WONDERING what Katy Perry will get up to next?
CAN'T stop humming that pop song that's storming up the charts??
SCOURING the listings for when Coldplay's next album will be released???
WAITING for news of which planet Bono is going to save next????

IF the answer to any or all of the above is 'Yes' - or even 'Hmmm, sort of, I suppose' - then click away now...

...WELCOME once more, ladies and gentlemen, to the Rock & Roll Circus...

Now a new bit. The next update will feature a spotlight on the usually-embarrassing-but-often-really-quite-good world that exists when comedy collides with music.
I've been collecting comedy (and in an almost-completely un-xenophobic way, mainly British comedy) for a couple of decades now. Dating back to Hancock and The Goons on the radio in the 1940s and 1950s, up until today, and the likes of Chris Morris, Steve Coogan and anything else decent and original I can get my hands on.

But this week, the spotlight, for no reason other than it should, falls on the legendary Bill Hicks.

At my time of writing, the world as we know it will be over in roughly seven hours' time.
Armageddon will be officially on its way, and the signs will have been given to us.
So, as you read this, it's already happened, and God knows what barren, apocalyptic world you are existing in.
It's a shame it all had to end this way. After everything that's been done over the decades to avert it, it's a real bloody shame.
Against all certain popular expectations, there's been no plague of locusts, no skies dripping blood, and no second-comings.
Nope. None of that.
What there has been, to prove the end is not only nigh but already well and truly underway, is the apparent allowance by EVERY God of EVERY denomination, to let the shiny-skinned, plastic people on X-Factor publicly and sickeningly slaughter - at Christmas, of all times - Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah as a festive 45.
I mean, I know that as a race, us humans have failed. But whatever it is that sits in heaven, I didn't think it hated us this much...

Nuclear Pope Sex Dolls.
Not four words you'd expect to see in the same sentence.
But when you plunge your hand into the mixed bag that is the Rock & Roll Circus, you really ain't got a clue what you're gonna pull out.
This week, as well as the (n)ever popular and endless list of hideous album covers, I've delved a little deeper to form the first in an equally endless list of some of the worst band names of all time. And I'll tell you now; for every Sex Pistols, there's a Nuclear Pope Sex Dolls. And it's gonna get worse before it gets better.
Also, as part of a new regular feature, we'll be taking a look at what should be filling that gaping chasm in your cd collection in: Records Everyone Should Own.
So it's time to take your seats, lower the lights, and raise the red curtain on another chapter of the Rock & Roll Circus.

Sometimes, there's no need for words.
And if the old saying, that a picture can paint a thousand of 'em is true, then less is definitely more, here.
In the first instalment of a regular series, the curtains raise on the Rock & Roll Circus with a quick glance down some of the darker corridors of the music Hall of Fame -
Album covers.
Funny things, album covers.
Lost art form, and all o' that.
But not every recording artist has been lucky enough to have their own little Sgt Pepper to show off after a hard day at the studio.
Some, rather than pieces of artwork, are just plain...weird.