SONGS THEY NEVER PLAY ON THE RADIO 

 5. Blisters and bruises; Icerink records.

PART 1 

COINCIDING WITH my first real taste of introspection, the Icerink label, run by the boys from Saint Etienne, and a subsidiary of Creation, came into being. Unlike Sarah records, this label had some reprobates on its roster and was all the better for it. John Robb was a Sounds journo who I was used to seeing frequently and the promo of his band's Sensuround debut Blind Faith contained a Doors sample which was given a Creation records catalogue number. It's as rare as hen's teeth, but somewhat imperfect.  

However, once plugged by Justin Robertson, the Icerink version lost the sample but gained a whopping Dean Thatcher remix. The oscillating swing between guest vocalist Tracey Carmen and Robb's voices, dark and light, euphoria and gloom, night and day, was made starker, and it became arguably the most epic progressive track of the era. Robb, with an apology to Jon Savage, penned some memorable sleeve notes that also infused a bit of energy in what was a pretty drab time to be alive. 

I saw them support MBV at the Ritz and thought pop stardom awaited. With such a strong stage presence, it was little wonder that he was feted by Jockey Slut to grace the cover of their second edition. Had entertainment been preoccupied with intensely glorious oddballs and not the exploitation of labour, their story could've been very different.  

Alas, their second and final single When I Get To Heaven pushed hard on the euphoria button without letting in the dark forces until the third track. Had they been from continental Europe and not Mancunian, they may have got away with it, but as it was, they sank without a trace. The overlooked third track Deep Inside Your Love (Hulme mix) crawls and snakes out of the woodwork and the blurb got it right by noting that it sounds just like The Residents covering Hank Williams.

Golden was this seemingly fey girl band but there was something a little darker at work below the surface. They had Micky Finn remixes when he was a buzzword on jungle cassettes and covered Pulp long before they became a household name. Debut standout Don't Destroy Me stands up with the best of the era.

There was something similar going on with Andrew Loog Oldham and Marianne Faithfull in 1964, but she had Jagger / Richards penning her hit, making her an overnight sensation. Anglo-American (Finn Family Dub) is a little less subtle and is a relentless piece of twisted dance-floor pop. An essential salvage from any mid nineties bargain crate. When reading the liners you get the feeling that after a few shandies all these by the wayside musical references were the brainchild of Saint Etienne too, but I did think they were dead cool at the time, because of it, before the cynicism set in. 

I-D Aug 91

I'm reminded of the time Natalie, who always gave Most Excellent related nights a bit of glamour, later confided in me that promoter Ross had to buy her dresses to keep her attending his nights. On the one hand, I thought 'yeah, genius', but on the other hand I'd have liked a night off myself. Reminding myself that it's the 'time of my life.' Luckily, it wasn't. 

PART 2

THE LABEL was allegedly committed to the glittery pop dream and creating pop stars, and in a weird way, that is what it did. Shampoo were a bit like the Monkees in that they were manufactured, but, whereas the sixties band tried to wrestle control from the poppy producers and session players, they instead rebelled against the pure punk aesthetics imposed on their debut. Arguably the most snarly song of the nineties, Bouffant Headbutt with its line 'you're fucking dead' sort of scared the pants off me. 

Co-written with Lawrence, the follow up Blisters and Bruises injected a pop influence that made them sound like Chequered Love era Kim Wilde. The blueprint for their success was formulated. Unfortunately, not on Icerink as Lawrence was/ is still the unluckiest man in pop. He put out a single on the label that was a precursor for his Novelty Rock album under the guise of Supermarket. Ray Keith turned in a remix that unsurprisingly still rocks but predictably it too sank without a trace. 

Massive kudos to Bob for releasing Earl Brutus's skull-fuck of a glittery stomper Life's Too Long, on the label. Not least because it is. He saw the remnants of World of Twist and If? And had his own mind blown and so kindly decided to blow ours. If this was twinned on a good sound-system with The Fall at their deranged best, people would go insane. And I do mean insane.  

