, but he found an apartment which was close to everything he needed and was affordable. One day, he would repay that teacher back for everything he had done for him.

He looked at the calendar, the picture of him and Virgil smiling and holding up their wedding ring hands was taunting him on the wall. He noticed the date. Wow, it had been ten years since he left without looking back, and he never heard a single word from them.

That was clearly for the best.

Ever since then, he never let emotions get the better of him ever again. However, as he looked around at the decimated living room, he had clearly broken and let all of those emotions consume him once again. Logan inspected the damage, as he traced the hole in the wall, the shattered photo frames and glass covering the floor, it caused his heart to fill up with regret. His heart was already full of pain, the regret was enough to make his heart quite literally tear in two. Virgil was the first person he felt like he could be vulnerable with again. When they first met, there was something about him, something that reminded him of himself. Maybe this guy was just as broken as he was, as he saw him hiding in the corner of the coffee shop trying to stay away from the world. He told Virgil this many times, but he had encased his heart in stone to keep it safe. As their relationship developed, as stupid as it sounds, he could feel the stone wall cracking and breaking off piece by piece, and he honestly didn’t mind in the slightest.

Now, he didn’t know what was going on with his heart. He was hurt, he was angry. It’s not every day you find out that the man you’ve been married to for the last five years spent most of his life as a well-trained and dangerous assassin. Going by Virgil’s words alone, the body count to his name is staggering and who knows how many people he’s hurt over the years. The argument they had earlier in the evening was playing on repeat in his mind.

“I couldn’t tell you!” Virgil shouted across the room.

“Why the hell not?! I’m your fucking HUSBAND Virgil, you are supposed to trust me. No matter what’s happened in your past!” Logan rubbed his forehead in frustration.

“Okay, you want to know why I hid everything from you? I did it to PROTECT you! My past is something that can be used against me, it is still being used against me. If anyone from it came after you… I would never be able to forgive myself!” The tears wouldn’t stop rolling down Virgil’s face as he spluttered out the words while his body shook with sobs.

Despite the hurt of seeing Virgil in so much pain, Logan couldn’t contain his anger. “What makes you decide if I need protecting? I can handle myself, ever since I was sixteen I’ve been on my own… You know that!”

Virgil sighed, like he was debating whether or not to say his next sentence.

“Remember when we met all those years ago? You told me about how you were attacked and how scared you were after it? Well… it was me. I was the guy who saved you. Every day since that moment, I vowed that I would protect you no matter the cost. Then I fell in love with you along the way, and I’ll love you until the end of time. If you want to know the truth about me, I know he gave you something. Look at it, and I won’t blame you if you try to turn me in to the police afterwards. I have to go now though, otherwise you will get hurt… I’m sorry, Lo.” Logan was left dumbfounded, and Virgil ran out of the front door, slipping away into the night.

There had been so many lies and too many secrets. He remembered that USB stick he threw in a drawer months ago. He opened it up and stared at the blue object, the label that read ‘Virgil… ?’ taunted him mercilessly. He looked over at his open laptop that was spared from his destructive anger, should he look at it?

Logan shook that thought away instantly, he needed to clear up first before making any kind of decision. He crouched down on the floor and started to sweep the glass over towards the sofa with his hand, just so he could clean it properly soon. He got to the first photograph, him and Virgil sitting in a restaurant holding hands and smiling at the camera. That picture was taken by Thomas and Nico, their two closest friends… He thought he should text them and see if they could come over. Virgil left half an hour ago, and he already felt too alone.

He’d contact them later, but for now. He wanted to stare at photographs and revel in his memories.

[charmywrites]

Bitter & Sweet (Pt. 3)

Summary: Loosely based on the song “Idols can’t go on for 10 years, right?” by Berryz Koubou. The reader is a foreigner who’s grown up in South Korea since early childhood, upon her mother marrying a Korean man. In her adolescent years, she’s scouted by someone working for a big company and encouraged to audition. Deciding to do it for fun, the reader takes a leap and goes through with the audition. She didn’t really plan to actually get in and go on a 10+ year journey.

Part 1. Part 2.

( 2015, 7 years after debut. )

“We’re going to pick about three or four trainees from the audition.”

The mood was grim as your manager announced those words, standing up while all of Ultra Smart sat at the table within the meeting room. All except Sunhee, who officially left just the day before. No concert or anything in celebration, Nothing but a departing post to Poindexters, the fandom, from the group’s blog.

