BOOK REVIEW: A Mind Of My Own by Kathy Burke

This article was originally published in The Big Issue in January 2026.

A Mind Of My Own by Kathy Burke is out now (Gallery UK, £22)

Kathy Burke’s mother, Bridget, died of cancer when Burke was only two years old. Her late father, Pat, was an alcoholic prone to violent rages. As Burke half-jokingly declares in the foreword to her frank, funny and wise autobiography, A Mind of My Own, Pat is the only ghostwriter you’ll find in these pages.

This is no misery memoir by any stretch of the imagination, Burke is far too self-aware for that sort of nonsense, but she does capture the stark reality and tedium of growing up with an alcoholic parent in the house. She and her two older brothers would long for the peace that would descend when he was asleep, away on days-long benders, or those occasional periods of sobriety.

Burke also writes about her own problems with heavy drinking in the 80s and discreetly alludes to a dark period in the early '90s – “the bad, sad days” – when she was involved in a difficult romantic relationship.

Otherwise, this is an upbeat and enoyable account of a talented working-class woman who only ever wanted to act, write, direct and entertain.

Burke comes across just as you’d expect, a thoroughly decent, kind and non-judgemental person who reserves her ire for those who deserve it, eg she didn’t enjoy working with a pre-Trainspotting Danny Boyle (“He reminded me of a supercilious priest from my childhood.”), and once called Helena Bonham-Carter a “stupid cunt” in a letter to Time Out after HBC complained in all sincerity that it’s harder for attractive posh actors to evade typecasting than it is for “non-pretty, working-class” actors. She has no time at all for patronising luvvies.

Seriously, be more like Kathy Burke.

BOOK REVIEW: Ringo: A Fab Life by Tom Doyle

This article was originally published in The Big Issue in January 2026.

Ringo: A Fab Life by Tom Doyle is out now (New Modern, £25)

It’s reasonable to assume that no one these days, apart perhaps from the most pig-headed fans of hack jokes and received wisdom, regards Ringo Starr as anything less than a great drummer with an instinctive knack for enhancing a song. A characterful player and unique stylist who never knowingly drew attention to himself, he was the perfect drummer for The Beatles, and therefore the perfect drummer. QED.

But as Tom Doyle observes in Ringo: A Fab Life, his engrossing, affectionate and well researched biography of Sir Richard Starkey, maybe we’re still guilty of treating him as a two-dimensional caricature. Good old Ringo, the jovial, lovable, unpretentious, easy-going clown. The happy-go-lucky everyman Beatle.

And while that persona is certainly true to an extent – Doyle rarely refers to his subject as “Starr”, as it’s just too jarringly formal – the book reminds us that Ringo endured a traumatic childhood scarred by life-threatening illnesses. Doyle is no glib armchair psychologist, but he clearly illustrates that Ringo’s adult anxieties can be traced back to his difficult formative years.

A sensitive character prone to self-doubt, he was the first Beatle to leave – albeit briefly – when that surrogate family became dysfunctional in 1968. All he ever wanted to do was play drums with his friends. Doyle emphasises that simple, touching fact throughout.

His bleak account of Ringo’s post-Beatles descent into alcoholism is a valuable corrective to anyone who thinks those Brandy Alexander Hollywood years were remotely amusing. When Ringo and his wife Barbara Bach enter rehab in the late ’80s, the last few chapters/decades unfold serenely. They’ve been together ever since.  

You’ll also find a heroically detailed deep dive into Ringo’s erratic film career. For that reason alone, Doyle deserves a medal.

BOOK REVIEW: A Fine Line Between Stupid and Clever: The Story of Spinal Tap, by Rob Reiner, Christopher Guest, Michael McKean & Harry Shearer

This article was originally published in The Big Issue in November 2025.

A Fine Line Between Stupid and Clever: The Story of Spinal Tap, Rob Reiner, Christopher Guest, Michael McKean, Harry Shearer, out now, Simon & Schuster, £17.49

One of the greatest comedy films of all time, This Is Spinal Tap didn't make much of an impact upon its release in 1984.

An improvised mockumentary about a fictional English rock band played by American comic actors who weren't particularly well-known was, apparently, a tough sell. However, it gradually became a cult hit on VHS and is now part of the cultural fabric.

