Englishness

The first play of the new Shack album – a recording I sense will grow on me – is encouraging. The Head brothers’ talent for strong melody underpinned with Byrdesque harmonising is as apparent as ever. I do appreciate acts that celebrate Englishness and have already gently warmed to the throwaway mentions of posties, milkmen, cups o’ tea and granny knots that permeate these songs. The world, my world, is a richer place for Shack.

I approve of Amazon’s service. I ordered the Shack album on Sunday and it dropped on the doormat on the morning of the day of Tew. I feel a tinge of guilt not buying from an independent store but, each time I visit Pulp in Gloucester, they haven’t got what I desire. I shall visit Berwick Street again in the summer and chuck some lucre at the record shops there to assuage my lack of ease.

Another Stephen Duffy album, They Called Him Tin Tin, also arrived yesterday but I am yet to play it.