In the course of a long listening career, records tend to come and go. I look back at old columns and marvel at the enthusiasm I once felt for records I no longer remember owning, let alone enjoying. Some records come and go and come back again, of course, and a few stay for ever: the 30 or so albums you’d be buying tomorrow on Amazon if your house burnt down today. And just occasionally there’s an album you think has gone for good but which returns, better than ever before, and you wonder, was it always this good? Was I not paying attention? Shall I play it again right now, or wait until tomorrow?
One record always leads to another, and this trail began with a CD on the cover of Mojo, the magazine that caters for the unreconstructed elderly rocker who doesn’t mind reading ten-page features on The Doors.
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