Ever since the interview, it was announced that she would be leaving due to ‘personal reasons’, which many fans worriedly assumed was some sort of health problem. Nothing was clarified by the company. Eventually, it would come to light that she was getting married.

Nara and Doyeon were the most quiet about the news. Nara was always a quiet girl, who contemplated things in the same mild manner. Her brows were downturned and harsh, eyes unable to look at anything but the cold surface of the table. Doyeon had her head in one hand, fingers gripped in the long, black, strands of her hair. Everything in her position screamed unhappiness and disappointment.

That’s what all of the girls currently felt they were. Disappointments. Even if only a few of them would let it show.

Were they not enough to keep the group going? With Sunhee gone and Yoora leaving, couldn’t Ultra Smart continue as six? Now, they were growing to possibly ten members. Even at debut, the public would ask wasn’t eight too many? They got accused of copying their sunbaes, Girls Generation, for being too close to nine. Six should’ve been satisfactory, but the girls knew it wasn’t truly about numbers.

"The company still wants you as the flagship group, at least.” The manager, Wonbin, tried to console. Replacing the old manager, he had only been looking after Ultra Smart for the last four years. Still, everyone was familiar with him as he’d worked for the company for longer. He was more empathetic than the last manager, trying to make the members as happy as he fairly could from his position. “A lot of groups who lose so many members get left behind, but you still have a large following. So, the company is willing to give you another chance.”

“I’m sorry, everyone.” Yoora felt the need to apologize, playing a part in why the group was going through so many changes.

You shook your head, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t apologize, we understand. Really.” You didn’t want her to go, but the woman was tired -- emotionally and physically. Anyone would be tired of working such a rigorous career after seven years, eight including the trainee days. Seven years was the usual ‘curse’ for girl groups in Kpop, but you would rather only one or two members break off than the whole group. You loved Ultra Smart too much.

“It’s only expected.” Mali tried to console the leader as well, seemingly faring a bit better than everyone else. The smile on her face was weak, but meaningful as it was directed towards Yoora. “If you didn’t leave, I’m sure someone else probably would. We can’t stay together forever.”

You nodded, although everyone left was pretty adamant that they were going to be in the group for a while. At least, hopefully. “We’ll be alright.” You said for both yourself and Yoora, hand leaving her shoulder to clutch together in your lap. “Especially since you and I will attend the auditions, we’ll have a say in who comes into the group. That’s the brightside of all this.”

Yoora just smiled softly, leaning up straighter to place her own hand over yours. “And, you’ll be a great leader. I know it.” She said, no doubt sensing your apprehension.

Jiang Ai, who had been more neutral about the news, clapped her hands together. “Yeah, we have faith in you!” She announced, lifting the somber mood in the room. Everything about the young woman was a vitamin, even when her twin wasn’t catching onto their ‘twin vibes’. In fact, Jiang Yi was in the same boat as Nara and Doyeon; distraught over the group she knew and loved slowly breaking off.

“Yah!” Jiang Ai tried to whip her twin into shape, tapping on her arm. “Cheer up, will you? You heard oppa, we’re not breaking up. We’re getting another chance! This is good!”

In response, Jiang Yi moved from her leaning position in the chair to sitting up straighter. Her expression was still dejected, however. It was an unsaid understanding between all the foreign members that this audition was partly their fault. Like the manager said sometime ago, Ultra Smart couldn’t go on with only two Korean members. Jiang Yi felt a certain type of way about that, but kept her mouth shut on the matter. At least, in front of their manager. “Okay, I get it. Stop hitting me.” The young woman said, crossing her arms.

A tentative look crossed Wonbin’s face, eyes meeting your own uneasy ones. “Perhaps...We’re still trying to gauge the public’s reception of Y/N having leadership over the group. It’s ultimately the CEO’s decision, not mine.” The good vibes that Jiang Ai tried to lift up suddenly popped like a bubble, stone cold silence filling the air once again.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Yoora trying to get a feeling of your reaction. As if she thought you were going to take it badly; cry or throw a tantrum like you would’ve in the old days. But, no tears or harsh words came.

“We’ll see.” Was all you said in response, before continuing on.

“Let’s take this one day at a time.”

( 2007, 6 months before debut )

“I can’t do anything right!”

Tears flowed down your cheeks as you sobbed in the bathroom, Yoora’s small hand rubbing your back. It was just a few minutes after dance practice ended and you ran out of the room, upset that the moves didn’t come as easy to you as everyone else. The dance instructor was hardly understanding, giving backhanded comments here and there about how you weren’t trying hard enough.