 

     

For me, the story ends with the dubby majesty of Oval. Love Hour wrestles a great Human League song out of the hands of Martin Rushent and instead hands it to Burt Bacharach. Creating something saccharine yet somehow elegant in the process. A future pop classic even. Ginger Kilburn is the opus that plays like a swan-song for the label itself. Brilliant, but should be longer. 

The genius of Icerink was that (Lawrence excepted) it captured everybody at the zenith of their musical powers. John Robb and Shampoo may disagree, but in order to stay in the public consciousness, they had to become caricatures of themselves. Not even necessarily themselves. Whatever they first tested out on this label. That potency to my mind marks their musical zenith. Whilst their roster was falling to pieces, a compilation CD surfaced as a footnote featuring the usual suspects. If it ever gets a vinyl pressing, I might dive in. Icerink both looked at the past and future to create a scene inside a scene. 

Like Natalie, and Most Excellent, it tried to distance itself by putting a bit of sparkle into a landscape otherwise swamped in beige and the constant talk of excess.   

HALF TERM REPORT

WHEN MY mother fell back on January 20th, she taught me more in the following 3 days about the fragility of life than any record or book ever could. I was completely numb. It made the darkest days of my hitherto battles with life seem like a party. I kept looking at my records and putting my head in my hands, but ever so slowly I began hearing music again. Eventually I tried playing a toon, but it just sounded like a slab of plastic. I put my head in my hands again. 

Eventually I tried again and something magical happened and I was listening as intensely as I have ever done. It was a slab of plastic, but the escape it gave me was invaluable. I had amassed quite a few un-played records, so had a lot of cardboard envelopes to open and cellophane to remove until finally, in March 2019, resumed.

The first record that captivated me was a reissue of Michael O'Shea's self-titled LP on AllChival records. No Journey's End is amazing and stayed on repeat for an age. I also played a lot of music that supported me in my teens after my father's death. What I now call my healing music.

An intriguing record that also captured my attention is by ind_fris titled Sink In. Its sparse and breezy compositions are intricate enough to really work on the senses. A properly stimulating record. Airplane Going Nowhere is my favourite track but I play it all the way through coz it's that strong. Must also mention FAREL's Friday in July, which is a delightful breezy affair. 

Reminiscent of the sun-kissed jazzy fare often found in the growing bin. Yorgos has sent over the duo's next song, and it's accomplished. Less jazzy but more breezy. Only hope something physical evolves from this material. Like a vinyl record. A sublime bit of vinyl came out on 5 Gate Temple records by Gossiwor and the winner is Domestic Saga # 2 (All is Lost). A proper epic journey of a track. Cheers Rem Gow, again!

Left Ear records have re-released a couple of beauty's. Lungile Masitha's Makoti is a proper pulsating beast that dates from 1985 but sounds like right now. On a mellower tip, the Abuja LP by Jay U Xperience is deep and mystical. Back to the Motherland sets this 1993 long-player off superbly and the experience is mesmerizing. Another label worth watching is La Casa Tropical, who dropped a bomb by P.V.P titled Si Ya Jola. Low-slung dynamite. 

On the 7 inch reissue tip, the pick of the crop has been Just A Star's Smiles on the buy on sight Backatcha label. Incredible. Another unique seven that has given me a lot of fun is the De Toesrisme EP by Paul Jansen & Zn. A Basso buy from Holland. Enough said. For a further taste of what's spinning on the turntable, check this - https://www.juno.co.uk/charts/dj/573189-Sock_Free_Hideaway/4783344-Chart/

2 books have also transported me to Chicago's house era. To say the epic and scholarly Do You Remember House? : Chicago's Queer of Color Undergrounds by Micah E. Salkind  is definitive is an understatement. Great first-hand accounts to boot. The book is tempered by last years Beyond Heaven : Chicago House Party Flyers from 1983-1989. Beautifully reproduced from the archive of Mario 'Liv It Up' Luna. So lucky to have had this escape from my reality. 