In A Fine Line Between Stupid and Clever: The Story of Spinal Tap, the film's director Rob Reiner recounts its making alongside co-creators Christopher Guest, Michael McKean and Harry Shearer. A fascinatingly fact-packed gift for Tapheads, it's as much of a labour of love as the film itself.

What began as a sketch for a 1979 TV comedy special hosted by Reiner quickly took on a life of its own when Guest, McKean and Shearer realised they loved improvising - or 'schnadling' as Guest calls it - in character as these none-too-bright yet endearingly sincere and pretentious rockers.

Reiner, a successful sitcom actor who wanted to direct, was similarly smitten, and lo the film was born. Well, almost. Armed with a 20-minute demo reel and a four-page document detailing the band's eventful history, it took four demoralising years of fruitless meetings with baffled executives before they eventually met a producer, Karen Murphy, who understood what they were trying to do. A masterpiece ensued.

Amidst all the generously detailed trivia on the film's production - e.g. they wanted Michael Palin to play Tap's manager, but were too nervous to approach one of their comedy heroes - the book also foregrounds the talents, both musically and comedically, of its three main players.

Guest and McKean in particular are music obsessives who've been friends since the late '60s; their enduring closeness is mirrored by that of their Tap alter egos Nigel and David, albeit without the petty squabbling. Like all the best musical parodists they have a keen understanding of, and affection for, their target (certain jokes in the film are based on first-hand experience).

The authors also reflect upon the strange afterlife of Tap - much like the Monkees and the Rutles they became A Real Band who played shows and released albums - the decades-long legal battle to actually earn money from the film, and the making of its belated and not-bad-at-all sequel.

We're also treated to an enjoyable epilogue in which they 'schnadle' in character, possibly for one last time.

A delightful book.

LIVE REVIEW: Emma Pollock

This article is copyright of The Scotsman and used with their permission for this purpose only.

Emma Pollock

Oran Mor, Glasgow

****

A founding member of the Delgados and Glasgow indie label Chemikal Underground, Emma Pollock is also an abundantly gifted singer-songwriter with four solo albums to her name. The latest, Begging The Night to Take Hold, was released last month, a mere nine years after its predecessor.

During this gently bewitching and rather wonderful performance, Pollock explained matter-of-factly that life - and COVID - got in the way of her releasing any new material. It was worth the wait.

Accompanied on stage by cellist Pete Harvey and pianist/bassist Graeme Smillie, she delivered a set mostly comprised of songs from the new album, all of them wreathed in the sparse, baroque chamber-pop style that's been her hallmark ever since the Delgado days.

But whereas those songs were often quite lyrically oblique, her new material is distinctly personal. When you reach a certain age, she told us, you become more comfortable with an autobiographical approach to songwriting. Hence tender odes to her parents such as Pages Of a Magazine, in which she recalled childhood daytrips with her mother, an avid reader of aspirational British women's periodical The Lady.

Pollock is funny, too. A gregarious performer, her between-song chat included an amusing anecdote about facing a tough crowd (in Cambridge of all places) and her brief stay in rural Scotland, near where she grew up, to conjure up memories and write some songs for the new album. After 48 hours she couldn't wait to get home to Glasgow: "Everything shuts at four and it's boring as f*ck."

The trio also treated us to a cover of John Cale's Paris 1919, a song ideally suited to their dusty twilight library stylings.

Hopefully we won't have to wait so long for another return visit.

BOOK REVIEW: Bless Me Father: A Life Story by Kevin Rowland

This article was originally published in The Big Issue in September 2025.

Bless Me Father: A Life Story, Kevin Rowland, out now, Ebury Spotlight, £19.65

As far back as he can remember, Dexys Midnight Runners lynchpin Kevin Rowland has struggled with anxiety and a deep-seated inferiority complex. Even while topping the early '80s charts with irrefutable pop classics Geno and Come on Eileen, Rowland was beset by doubt, guilt, paranoia and self-destructive impulses.

But he also pursued his singular creative vision with a burning and utterly dedicated intensity. He believed, quite rightly, that Dexys were something special. He just didn't particularly like himself.

In Bless Me Father: A Life Story, Rowland bares his sensitive soul with commendable - if sometimes alarming - honesty. An addict who's been in recovery for over thirty years, his autobiography is full of touchingly sincere apologies to everyone he mistreated as an angry, difficult, insular young man. It's also full of praise and gratitude, and he never wallows in self-pity or mealy-mouthed excuses.

