JACKSON-WEBBER: Strange analogies

I know I talked about them yesterday, but in the early afternoon a parcel arrived for me. Well as you may or
may not know that I have a day job - I am director of a singular outfit called The Centre for Fortean Zoology and as part of what we do we have a number of hungry amphibians. We are presently running a breeding programme for some obscure legless amphibians caeled Rio Cauca Caecilians (don't worry about remembering the name, it is the last time I shall mention them today at least) and these little creatures mainly eat earthworms. I am awaiting a shipment of 1000 earthworms from a composting firm, and I thought that this bulky parcel from the north of England was them.

However, much to the disappointment of my amphibious pals, it was only a parcel of CDs from the lovely Anner Marie at Gonzo. And one of them was the Jackson Webber album that I have been looking forward to hearing. So, I rationalised to myself that I really should make myself familiar with the record, so I abandoned the work I should have been doing (trying to get my head around analysing the paternation on the back of various frog specimens) and I went into the sitting room, sat down in my favourite chair with the elderly orange cat on my knee and listened.

Bloody hell, its good! My first impressions are that they are like a 21st Century English analogue of The Flying Burrito Brothers, and I stand by what I said yesterday. There is something particularly English about them. Its not the way that the songs are sung, or the subject matter; they don't sing songs about ferrets, the social security system or black puddings, but something about the arrangements and instrumentation.

If you can imagine what happened if Fairport Convention of about the era when Dave Mattacks was still playing drums and Maartin Allcock had first joined the band, going to a fancy dress party as The Flying Burrito Brothers whereupon Sooty andSweep sprinkled them with oofle dust and the transformation stuck, then possibly you might have some idea what I am talking about.

But rather than trying to get your head around my particularly odd analogy, it would be simpler for you to just go out and buy the album. I warn you, I have not said my last upon this subject.

Slainte...