Spinning the Antoine Kogut Remixes twelve at first reminded me of what a great album he released and then of the time I tried booking Syracuse only to hit a stumbling block. I totally sat at ease with its magic, working my senses. But then, for some unfathomable reason, randomly got in touch with Antoine to see if he was playing the UK soon. I thought his label, Versatile, may have something planned.

 

I realized they hadn't and reminding myself about the fragility of life and all the plans I had stored up, asked him if he fancied playing Manchester. I needed a pet project to inject a good memory into my year, but this is proving to be a labour of love. I wanted Ménage à Trois to play Oldham Gallery, but never got the idea past the gallery's admin team. Music always reaffirms my faith in people and always gives me something solid to at the hold on to, so with sincerity of heart and in the words of ABBA I say 'thank you.'

TICKETS TO A DREAM

THE OBLIGATORY piece that no one reads but makes me feel better. The Soup Kitchen has bigged-up the magical Antoine Kogut and his massive talent superbly, so all I have to add is, thank you Test Pressing, and thank you Noise in my Head, for turning me onto it. Ménage à Trois is this mystical band who I've been buying cassettes off for years. They play art galleries and sometimes choose saccharine covers that they make sound wonderful. Otherwise they make perfect escapist popular music. Like Antoine, they have great taste as their very occasional mixes testify.

Anyone thinking of attending on the 17th July and in need of persuading, just run a bubble- bath and play Antoine's woozy long-player. Feel the air dissolve into bubbles and not the bubbles into air, then feel the weightlessness and ease that has suddenly become your life. It feels good, no?  I'm basically selling you a ticket to a dream. A dream whereby everything still feels good the day after. Not the sort of ticket that gets sold often... 

 Art-work by Ugo Bienvenu. Design by Steven Williams

MORE TORN SAIL MAGIC 

NO RECORD has got inside my head as much as Torn Sail since the Doves Cedar Room EP. With the promise of a full band, I had to attend the Dorothy Pax show. Sheffield is a behemoth of a city, but other than the Victoria Quays, symbols of poverty are everywhere. Consequently, I arrived a little depressed. It's also a little depressing to note how small the venue is coz they should be on a bigger stage. However, I couldn't help but feel blessed that this intimate show was ours and not everyone's. Huw, as ever, was politely explaining the late sound-check. Guitarist Henry hadn't slept for 2 nights. 

The atmosphere was lively when they hit the stage. Giving much more depth of space to We Ride they set scene brilliantly. Ricochets followed and suffered slightly, without an accompanying female voice. When I say suffered slightly, it was still spell-blinding. Son of My Heart, a song I only know from a set-list photo, is handled superbly and highlights their beautiful tensions and chemistry. 

Huw rightly got a little vexed at folk chatting over their achingly intense music. I'm Gonna Miss You is especially intense. Perhaps a break for fifteen minutes would have been of benefit to folk. I heard a lot of new material that marks a change of direction. Some of it very fast but never reckless and some slower but never languid. I think they need to make oscillating music that reflects the stranded state of being off land. Because the LP has become part of my own DNA, I felt I needed to be better acquainted with the new music. He's got two albums in the can and, unlike me, is happy to move on.

A reworked Disconnected is a thing of majesty stripped of its poppy energy that seems superfluous with hindsight. The players all seem to understand exactly what they have to do to give space to the songs. We got the full version of Treasure, which is utter dynamite, and Henry's fretwork needed its own applause. 

Again, the chemistry is something to behold and treasure. Birds, a song that completely captures me, carries additional gravitas live. It really evokes the golden era of the singer-songwriters' wonderful collaborations with diverse musicians. 

Nutshell really came into its own played live. Another wonderful song that just seems to spill effortlessly out of the band. It was great being mesmerized by this great troubadour again, and although I'm a little anxious; I am keen to hear the latest offerings. The venue and Sophie need a hearty bear-hug for giving them the stage to make their own for the evening. 

First class, as always.  

SONGS THEY NEVER PLAY ON THE RADIO 

4. THE HIGH: a cellarful of soul

PART 1

WHAT I love about getting old is reassessing all manner of stuff and coming to the conclusion that I was once very set in my ways and empty-headed. I know for a fact that solely on the strength of being signed to London records I would not have considered The High to be neither an indie band or rock band, so consequently I'd have pretty much considered them to be insignificant despite rave reviews.

