When I bought tickets to see Richard Ashcroft almost twenty years ago at Town Hall in New York with my ex, who was obsessed with him and would soon leave me for her celebrity yoga teacher, he forgot the words to a few songs and started over on one half way through it, cursing himself and the audience at the same time. Whether that was an original off his recent solo album he was touring to promote or something he’d recorded with his prior supergroup I can’t recall. He was pissed though, that much remains clear. Pissed, perhaps, because he sensed the place was packed to hear him play the earlier stuff with his former band. Or maybe he was just too wasted to know what he was playing, let alone what anyone wanted. I’d like to think there was some motivation behind the mistake, but my ex was a wet blanket half the time anyway and is probably still listening to him self-quarantined somewhere inside her house for all I know so fuck them both.