Anyone over the age of 40 will tell you the old deal with music. You’d hear one great song on the radio. Then like a MUG, you’d scurry off into town and buy the album. Stood beside the hi fi in anticipation(and burgundy leg warmers if you were cool), your spirits would gradually deflate, and you’d wince as you were repeatedly kicked in the teeth with the musical equivalent of sick being fired into your ears by a howitzer.

Almost like the band were punking you. Like the songs had been written by some imposter, since they bore no resemblance whatsoever to the one song you liked, and kinda sounded like they’d been written in a rush by a guy sat on a toilet with a hangover and a deadline to meet.

Then, once in a blue moon, some absolute HERO comes along and releases an album that shows the others how it ought to be done.

In that vein, if you haven’t listened to Beck Hansen’s Odelay, then seriously, check your head brother.

I reckon there’s at least 6 AMAZING songs on there. That’s some kind of unholy deal-with-the-devil-at-the-crossroads kind of record.

Beck Hansen you magnificent bastard, I salute you…


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