“I was trying my best!” You brought a hand to your face, hating to see your own upset face in the mirror. How many times have you cried since beginning training? You couldn’t keep count anymore. Never before had anyone pointed out so many flaws about you before. First, you were too chubby. Second, you couldn’t sing as well as the other trainees. Third, you ate too much. Now, it was this. The instructor always had something to say about your dance skills, putting you in the back with the ‘easiest’ moves even. Your body was stiff, you couldn’t remember the smallest things, everything was picked at until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You almost wanted to quit.

Yoora turned to get a tissue before handing it over, her usually stoic face now sympathetic. “All you can do is keep practicing until you get it right, some people just aren’t natural dancers,” She started. “But, that doesn’t mean you can’t ever become a good dancer. It’s the same with singing.”

You wanted to take her words to heart, you really did. It was good advice. However, the small, green, monster within you was already jealous that everything came ‘naturally’ to her. Yoora was already a decent singer and dancer. She got her fair share of harsh criticism, but also a good portion of praise as well. You were lucky to go a day without anyone ridiculing you.

“Yeah...” You weakly agreed, not truly thinking the same.

“It’s not too late to back out, you know.” Yoora offered. “The company will let you leave before the group is officially announced. If you think this is too much...”

You swiftly cut her off. “No!” Mind immediately going to all of the other girls you’d been paired with, you wanted to stay with them. It wasn’t even that all of you were close yet, because you weren’t. But, you wanted to be. People could call you idealistic all they wanted, but the idea of being in a group -- part of team -- with other people appealed to you.

You wanted to go through this with them, no matter how hard you had to work.

Maybe you were young and dumb to equate a group of co-workers to possible friends, but that’s what you wanted to get out of your time in the company. That’s what was keeping you afloat all this time; talking with Yoora and the other girls and forming some sort of bond. Especially after you lost what little friends you had after moving schools. At least, you couldn’t see your friends as much anymore.

“I'm not going to leave, I just need more time to get better.” You promised, more to yourself than the other girl. Your cheeks were dry now, a hand holding the tissue to your sniffling nose. In your mind, you weren’t thinking about how good Yoora was at everything or how you were at everything. Now, you were just envisioning a close-knit group; a group that you could look forward to being a part of. A group that would make all of this emotional pain and these physical aches worth it.

“Y/N?” A head poked into the bathroom, revealing the curious face of Aina. “Are you okay? Or, uh...” Seeing your puffy face, she realized the answer to her own question and came inside. “The instructor was just trying to push you to be the best you can be, don’t take what they said to heart. It’s okay.” Just a month older than you, that didn’t stop Aina from being the mother hen she was born to be.

Not wanting anymore people to see you upset, you shook your head. “I’m alright now,” You tried to add some cheer to your voice, but the unfazed expression of both girls signaled that it wasn’t working. Or, they saw right through it. You just waved a hand and headed for the door, wanting to leave behind all the negative feelings. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat or be anywhere but this bathroom.” A smile crossed your face, somewhat genuine.

“We’re on a diet though.” Yoora reminded you.

“Who cares?” You laughed off.

The older girl rolled her eyes, following behind you with Aina. “See?? It’s this attitude that gets you in trouble!”

Aina shook her head, joining you in laughter as the three of you walked out together.

Hopefully, You thought to yourself. My tears are worth it in the end.

Note: Just a brief note here to let everyone know I changed Ultra Smart’s debut date from 2007 to 2008. This is gonna be the last change I make, sorry for the confusion lol

[trevorbailey61]

Moseley Folk Festival

Moseley Park, Birmingham

Friday 1st September 2017

There are few things that can engage me quite like making a list. I should perhaps qualify that by saying that the lists I compile serve no practical purpose whatsoever; at the supermarket I am a hunter gatherer, prowling the aisles until I catch a sighting of my prey with nothing as organised as a list to influence what ends up in the trolley. Whereas my wife will have sorted out what she needs for a holiday at least a week in advance, my packing consists of randomly throwing things into the bag just before we leave resulting in an abundance of old concert t-shirts but no toothbrush. No, the lists I carry around are on much more important matters, my top 5 Bowie albums, top Scorsese movies, top varieties of apple, top underground stations,… you get the drift. My interaction with Facebook rarely goes beyond wishing friends a happy birthday but when a list is required, then it will usually be in the process of being formed before I have finished reading the status. That is not to say it is easy; making “Low” a better album than “Hunky Dory” or “Good Fellas” a better film than “Raging Bull” is not a decision that can be made lightly and much soul searching is required before a commitment can be made. Buying a car takes less time than deciding that an Egremont Russet tastes a little better than a Worcester Pearman.