Based on my experiences at the Hangout, I didn't much care for Oldham's finest The Inspiral Carpets either, who waltzed around like the emperor Joe Blogg's new clothes. However, over the years I have since heard Dids and ET always talking of reforming seldom heard peripheral acts like Rubber Orange, The Jerks, One Summer, Turning Blue, and The Rainkings, so the revisionist in me was awakened.

old dank cellar

My grandfather's old dank cellar actually played an embryonic role in starting this scene as it gave them all rehearsal space.

He'd be turning in his grave, I guess, but it definitely helped give them a playing edge and brought John Matthews out of his shell. At this point, I must confess that my main reason for gravitating towards Manchester and bypassing Oldham was my quest for some personal musical recognition. I had zero talent, but buckets of enthusiasm so would struggle in a place full of time-served piss-takers and cynics who could all manage their way around a musical instrument. I recall stumbling into One Summer's after show at the Midland Hotel after I'd been to a Back to Basics night earlier. Hearing Weatherall spin Shirley Bassey. Rubber Orange's bassist Warren Wrigley passed through the warehouse I work (becoming someone to talk to), but all locally made music, and knowledge of, has been channelled into me retrospectively.

Colin, Vinyl Revival's owner, recently self-released One Summer's demo's, albeit a little polished, and the resulting Spirit blew me away. It smoulders and snakes around my head, making me rue the night I chanced upon them after the event. That said, I all but forgot about the angelic vocals until last year when Colin did it again by releasing The High's hitherto unreleased fan favourite, Go Your Own Way. Once again, I was blown away. 

Whilst I was lucky enough to frequent a boozer with a solid jukebox that familiarized me with the classics I still love listening to lesser known music made by folk my own age, and this vocal simply stares into a void in wide-eyed wonder, and sounds more familiar than other staple tracks on offer. I was now ready to dive into the back catalogue.

Debut single Up and Down is a jangly affair that somehow should be now part of my own DNA but isn't. The video is also a great document of the time. Constructed with Matthews, now trademark angel's voice working its way to faint crescendo's before breaking down and starting all over again. If you love this, then you love The High.

PART 2

THE HIGH fell together haphazardly and tried distancing themselves from Madchester, and that is the principal reason for their failure. They hadn't played enough shows to enter into the city's public consciousness. The fact that they gelled well wasn't enough as folk such as myself want to see the sweat and tears of a few toilet circuit shows. Instead, they settled into the studio and were lucky enough to corroborate well together and write really solid (if a little formulaic) songs.

Despite the minor quibble, Box Set Go was a minor hit and faster paced than its predecessor. It opened the album Somewhere Soon whose cover was influenced by Dark Side of the Moon, epitomizing the local scene coz everybody loved the Floyd LP as it was on every jukebox in north Manchester in 1990. Their song's delivery makes everything seem profound when, in fact, the lyrics are quite banal, which is also very a la Floyd. Unsurprisingly, drummer Chris Goodwin confirms this to Louder than War by stating :

'we thought we sounded like early REM and a bit of Pink Floyd, the songs had no affiliation with house-music whatsoever.'

Consequently, all the songs seem to peer over a vast vista and were it not for sun kissed guitars chiming to a very disciplined groove that both ebbs and flows deliriously to a shuffling rhythm, they could easily be called anthemic. Had a baggy Live Aid been aired, these guys would've cleaned up. There's not one mind blowing, great track, but not one single duff one either on the record. It plays amazingly well as an album. 

Like many a band, they were on kids' telly, and the footage looks surprisingly innocent today. With hindsight, I think wide eyed baggy troubadours are far more innocent, and do far less damage to children's psyche than gyrating boy bands. 

