Playing up Ibsen's surprisingly good ear for comedy likeably bumptious Dr Stockmann (Anthony Sher) discovers that, thanks to its polluted water, the health baths which he helped to develop, are killing more than curing. Naively thinking he will be acclaimed as a life-saving hero, his manipulative brother (John Shrapnel), the town's mayor, soon introduces him to the political realité. The good doctor calls in favours from his circle of “freethinking” friends to get the truth out. But all of them - including the local newspaper editor (the brilliant Tristan Gravelle) a Hattonesque left-winger who rapidly reveals that he is not as committed to his high principles as he seems - soon desert him. Backed into a corner, Stockmann entrenches into a progressively more extreme view of human nature. This timely production explores a lot of current issues including how isolated idealism can transmute into extremism and why truth is the first victim of political news-management

Simon Armitage is a reluctant frontman. He's either shoe-gazing, looking weary or singing side-on to his wife and co-singer 'Speedy Sue'. Lugubrious? He makes Jonathan Meades look like Graham Norton. But he has reason to look po-faced. The sound for The Scaremongers' first hometown gig is a bit ropey - one guitarist in the eight-piece battles against feedback, the other fights to be heard, while Armitage's vocals - soft, undeniably Yorkshire and distinctive as his lyrics - drift in and out.

Lovely rural park, 90 minutes from Melbourne. Eilen Jewell and local cuntry hero Kasey Chambers were headliners but for me Mary was the highlight. Such a tough, gruelling life that you can see on her face and in her attitude. Eloquent and melodic in voice her guitarist Ed Romanoff was complemented to good effect,as a one off by Chambers' dad Bill on slide and mandolin. She featured quite a bit of her new albuim the Foundling, about her adoption, tracking down of her mother and her mother's inability to deal with the encounter.How gruelling to sing that song- Goodbye- every show. I asked her how she did it and she replied well its not just my story I am telling it for may adoptees. Confessional it may be, but done with great musical talent. She reminded me of Steve Earle- high praise in my book.

The Fleshtones Have No Shame. This is very important. Contemporaries of the Ramones, they have sold approximately 0 records over the last 35 years but this makes no difference whatsoever. Nor does the size or enthusiasm of the audience. No, The Fleshtones just flat out go for it all the time. Thus tonight we see, in no particular order, guitarist Keith Streng & bassplayer Ken Fox locked together and running round in small circles whilst playing each others instrument over each others shoulders, singer Peter Zaremba being ritually stripped of his sparkly stage shirt to reveal another even more sparkly one, the band forming a human pyramid to play one song, doing another from the floor while forcing selected crowd members to perform sit ups, wild leaps across the stage, James Brown-esque mic manouveres, sudden freezes into classic rock'n'roll stances and congas through the venue without dropping even a single note of their supercharged rock'n'soul. All you can do is surrender.

Dave Gorman’s recent comedy has concentrated on real stories (Googlewhack, Are You Dave Gorman?, America Unchained) but his current tour sees a welcome return to traditional stand-up and is a reminder that intellectualism can still deliver laughs. The aforementioned shows saw him concentrate on bets and pranks for his material despite it being obvious that Gorman is an intelligent man. In this show adulthood steps in to push the inner child aside as Gorman knows as an adult, he should act as one to gain the respect of his peers. This of course proves a promise that is impossible to keep. Gorman’s storytelling ranges from mild and courteous to intense and angry, culminating in the rage pouring out to hilarious effect. Laughter coursed through the audience like blood pumps through his veins. At well over two hours of stage time he offered outstanding value. Gorman will make you laugh to the point of crying. Crying will make your stomach hurt and what is pain if not a constant tickle?

As the name suggests, deadbelgian play reinterpretations of Jacques Brel songs (and also throw in a couple by Jake Thackrey). Alternating between French and English, singer Fionnuala Dorrity lives the songs as Brel did - coquettish during "Madeleine", passionate in "Ne Me Quitte Pas" and tortured in "Au Suivant". The band clearly take their image seriously - unlike rock guitarists swigging from a beer bottle, accordionist Matthew Wood sips a glass or red wine between songs. Musically they almost have a rock edge - the conclusion of Amsterdam had more power than many heavy metal songs.Highlight of the set though was the concluding "Le Moribond", a rousing and upbeat version which will cast out memories of Terry Jacks and Westlife for ever

Roger Clyne is an impressive frontman, who lives and breathes his tales of dusty borderlands, Mexican Banditos and love, lust and longing. His extravagant strutting and impassioned vocals are supported by Refreshments drummer PH Naffah, a picture of concentration as reggae, ska and Mariachi rhythms weave in and out of the rock mix. His vocals are an essential part of the marvellous four-part harmonies, joined by Nick Scropos, his fluent yet solid bass lines the perfect counterpoint to Clyne’s ringing Telecaster and new-boy Jim Dalton’s majestic guitar hooks. The 2010 version of RCPM still has fire and energy, but somehow has more of a maturity about the sound. The timing of the complex song structures has always been something to set RCPM apart from the competition, but they now have confidence to pause for a moment longer, wringing out even more emotion from the tunes, before slamming into the instantly memorable choruses.

Their self-titled, Summer'09 debut LP having insinuated itself like an inserted hypodermic, it's a surprise to find Williamsburg's finest Mamas and the Papas-meet Dexter Wansel-meets Hawkwind heptet playing at this relatively modest venue. TPHB manage to sound and look like they're from the past, while somehow at once feeling entirely now and next. It's a neat trick that affords their performance an air of familiarity and instant appeal, with little run-up before their almost-evangelical zeal has the place jumping, arms aloft.