It was at university that being able to put things in order was most importance. I still remember the incredulity that greeted my suggestion that “Stranded” was almost as good a Roxy Music album as “For Your Pleasure” and probably better than the debut. My companions stared at me open mouthed, how could anyone think that what followed challenged the dominance of the Eno influenced start to their career; I was immediately ostracised until I had listened to “2HB” enough times to realise the error I had committed. About the same time, the student newspaper, “Bias" invited readers to select their favourite songs and inevitably the challenge was immediately accepted. In the end nothing was to come of this; either the number of students willing to spend hours compiling this list was very small, maybe even as limited as one, or the huge variety of responses made it difficult to draw any conclusions. Songs were added, crossed out, some discarded altogether, some to reappear later but eventually the list was completed and has been carried around in my head ever since. Thinking about it now, what strikes me is just how sad most of these songs are, “I Heard It Through the Grapevine”, “Tears of a Clown”, “Love Will Tear Us Apart”, “Ticket to Ride”, all songs that deal with the fragility of relationships, particularly those that are formed during adolescence. From the time that people started putting their feelings to music there have been break-up songs but as a distinctive youth culture emerged in the post-war era, so did the variety of ways in which the mourning of the end of a relationship could be expressed. The emotions are so much more intense when they are experienced for the first time, the thrill of first love and the wreckage when it breaks down adding beauty to the sadness. Everyone has experienced the pain of separation, the heartbreak of finding out that the intensity of your feelings are not reciprocated with music reflecting and shaping this emotional turmoil. With young people having greater access to music than ever before, the quickest way to their heart was by reminding them of what it was to feel like like to break it.

Songs have the power to tear us apart and put us back together again within the space of about two minutes, simultaneously making us weep and smile. Folk music carries more than its share of pain so a festival would appear to provide of plenty emotional disintegration and with a collective known as Cultural Dub Orchestra already on the stage when I arrive, this pain is brought into focus. A quartet, their songs use folk instrumentation, guitar and bass, along with Indian percussion to create a background for a melody of eastern intervals played on the violin. Introducing one of their instrumentals, the bass player informs us that its haunting melody was inspired by the end of a relationship, in this case with the violinist; their musical bond, apparently strong enough to withstand even their personal break up. For John Moreland, the pain is in loneliness; the line “I thought I was somebody nobody could love” from the song “On Julia” captures this painful self loathing. It seems a bit lazy to describe someone of Moreland’s physique as a “bear of a man” but it is also difficult to think of anything more apt. He is formidable, his size complemented by a huge beard and tattoos that mark the contours of his arms. Across his knuckles, the letters Oklahoma spell out the name of his home state, along the freeways of which he should be tearing along on his hog. He says little and his deep gravelly voice fits his appearance but the words to his songs show the sensitivity and insecurity behind this rampant display of masculinity.

More Americana follows in the form of Courtney Marie Andrews. Despite her elfin looks and tender years, she is 26 but looks younger, she has already spent over a decade on the road, both as a solo artist and as lead guitarist for Damien Jurado. Her sixth album, “Honest Life” was released earlier this year and this, together with the short European tour that brings her to Moseley, is starting to introduce her the wider audience her work deserves. Her clear voice caresses every word, adding the country inflexions that mean comparisons with Emmylou Harris do not flatter her. In keeping with her delivery, her songs tell stories of the everyday lives of those down on their luck and are full of longing and regret. The hollow emptiness of the first song, “How Quickly a Heart Mends”, is typical,“The jukebox is playin’ a sad country song; For all the ugly Americans; Now I feel like one of them.” whilst also hinting that redemption is offered through change. Ryan Adams has described Andrews as a “phenomenal songwriter” and this brilliant set, which also included a new song; “Long Road Back to You”, shows that she is also a compelling live performer. Two incredible acts already, and it is still only mid afternoon.

