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Q Magazine

Q Magazine September 2020

Q magazine is inventive, insightful and irreverent. It's the UK's biggest-selling music magazine and the world's best music guide. Our journalists get the interviews and exclusives that no other magazine can! Their expertise provides reviews you can rely on and trust. Q magazine's new entertainment section features EVERYTHING you need to know about music, films, DVDs, radios, books, games and gadgets... which, coupled with the famous Q Magazine Reviews, and you've got what amounts to the most essential music and entertainment guide there is.

Country:
United Kingdom
Language:
English
Publisher:
H BAUER PUBLISHING LIMITED
Frequency:
Back issues only
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in this issue

3 min.
backstage…

Shortly before I was made editor of Q, I was asked to fill in a questionnaire about what I’d do with it. I was indignant. We hadn’t had an editor for several years, but I’d been the acting ed and now Q needed both an update and an editor, like every other publication. A questionnaire? Goddamnit, they should fill this out, not me, grrr… I filled in the questionnaire. It was all predictable stuff: dream covers; feature plans; design tweaks; budgeting; revenue ideas; etc. One question gave me pause, though. It was, “What scares you about the role?” I knew the answer should demonstrate fearless enthusiasm, but one thing did scare me. I didn’t want to be the last editor of Q. My boss laughed at our debrief. There’s no way you’ll…

12 min.
lou reed

Lou Reed is hacked off. But while this can hardly be regarded as a new experience for the legendarily cantankerous old moaner with the rock’n’roll heart, the focus of his ire on this leaden-skied Monday is faintly ridiculous. Reed can’t get the window of his Park Lane hotel room open. Growing increasingly flustered, with a hint of rouge around the gills, he wonders aloud, “Is this some kind of IQ test?” Fresh from Hamburg where he’s just finished directing a musical, POEtry, based on the writings of Edgar Allan (a favourite from as far back as his college days), the wiry but comfortably pot-bellied literary rocker returns to his mildly grumpy, yet brittle-humoured self now that a London breeze is wafting through the expensively- tooled suite. The last time this magazine…

1 min.
florence welch

“This was at Governor’s Ball in New York. I remember the moment because I kind of saw the opportunity where there was no security on that strip. I was right in front of Florence and I got down to try and get as much of it as I could and definitely did not calculate the distance she was running at me. Basically, I had to leap out of the way super last- minute because I was crouched down and she nearly ran into me. She was obviously not changing her path so it was my job to move myself! The fans had so much love and emotion for her and so much appreciation. It was amazing to be between the first row and Florence, especially during this moment where she…

22 min.
“we’re head and shoulders above everything else”

Centrifugally pinned back in his seat by the swirling sound of The Misunderstood at a not altogether understandable volume, Ian Brown swigs heartily from a flask of tawny Swedish spirit. Debonairly dabbing mouth- on-cuff, he peers out at the still Stockholm night from his band’s hermetically sealed - and herbally piquant - tourbus and just manages, “Top drop of rum, that,” before the lively beverage begins to work its white hot passage through his unsuspecting solar plexus. “Fuck me!” says The Stone Roses’ enigmatic singer, slamming the bottle down on to his knee and clutching at his narrow chest. “Rocket fuel or fucking what!” Patiently applying a well- practised tongue-tip to a third cigarette paper, the soundman - around whose shoulder Brown’s arm is draped - regards the waiflike spokesperson for…

2 min.
david crosby

“It was at the Troubadour in LA. He had a show there that night so I had to wait for him to soundcheck before I had my time. I’d already been told that he was going for dinner straight after soundcheck and soundcheck was running over, so I was sort of given a look like, ‘He’s late for his dinner.’ So that was a good start. I went towards the stage and had my lighting set up near the stage so I could grab him and take him outside, where I’d found some spots to shoot. The Troubadour stage was tiny and he was playing with a full band so it was full of equipment and he was stood on the stage and he was like, ‘Well, let’s just do…

20 min.
“i just can’t believe i’m blagging it so well”

What day is it?” wonders a bewildered Adele, hungover, smoking a fag, wearing comedy-colossal Jackie Onassis shades. “Sunday? Aw fackin’ell, it’s chart day!” If it’s Sunday, it must be another Adele record-breaking album day (10 April, 2011), the day her second album, 21, stays at Number 1 in the UK for the 11th consecutive week, pulverising Madonna’s previous generational nine-week milestone with 1990’s The Immaculate Collection. She’s been Number 1 in 15 countries, today the biggest pop star on the planet. “Pff, doesn’t look like it, does it?” she scoffs, clutching her crumpled black woollen overcoat, which appears to be a billowing bat-winged dog blanket. “Three-grand coat on covered in dog hair [from her sausage dog Louis Armstrong]. Bobbly tracksuit bottoms. Fag an’ a glass of Coke.” We’re in wonderful-wonderful Copenhagen, perched…