They were also the last band to work with Martin Hannett and their swansong More...is another highly underrated single. It moves toward more complex guitar arrangements but retains the open space. I think their spirit died with him. Afterwards, they flirted with power pop and rock pastiche, highlighting the folly of getting used to major label advances and being far too subservient in the studio. An example of which exposes itself when Goodwin shared this anecdote with Shiiine:

'we were recording Up and Down in Strawberry Studios and i was playing the kit. He was umming and arring, shaking his head, coming in and out of the control room and I’m saying ’what’s up Martin?’…’I’m not getting the right colour’ …..’eh ?’…i said….’it’s not right something is not right with the overheads’ said Martin. Now Martin always used two overhead mics as ambient sound only he uses a cigarette butt in between the two mics, like a sandwich. Martin then decides to go to the pub whilst I’m told to keep pounding away on the kit and not to stop. 2 hours later Martin stumbles through the studio, ‘hang on a minute. hang on a min’ he then pulls out the ciggie butt, inspects it, then says ‘….ahh, thought so !!’…..I’m like ‘what ???(sweating me nads off )’…….’this is an Embassy Regal cig’……..I’m like yea???’………’I only use Camel cigs!!!!…….lets record !!!'

Brilliant. The High, despite their major label, probably felt dwarfed by the success of the established Madchester acts during that tumultuous time in British music. A time in which some poor, ossified, suburban dads still appear powerless to escape. You can now buy all their vinyl records, NM, for the price of a decent bar snack. Ultimately, they were under the radar but burned bright enough to deserve more than the mere footnotes given here. I make a public apology to my overlooked local scene and suspect it was better than most due to its close proximity to a happening if hyped Madchester scene.

They owe a debt of gratitude to my grandfather coz from that little cellar they found their angel's voice.

MUSICAL INTOXICANTS FOR MOMENTS IN LIMBO

LIMBO PRETTY much describes where I'm at right now. No bad place, but not really where I want to be. What is SFH now anyway? He asks, facing up to an existential crisis that has been brewing for some time. Ever since the magic formula on how to break even was revealed to me, it occurred to me that most bands I like are either so cottage they're screen-printing their own sleeves or on a big fucking label. A lose-lose scenario then, for the self-financing promoter. However, that said there has been some mesmerizing horizontal music to shout about and big personal change is definitely just over the horizon, so, upon reflection, I'm keeping the faith and continuing a while longer.

Big thanks to David Lovenbury for sharing the mightily impressive Sassy Moon by Hairband, which is a heady dose of bare foot yet vertical pop perfection.  On solid rotation since arriving. Another massive winner is Ronald Langestraat's Searching LP, which was bought by pure chance. I was browsing SOTU's web page looking at unrelated reggae when it popped up. Luckily, I had the time to give it a few listens, then was hooked enough to buy on sight.

The whole album is wonderfully sublime and slightly odd, which made it more than a little intriguing. In the Middle of the Night is a great song in anyone's book and Girl Where Are You? evokes peak-time Witch. Yes, that sublime, and slightly odd. I'm Ready For Dancing is Latin in feel but still off-kilter enough to work a treat on the hip joints. Can't even recall what the reggae track is.

Really pleased, Enid released Woven Entity's second album Two on proper vinyl. Kudu really works on the magic carpet of percussion and the alchemy is at work throughout in a top drawer release. Nubians is another mesmerizing highlight on a solid long -player. I still have fantasies about putting them on at the Manchester Bridge club one Sunday. 

A second Lunaria cassette Water Mind released on the impressive ΠΑΝΘΕΟΝ  label is a pure dream-scape, akin to their warmer earlier work, All is Dream. River Spirit is truly a work of wonder and definitely one for imaginary bath-time. Also, as impressive is Palm House by Amparo on Modularfield. A cassette that manipulates the guitar in amazing ways as Coastal Dusk attests. Music from the heart always wins me over.

Massive respect for Efficient Space, whose Waak Waak Djung's Waak Waak Ga Min LP,  had me in a state of near nirvana all summer. I don't think any track since Turn Turn Turn at the Hangout in 89' has taken me closer to levitation than Gandi Bawong. Truly mesmerizing. 

