Yes, in a glorious break with tradition I have made the momentous decision to review a record that hasn’t been passed from one disinterested charity shop bin to another, to be buffeted and pawed by well-meaning old ladies and collectors of Perry Como records, before somehow ending up in my rescue home for vinyl waifs and strays where it can be lovingly polished and listened to for the first time since the Suez Crisis. But, and here’s the quirky unforeseen twist worthy of a Roald Dahl short story, it’s a record that isn’t forty years old. A genuine bona fide record etched deep into your actual polyvinyl chloride, recorded by one of those glamorous showbiz comedy types that I seem to rave on about. Well here’s a genuine novelty that I couldn’t realistically resist for long. Comedian and actor Matt Berry celebrates his convoluted folk-rock-acid-prog-psych-garage-synth-pop-jazz-fusion roots, with an outstanding album that evokes the whimsical sounds and wistful heady spirits of the early 1970s.
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