Vinyl Release

Back in the 1950s, that perpetual scamp and eminent philosopher Bertrand Russell (then well into his 80s) created an analogy to deal with the concept of faith in the existence of God. He said that if he were to assert, without offering any evidence whatsoever, that a teapot – too small to be seen by telescopes – orbits the Sun somewhere in space between the Earth and Mars, he could not expect anyone to believe him solely because it could not be proven wrong. 'I think,' he concluded, 'the Christian God just as unlikely'.

The Eno documentary recently shown in cinemas caused a bit of a fanfare because, characteristically of our eggheaded pal Brian, it wasn’t just any common-or-garden doc covering his illustrious career. Instead, it employed groundbreaking technology to accomplish something that had never been done before. Using generative software designed to sequence scenes and create transitions out of interviews with Eno and an archive of never-before-seen footage, each showing featured different scenes and music in a different order. Every time it played, it was a new experience.

Back in the late 1960s there was a band hailing from San Francisco called Moby Grape. They had five talented members who could all sing, play and compose to an incredibly high standard incorporating pop, rock, country and blues styles. They looked pretty cool too, with a perfectly contemporary anti-authoritarian attitude that saw one of their number flipping a middle finger against the American flag on the cover of their self-titled debut LP in 1967 – naughtiness that was airbrushed out by their spooked record company.

Let's say you are walking along Shaftesbury Avenue in London in the general direction of Cambridge Circus. It is the mid 1980s. Maybe you've been to the Shaftesbury Theatre just over the road to see a show. Or maybe you've just been for a dip in the Oasis swimming pool next door. Whatever, you've worked up a bit of a thirst so you duck through the door of the Oporto public house, just on the corner opposite St Mungo's home for the homeless, and take the couple of steps to the bar.

Lana knows what I'm on about. In the song 'Brooklyn Baby' from her brilliant 2014 LP Ultraviolence, Ms Del Rey complains, 'They think I don't understand the freedom land of the '70s'. She was born, you see, in 1985 and Lana - known to her mum and dad as Elizabeth Grant - is deemed by those who should know better to be too young to appreciate the '70s aesthetic.

It’s a crime, that’s what it is! An absolute outrage! Chances are you feel the same way as I do about a favourite album that no one else in the world seems to give a fig for. I’m not talking about the one that reminds you of your first date or some other sentimental attachment. I’m referring to the LP that was released into an uncaring world and inexplicably ignored when, by every measure you employ to judge a record’s artistic worth, it should have been embraced, applauded, lauded and been top of the charts for weeks on end.