Equally impressive is 3am Spares, which has left the same indelible mark on my senses. Amazing 3 pm music. 3RRR FM's community radio show sure as understood by Andras and Instant Peterson is post rave heaven. Opener, FSOM's Resist The Beat is a subtle floor shuffler even, whilst Jandy Rainbow's I Will Go is a less persistent slice of dubby techno genius that rolls back the head to do its work. Not really a duff track to be found. 'Radio Cavell, here I come.'

Hats off to Reference Point for the mightily impressive April Fulladosa seven. Tell Me is a high-quality song indeed, and it's great that it can be enjoyed 30 years later. I was also lucky enough to buy from Juno rather than direct, which meant I was afforded a link to another little gem. L'Eclair's Funky Splash evokes 2013 era Growing Bin. Yes, that good.

Talking Drums edits by Piccadilly and Growing bin scribe, Patch has a charm all of their own. The A-sides throw all manner of mayhem together to create 'bendy' music. However, I'm more at ease with the B-sides. Get Serious and Space Talk both flutter around my gaff and help keep things even bendier. Great releases.

SONGS THEY NEVER PLAY ON THE RADIO 

  3. IF? & INTASTELLA: not catching the zeitgeist.

PART 1

IF? AND Intastella were 2 MCA signed bands whose magical debuts need re-evaluating. What stopped these bands becoming huge wasn't a lack of ambition on their part, but on the music press. A Face feature in March 1991 shone a much needed light on the club-land posses prevalent at the time. E-Bloc, including a young Tom Rowlands. were just ravers,  albeit with nice hats, whereas the Brain Club in comparison looked edgy and much more style conscious.

Brain promoters; the devilishly impish Sean McLuskey, and Mark Wigan Williams attracted a truly eclectic crowd. You never saw Matt Dillon at the Hacienda. However, the club affiliated band Dub Federation, featuring E-Bloc's Andy Ellison, released 2 singles on McLuskey's Brainiak label and Tom's first band Ariel performed at his legendary club. The idea of a countrywide network was important despite differences as it let these acts escape the Madchester label. Sadly, Intastella couldn't as they were signed to MCA on the strength of it.     

Formed from the remnants of Laugh with fresh additions vocalist Stella Grundy and dancing man Lil' Anthony, like lots of Manchester acts of the era, their debut Dream Some Paradise was awarded NME single of the week. The pulsating throb and sultry vocals still have my head in a tail-spin. By this point, I was in a crushed velvet shirt and learning to control myself a little better, so the idea that I could leave the house and go to the Boardwalk and see my favourite pop-stars was too alluring. A little while earlier I'm stood transfixed at the Ritz watching them support the mighty Word Of Twist. Fast forward a few months later and we're on a coach to see them headline the Powerhaus in that there London, only they didn't.

That was my introduction to Baldie as he was non-perturbed and happy to dance to Dave Haslam's tunes with a coachload of Mancunian. Whereas I on the other hand, was a bit pissed off. They more than made up for it by playing a blistering set during Beautiful 2000, Haslam's own attempt at recreating Temperance, later that summer. For a few short weeks, he succeeded.  

If? by contrast took the capital's hot-spot club by storm but struggled to translate outside. What instantly drew me toward the band was the Fila F, as it was the same as our HCF (High Crompton Firm) insignia. Saturday's Angels is a perfect debut single: euphoric, zoned out and sparkling with show-biz style. Too knowing and cock-sure for its own good. With McLuskey a part of the trio, it couldn't fail to be. Manchester was a bit tribal, to say the least, in 1990. Unlike the WOT, they got better results out of the Grid who stripped away the follow up single If to produce a gem of a tune. 

Intastella was also mindful of the dance-floor, stating, 'we want to bring a bit of dancing back. I know people say you can dance to anything but you can't really do any cool moves to acid.' Watching first hand how the Grid diluted the potency of the distinctive WOT sound, they instead hired Craig Leon of Suicide, Blondie, and Bangles, fame. A seemingly inspired move.

not an all-dayer 

One of the most memorable days in the summer of 91' was their Southport Beach all-dayer. I vividly recall the look of puzzlement on the townsfolk's faces as we descended on their pubs and public spaces. This was a happening, and the band were in their element. A dressy group not quite resonating their sound around a beach, 'but' nevertheless, attracting a crowd. I was still in the sand-dunes after the JAM MCs wound up and woke up believing the revolution had happened. Obviously it hadn't coz this blog piece would be titled Pop's Golden Age. 

