Hugs and Kisses #21: Kate Nash, Animals And Men

One thing not on Everett True's desktop: the long-awaited Kate Nash interview tape.

Kate Nash, waiting for Everett True to run her interview.

Hugs and Kisses

The Outbursts of Everett True

THIS WEEK: a lost interview tape and a recollection of a concert 10 days past.

I've lost my Kate Nash tape.

It was lying there on my desk one day; next, it's gone. Didn't have a cover, not sure it was marked. I doubt if I'll find it again. I suspect my two-and-a-half year old son Isaac's restless hands in this: he has a habit of arriving home from nursery at lunchtime to be confronted by that day's post - upwards of a dozen CDs, the foremost of which he'll grab and open and take great pride in taking along to the CD-player and playing. "It's a CD! This one's mine!" Blood And Roses, Maximo Park, Hey Gravity...he doesn't like any of them. Shaping up to be a critic of consummate good taste, I'd warrant. Anyway, Kate Nash. I think he's probably had the tape up to his bedroom, mistaking it for one of his own personal compilations (Misty's Big Adventure, The Jungle Book, 'Telstar', The Chefs)...but he hasn't quite mastered handling the tape recorder yet, so it's probably away down the side of his cot in frustration.

It's a shame, cos that tape was earmarked for this column: not that you gentle folk probably are that aware of Kate Nash right now - she's like a quirkier, more solipsistic, folksier Lily Allen: has a Number One hit over here (in the UK, duh) with the genial bittersweet post-break up song 'Foundations'; and over the next few years she'll be inspiring a generation of blog-fed teenage girls to bare their (mostly mundane) souls to music, same way as Regina Spektor has. And within that interview tape were contained insights on her strangest concert yet played (a tie: one, to 20,000 screaming Girl Guides in a field; the other, one song to a sainted audience at the British GQ awards that included Paul McCartney, Bob Geldof and...oh fuck, make up your own famous names, why don't you?), plus detailed plans for a homespun fanzine to be sold at her concerts (presumably vying with Coke for the punters' green stuff at her forthcoming arena tour) and her recollections at growing up listening to Christy Moore and The Chieftans among her Irish kin. The tape didn't, however, contain her reaction upon discovering that I once actually met Kurt Cobain (have I mentioned that yet?) - she collapsed on the sofa in near hysterics, and couldn't speak for close on two minutes.

"What was he like?"

"Um. He had three heads."

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