Posters for a young, female music artiste called “Jem” are rather common on the London Underground at the moment. “Dido goes trip-hop”, says Q Magazine. Wow! Sounds interesting. Q also say: “Nothing is beyond her”. I've just inherited a box containing my grandmother's Rubik's Tangle, which I never managed to complete. Maybe I'll send it on to ATO Records, enclosing a stamped, addressed envelope for the solution.

Someone from a Canadian band called Manic emailed me just now. God knows why. “We are looking for a UK connection for our album system error scheduled for release this summer”, pants James, breathlessly. “please let me know how your doing and we yu need and want” he continues. Well, James, I will do my best to get around to we yu need and want at some point tomorrow. Or perhaps not.

I've got nothing in particular against Manic, or Jem, but reading biographies like this and this reminds me of my withering contempt towards publicity material generated by the music business. Jem, apparently, decided at some point that one day she would be a singer. Good to know, because, look, she turned out to become a singer. Spooky. My eye starts twitching at lines like “In November 1999 Jem retreated to the creatively inspired air of Wales and a lifestyle of sofa surfing.” I'll ignore the fact that Wales is described as “a misty and oddly shaped UK peninsula”, but what they actually MEAN is that in November 1999, Jem didn't know what the f*ck she was going to do so she sponged off her parents for a few months. No-one at all is in the slightest bit impressed by the image of someone getting on a train and subsequently sitting down, watching TV. So why include it?

And Manic? Well, I particularly like:

Manic has been known to drop the jaws of some other bands at gigs simply for their playing alone, and have shared the stage with notable acts in their time… The Tea Party and Our Lady Peace to name a couple.

I wonder how much further those jaws dropped when these “other bands” observed the manner in which Manic unplugged their instruments and loaded the van? I used to see this kind of bollocks on a daily basis when working for a music management company. I even had to try and write some of it, taking a band who had garnered one lukewarm review in the Redditch Enquirer and had a drummer called Keith who had once met Andrew Eldritch, and make them sound as if they were selling out the Town And Country Club on a regular basis. Then these bands end up believing the guff that's written about them, and swagger around small rehearsal studios, believing that they are but a step from stardom, not realising that they are just one of many thousands of distinctly average combos with leather trousers and pointy shoes. I pity anyone who is excited about the possibility of their group being successful, and is attempting to improve their chances of success by claiming that their bass player is “one of the best around; his command and ability are un-matched.” I'd laugh if it wasn't so depressing.

Today, in Brighton, I sat in a pub, looking at a menu with 5 items on it – Roast Lamb, Roast Chicken, Roast Pork, Roast Beef, Nut Roast – which was spread over 3 sheets of A4, with tediously florid descriptions of the quality of the gravy. “It's a bit like my CV,” said . Whoever wrote it could easily land a badly paid job with a small record label. If they haven't done so already.