Whilst Intastella were good to go, If? Were fine tuning their sound at McLuskey's Love Ranch. His latest nightclub phenomenon The fact both bands could now cut the mustard live meant their TOTP appearances wouldn't in any way be hindered by the 1991 miming ban.

PART 2

INTASTELLA AND the Family of People LP finally hit the shops and largely stayed in them. I've just bought an old stock copy for a fiver as a spare. The cover takes me right back to Southport Beach, deluded on the sand-dune. Heaven. Let's not kid ourselves This is cod-psychedelia, but replace inauthentic with stylistic borrowings that steal from one generation to address another in a wholly unique way. 

This is also post-club music before the term post-club music had been invented, made by people actually out clubbing as a way of life. When the NME journo's called, they were probably all still in bed, so Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine got on their cover instead. A few short years later, this band would've been massive after the NME finally learned how to stay up late.

Opener, Overdrive is a groove laden affair with a coda that would really get Floyd fans back up given half the chance. Nothing like a knowing pun to set them off. If WOT's album was a dalliance with Their Satanic Majesties best bits, then this is a dalliance with Yellow Submarines worst bits and all the better for it. People make that explicit but thankfully replace all the Eastern mysticism with plain speak and enough quirky synths to send you to the strange place. Bendy is lyrical genius; 'I have a friend, a very special kind of person, spends all his town up a tower, doing heads, blowing mind. He'll probably make it.' I'm guessing Noel was listening. Its driving rhythms persist and keep the album fizzing with lots of banal but perfectly affected words breathing out. 

France is my personal favourite and makes me dance like a train. 'Keep your love around' is the instruction and that is what I do, always. Century should've been top 20. Thanks to the internet I now know that Stella's dazzling dress was made and designed by Candida Moriarty. Now you do too. Closer Arrival showcases the astral fretwork of a time served group hitherto played down on this atmosphere infused album. Craig Leon deserves credit for producing an album that endures brilliantly.

Before Leftfield became a household name, they created dance-floor dynamite remixing If?. Open Up Your Head was a staple at Venus and its arresting opening stabs always drew an eager crowd and Everything and More is given more bounce by the duo. When the Love Ranch came to town, their live renditions sounded much more beefed up and anthemic. These are what open their long forgotten album English Boys on the Love Ranch. MCA, by indulging them with studio time, possibly let the boat sail, as the atmospheric rush, sun kissed deviancy, hedonistic adrenaline, rolling piano, and, wide-eyed optimism, that form its basis, all stir together in a box called 1991. Nothing epitomizes this more than Everything's a Groove. Unfortunately, the album finally surfaced in 1992, so it sounded like a frenzied paean to a bygone era upon its release. A bloody good one, mind.

What still resonates is a pop fervour that was largely taken for granted at the time. Pony Girl and On A Day Like This are hidden gems and still glisten brightly with every single play. Saturday's Angels is a magnificent closer and were given a fresh dance-floor potency on Justin Robertson's Most Excellent Vocal Remix. One of his best, in fact. Tragically, you can now buy their entire back catalogue, NM vinyl, for a tenner, including postage. 

MCA sure recognized post club classics when they heard them, but a music press struggling to embrace club culture and even realize that post-clubbing was where it was at, was still of the mind that bands had to be wordy and authentic. This meant more often than not being tied to some mythology that a legendary music journalist had described better than anyone else, ever decades earlier. The music press was basically by 1991 chained to its own historical significance and was largely opposed to pop in all its forms and latterly of major labels. A shame coz Intastella and If? With a devilish twinkle in their eye and a nod to the heavens, released brilliant albums. Both evoke their time and still stand up strong now. 

Like the lying performer always says, 'if just one person connects with my music, my work here is done.'