Kathryn is extremely pregnant and hormonal. 'The next song is very quiet so if the man in the second row who keeps talking could go to the bar for a glass of shut-the-fuck-up....'. Being such a goodnatured soul she later apologises for any offence. She's backed tonight by the band who helped her make her new record and its all a better experience for it as she seems far more relaxed and able to concentrate on her vocals which hit all the high and low notes. Her friends play beautifully with guitarist Leo Abrahams adding some great ehoey guitar and experimental sounds to her older material. Her dottily funny in between song banter just cements the charm and earthiness that flows through her songs. Look out for her new albums of kids songs and songs about inventions which includes 'Noble Guesses' about the periodic table. She muses at one point that its a shame she can't afford to have this band everytime she tours. I concour as they bought out the best in each other tonight.

A bit of a weird show due to the apathy of the West Norfolk public, only 30-40 people turned out on a cold Sunday night to the show, a shame really because they missed a treat. Alex Horne is a warm, engaging "safe" comedian who very rarely swears (and gives you advance warning when he does) yet his gentle ramble through his attempts to get a word into the dictionary is a show that deserves more than King's Lynn was prepared to give him. Full marks however to Alex who just got on with it despite the fact that it was inevitably costing him honk to put the show on. The technical hitches when he accidentally switched off his laptop (should have used a Macbook - they restart quicker) and the extraordinary consumption of microphones, he broke two, added to the amusement of the sparse but dedicated audience.

Apparently one of the few profitable Womads and 17 or so years on it's a shame they have spread themselves too thin. From every second year and 3 days ,leaving a public holiday to get home interstate, it is now every year and a 4 day festival - that' 0.375 of the original potency by my calculation ..and it shows. Aussie bands headlining , street theatre billed as scheduled acts.High points -hypnotic brass, Dean and Britta, Mamadou Diabate , Djan Djan featuring Diabate on kora , Aussie slide gun Jeff Lang and indian tabla player bobby singh. 90 year old Ravi Shankar and daughter headlined today in a valedictory tour but I missed as I could only manage 3 days away.

The first week of a year-long reunion tour and Pavement were sharp, shambolic and a startling jolt to the nostalgic body-clock, giving a master class in mining a vault of musical treasures. In The Mouth A Desert, Shady Lane, Two States, Range Life and Here would satisfy die-hard Pavement fans of any generation. And remarkably tight and together, despite Stephen Malkmus, contorting his body through slanting and enchanting shapes, hurling himself through the drums, into PA stacks and unsuspecting bottles of beer. Bob Nastanovich, demented MC, part-time percussionist and some-time shouter supreme, reminded us of the band's love of the punt when contemplating a day at Melbourne's Flemington races and saying "betting and winning is the best thing in life", just ahead of "betting and losing". But the impatient Malkmus was never far from cutting such chit-chat short so he could head off on another manic, anarchic trip through the memory vaults with his Californian time machine.

You sense that hardcore fans of Bad Blake, the grizzled, faded, fictional Country star portrayed here by Jeff Bridges, would be aghast at this schmaltzy pantomime of a ‘biopic’. Wobbly old fan-boys, desperate groupies, cute kids and spurned sons all behave exactly as they do in the movies. All human life is here but sadly underwritten and the time and space for proper character development feel like intermittent luxuries. So, there’s quite a lot wrong with it. And yet, transparent Oscar-bait though it may be, this flawed, minor film is still winningly enjoyable. The sublime scenery of New Mexico and Texas, the terrific music (courtesy of T-Bone Burnett’s Midas touch) and the brilliance of Bridges and Gyllenhall (reliably excellent company) save the day. You don’t know why you love them but you do.

The improbably young and good-looking orchestra assembled, seemingly under the baton of James Blunt, soon followed by Cale who walked onstage with a stiff-legged mad professor's gait. Sporting a modishly '80s-cut suit and a shaggy bob in shades of plum and grey, he looked worryingly like George Lamb's seedy uncle. After a slightly hesitant stab at Child's Christmas in Wales in which the guitar was far too high in the mix, Paris 1919 was laid before a spellbound audience in all its lush, gorgeous, wonky glory. The stripped-down band showcased Cale's more malevolent side especially during a genuinely threatening version of Heartbreak Hotel. The orchestra was brought back for a moving and uplifting setting of Do Not Go Gently and the relative obscurity Hedda Gabler was an unexpectedly effective climax. A prolonged standing ovation compelled the band to return for a brisk run-through of Dirty Ass Rock'n'Roll with Cale hammering his keyboard with the gusto of Jerry Lee Lewis.

..didn't she used to be in Coronation Street?..Massive! Massive? Massive??..it's 10 to 9, scene-hitter time..Prince Charles discussing orgasms..if they brought back Call My Bluff John Naughton would have a job for life..Stackridge..my 10 year old singing along to Kate Nash..as for her dad, can't stand the bloke..Tolkien's great grand-son is my mate..Dr Volume's the name but I'm not a doctor..so then Stuart Maconie asked her..and here's one of me in Peter Jackson's room..they should do a Word roadshow..so many OSCARS in Burnley you know..round of applause, he's travelled here from another country!..there's more working in the GQ fashion section than in the whole of the Word office..then Patrick Stewart stepped out..trouble is he's so bad at getting copy in on time..it's a bit trick getting out of this corner..Stackridge..see you at the next one