One sleepy Friday afternoon not so long ago, I was browsing the racks in my favourite record store (Beggars Banquet in Kingston) and I came across and intriguingly titled album 'Agaetis Byrjun' by an Icelandic band called Sigur Ros. The cover was grey with a silver foetus like angel on it's cover. It looked enticingly enigmatic.
'What's this?' I inquired at the shop counter.
'It the best thing in your record collection, buy it now you stupid tosser!' replied the scarecrow like figure from behind a curtain of matted blonde hair.
Dutifully, I punched the git in the throat, purchased said record and returned home. Fifty minutes later I rang to shop to apologise as the scarecrow had been right (almost). The album was as near to perfection is it was possible to get and was made all the sweeter by being an impulse purchase. The tracks drifted over me like smoke from an autumn bonfire. The songs were unnervingly gentle with a touch of melancholia about them, much like the feeling you get when you've seen a great movie and the first of the credits roll across the screen signalling the end of a very pleasurable experience. Music with a memory.