Rowland's devout Irish Catholic father, who never blessed his wayward son with a single word of praise, would usually be cast as the villain in a lesser, more self-serving memoir. Rowland does, of course, understand that he was always seeking his father's approval - "I was desperate to prove I wasn't useless" - but he clearly loved the man, faults and all. Their relationship is at the heart of this story.

The chapters devoted to Rowland's post-Dexys years of cocaine addiction are relentlessly grim. On the dole and living in a threadbare flat, he'd been royally screwed by a former manager and had to declare bankruptcy. But he survived, got clean, and now lives comfortably on his songwriting royalties. He's in a better place.

Rowland is a true artist, an idiosyncratic aesthete who flourished during an era when working-class 'weirdos' were allowed to gatecrash the mainstream. We will not see his like again.

BOOK REVIEW: Comedy Samurai: 40 Years of Blood, Guts and Laughter by Larry Charles

This article was originally published in The Big Issue in September 2025.

Comedy Samurai: 40 Years of Blood, Guts and Laughter, Larry Charles, out now, Grand Central Publishing, £22.15

Comedy guru Larry Charles is a celebrated writer/director whose credits include Seinfeld, Curb Your Enthusiasm and the Borat movie. He's an inherently subversive countercultural dude with a dark, absurdist sense of humour.

In Comedy Samurai: Forty Years of Blood, Guts and Laughter, he analyses his craft with good-natured intensity. Charles takes comedy seriously, as all great comic artisans do. It's a fascinating, colourful book.

He lavishes praise upon his "accidental mentors" Larry David, Sacha Baron Cohen and Bob Dylan (Charles co-wrote and directed the 2003 Dylan vehicle Masked and Anonymous, the making of which sounds just as bewildering as the film itself).

But he also writes, with palpable sadness and exasperation, about the disintegration of his relationships with David and Cohen.

He hasn't spoken to David, with whom he'd been friends for over 40 years, since 2022, when David put the last minute kibosh on a documentary Charles had made about him. According to Charles, his subject felt he came across as too serious and emotional in the film, an image he wasn't keen to share with fans of the fictional Larry David from Curb. Ironically, the real Larry David's petty, neurotic and cowardly handling of this situation was entirely on-brand.

As for Cohen, by the time he made his third and final film with Charles, The Dictator, he'd apparently become an egomaniacal control freak surrounded by yes-men who was impossible to deal with. Charles writes about the experience like someone with PTSD.

I see no reason to doubt his version of events in both these cases, as he comes across as a very honest, thoughtful, generous and decent man of integrity who tends to criticise himself more than anyone else.

Comedy, it's a joyous, painful business.

LIVE REVIEW: Franz Ferdinand

This article is copyright of The Scotsman and used with their permission for this purpose only.

Franz Ferdinand

SWG3, Glasgow

****

Glasgow's Franz Ferdinand have always been steeped in the post-modern spirit of their art-pop idols, Roxy Music, Talking Heads, ABC, Pulp, and former supergroup collaborators Sparks (their 2015 album FFS is an underrated gem).

These are bands who sincerely love disco-friendly pop while operating behind a veneer of arch self-awareness. When done right - and Franz Ferdinand at their best get it absolutely right - the results of that approach are often rather glorious.

There was a whole lotta glory to be found at this sold-out homecoming party, held outdoors during the last sticky gasp of the summer heatwave. 

The set was packed with all their bangers: The Dark of the Matinee; Michael; Do You Want To; and, of course, Take Me Out (such is their assurance as live performers, the energy levels never subsided after the played that with 30 more minutes still to go).

But Franz Ferdinand are no mere '00s nostalgia act. Two of the standout tracks were plucked from recent album The Human Fear. Bolstered by a guest spot from rapper Master Peace, Hooked can comfortably take its place alongside the crowd-pleasing hits, as can the traditional Greek music-influenced Black Eyelashes (scissor-kicking frontman Alex Kapranos is half-Greek).

And I suppose you have to admire them for stubbornly refusing to correct the "So I'm on BBC Two now, telling Terry Wogan how I made it" lyric in The Dark of the Matinee, despite having presumably been told countless times over the years - by people like me - that Wogan never had a chat show on BBC Two, and that they could've easily replaced it with "Radio 2" instead.

But that's Franz Ferdinand for you. They shimmy to the beat of their own dance floor-filling drum.