With Andrews still on the stage packing up her guitar, the man standing next to me turns to his companion and mutters, “it’s downhill from now on”. With a scowl on his face, he strides past the Lunar stage where John J Presley, don’t call him Elvis, he hates it, is starting his set. His deep hoarse voice and sparse thumping accompaniment was perfect for his remorse filled bluesy songs. It does, however, give a possible explanation for the flounce that had just occurred next to me. Moseley has a record of booking good American acts and with these occurring so early in the day, the rest of the evening starts to look very parochial. This Sceptred Isle, however, has its own stories to tell and in Seth Lakemen there is someone to tell them. Rather than painful introspection, the themes Lakeman explores are bigger. Driven along by a ferocious beat and accompanied by his fiery violin,  “The Hurlers” sets this out: “Come on make your choice; Where you stand”; the mixture of traditional folk songs and Lakeman’s own focus on the dehumanising exploitation of workers by the oppressive forces that control them. “The Colliers” is a harrowing account of the death of 140 miners resulting from negligence and a criminal disregard for the safety of those working underground. Lakeman largely ignores the ballads of his most recent album to present a lively set with the showmanship of the performance offering a stark contrast to the bleak themes he explores.

After sparse beauty of break-up songs Kiwi style with Nadia Reid, whose pain is particularly raw even compared to what we have already heard, the light pop of The Magic Numbers offered the promise of some relief. Starting with their best know song, “Love’s A Game”, everything is as it should be but as they move on to their new material, that they are using this slot as an opportunity to work through, the bright hooks are replaced by a dull loud grunge. There is no doubting the intensity they commit to this but as they finish with the easy charm of “Love Me Like You” you can’t help but feel that something has been lost. If hummable melodies and bright arrangements caused the moans earlier, then I’m guessing the man has not been looking forward to the headline. Amy Macdonald may not seem an obvious choice for a folk festival but for the organisers, her popularity brought in plenty of fans, many of whom were crowding around the stage long before her appearance. These fans seem to fit into two main groups; on the one hand girls in their early twenties are here to relive the music of their adolescence, for the group next to me made up for a night out and wearing smart leather jackets, this appeared to be their first experience of a festival and I wondered whether they had been there long enough to have the life changing experience of visiting the toilets. In introducing her, Janice Long mentions that she was one of the few acts that she worked with that her mother showed an interest in, drawn in by her voice. It is impossible to discuss Macdonald without commenting on her voice; clear and powerful, it accounts for her popularity amongst an older audience who wait alongside the younger fans.

Macdonald turned thirty about a week before the festival and this may, in part, explain her decision to perform here. In between songs, she often notes how the sparse arrangements and pared back show provide a change from the concert halls in which she normally performs. She is also at pains to remind us that with over 12 million sales of her work, she is enormously popular, betraying at a little insecurity through being well out of her comfort zone. This is, however, exactly what she wanted; she has been recording and performing music since she was a teenager and as an adult has known nothing else. With a potential career lasting many decades ahead of her, however, she could well be looking for a direction that involves more than just repeating the innocent songs she wrote in her youth and which may not mean that much to her now. This could well signify a change of direction that will help to shape her music in the years to come. She mostly pulls it off, the band create some wonderfully atmospheric textures for the songs to which Macdonald herself occasionally adds a second guitar and despite the absence of any percussion, many of the songs are driven by a lively rhythm, particularly the wonderfully exuberant “Dream On”. Her voice is strong, clear and shows the power she is renowned for although at times it does feel a little too strident above the sparse arrangements. Generally she gets away with this; many of her songs could be described as power ballads which often show a tendency to resort to motivational cliches; “Don't worry ‘bout the little things; Keep fighting; Keep trying” as she sings in the opener, “Under Stars”. Here her voice works perfectly but if she looking for that change in direction, you can’t help but feel that both her writing and singing need to become a little more nuanced. As an encore she does a beautiful cover of Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark” that shows both the restraint and subtlety that she will need, the challenge will be to apply this to her own material.

It has been a glorious day but with the sun having long since departed and a cloudless sky above us, I am suddenly aware of how cold it has become; the shorts that earlier had seemed ideal now leaving the bottom of my legs exposed so it is a while before I am fully aware of what my feet are doing. The stumbling way in which I weave my way towards the exit draws disapproving looks from others no doubt feeling that at my age I should know my limits. A beautiful day of mostly sad songs then but we have always known that sad songs can also be so uplifting. This gives me such a warm glow that I manage to deal with the lad in a VW who cuts across the front of me at the roundabout at Halesowen without calling him a twat. By then, however, the list is being compiled, the acts are being put into rank order, the highlights confirmed. I may agree with my grumpy friend that these came early but that is not to say that the rest of the day was not thoroughly enjoyable. A great start to this great festival.