Few folk really deserve that epithet, legendary, but Peel was one of them.

Teenage Kicks will never sound the same again.

By way of a tribute, here’s John making a complete hash of things, as only he could, one night in the early Nineties (2.6MB MP3).

If you don’t know him, Jandek is a deeply reclusive Texan who, since 1978, has been steadily releasing albums of beautiful and upsetting music, mostly a sort of grim amateur blues that resolutely ignores the conventions of songwriting. As to his motivation, his thinking, that’s anyone’s guess: the only thing anyone knows about Jandek is his name, and the fact that his records are released by Corwood Industries, a label that releases nothing else. You can read more at Seth Tisue’s definitive Guide To Jandek, and order CDs from Corwood Industries, P.O. Box 15375, Houston TX 77220 (at just $4 each, if you buy 20 or more albums).

Here’s the last song, title unknown, from the hour-long Instal show, with Jandek backed by Richard Youngs on bass and the amazing Alex Neilsen on drums:

• Jandek Live - Song 8

And here’s one of my favourite Jandek songs, from the 1986 album Telegraph Melts:

• You Painted Your Teeth

Here’s the skinny from Stet, the Edinburgh club promoting the tour:

Lady Sovereign is perhaps the most rated, respected and championed female MC in London just now. One of the few truly genre-defying rap artists that is at the centre of the Grime/Eski movement, her wit, lyrical flow, production and phenomenal stage show have had the likes of D12, Obie Trice, Basement Jaxx and The Streets requesting her as the support on their recent tours.

Absolutely in keeping with everything STET, Lady Sovereign is about future-music, now. Gritty, bass-heavy, driving, sparse and entirely captivating. Do not miss this.

The dates for your diary:

• Glasgow: 21st October at The Observatory, 138-140 Elderslie Street.
  8.30pm-late, £5
• Edinburgh: 22nd October at The Bongo Club, Holyrood Road.
  11pm-3am, £6
• Dundee: 23rd October at Sessions, Sessions Street.
  10.30pm-2.30am, £7

See you there?

It was quite a tricky proposition. Sure, you can say things about their combination of effortlessly crafted pop songs and a shambling, inept, erm, sub-pop style. Or go on for a bit about how much Kurt Cobain liked them. And I did. But - and bands like this are rarer than hen’s teeth - there’s no way you can persuade someone to love The Vaselines by comparison to other bands, or lengthy eulogies to their short-lived genius, or daft journalese cant sugggesting that they sound like Lou Reed shagging all the Supremes at the same time. Nope, you have to play them Son Of A Gun. And then they will love The Vaselines too.

So, on the offchance anyone reading hasn’t heard it before: The Vaselines - Son Of A Gun (4.4MB MP3).

(The above file will only be available for a limited time, and is intended as an encouragement to buy The Way Of The Vaselines: A Complete History, or similar. Go on, what are you waiting for? And if any ex-Vaselines, or their pals, are reading and don’t like this music sharing lark, let me know and I’ll take down the file.)

(My apologies for the simple nature of questions - I never quite know how to handle interviewing people via email, without the to-and-fro of a live conversation.)

Motifs and themes - domestic and familiar objects are often the subject of your work. Why? What prompts you to transform or investigate this subject matter?

The familiar and the unfamiliar both have fascinations.

In the bigger world, some objects may appear domestic. In fact, they’re my own things I use everyday, for example Table and Chairs is directly based on the table I’ve had forever and the plates are what I eat off of everyday.

A good example of the unfamiliar would be the beards. I don’t have a beard, and in fact I don’t know many people who do. Something interesting developed while working on them. They’re essentially costumes. They’re an attempt at the unfamiliar. In fact, they’re fake beards that ended up not even necessarily being male.

Also, the motifs and themes change from day to day, but over longer periods of time it becomes clear they inevitably always repeat. For example, the chapel turned into the oilcan. It’s still a chapel actually - a chapel of oil.

Scale - much of your work plays with scale, calling to mind Alice In Wonderland, and fairytales. How did this aspect of your practice develop? What makes it a continuing source of inspiration/working method?

The artist’s point of view - from the small world - could be viewed as a large gesture publically. The practice is creating something both large and small.

Publically, Table and Chairs is perceived as a big object, where it actually originated from a small detail-a corner bracket supporting the table leg. Instead of crawling underneath and photographing an actual table in order to see it, why not shrink yourself and take a normal snapshot?

Also, by changing their environment (size of the room), Table and Chairs is capable of being small - in a large depot, for instance - or large, in a residential room, like the one at Inverleith House.

In the end, none of this really matters because Table and Chairs isn’t such a big scale issue anyway. It’s only three times the actual size. A better example is Keyhole which is probably one of my smallest sculptures, but it’s fifty times bigger than an actual keyhole. I don’t even know how much the teardrop might be blown up in scale.

Balance - broadly speaking, your work seems to find a balance between the conceptual and the visual/physical. Is this something you aim for? Is there a conflict between the formal aspects of your work and their conceptual basis?

There is a balancing act - perhaps that’s true. There’s a huge conflict between what an object ends up being and the idea which started it.

Things duplicate and replicate.

For example, photographing under the table branched off and turned into several objects.

Also, in my sketchbooks one subject directly or indirectly on different levels unfolds. Architecture, male, female, oxygen-there’s all kinds of subjects in there.

In fact, a person could become unbalanced if it weren’t for sketchbooks.

A shift in practice - it seems as if your recent work is, again broadly speaking, more representational than earlier work, and tends to return to/revise/refine various themes. Is this indeed the case, and if so, what prompted the shift?

People my age grew up with abstraction. Many of us worked our way out of it, where abstract artists had worked their way out of the representational. Sometimes I think maybe we should work our way back - maybe we were better off.

Also, project after project, the capability of representing the real naturally improves, while over 25 years the same forms and themes inevitably persist.

At the same time, I don’t aspire unconditionally to representational work.

More information: Robert Therrien, Los Angeles County Museum of Art, Minimalist Fantasia - a profile by Hunter Drohojowska-Philp, Robert Therrien - a profile at The Broad Art Foundation.

As seen on the Guardian Talk board. No, me neither.