I’m ‘bout to have a swag attack…

The bit in between Ruben Slikk being bad and Ruben Slikk being bad again was genuinely a high point of 2010s hip hop IMO.

Like running in a dream in which everything sparkles.

Too much fluff.

Full of personality, but made me cringe at times. Not sure it will age very well.

It ebbs and flows quite nicely for the most part. Some stagnant passages in the second half. At points it felt like listening to a speech that goes on a shade too long.

Best experienced in an arm chair after a hearty meal and a rollie.

90s in NZ must have been insane. Flying Nun, Jonah Lomu, and no LOTR tourists.

A few good songs early doors did enough to stop this from being totally forgettable.

Yearning, witty, and very catchy. A good entry point to John Cale’s solo stuff.

Recommended to all British emigrants.

Sublime.

A right bloody hoot for everyone involved

It’s good; it lets your house breathe.

Cornetto?

This shit rips in pot wash.

I’m streamlined, I’m supple, I’m strutting around Pigalle winking at bouncers.

Stumbled across this album in my early teens because Mother of the World was one of the longest 79p songs available on iTunes, and I wanted to get the best bang for my buck off my £15 voucher.

Give the digital version a booty hole!

Crystalline sparsity.

Manafon goes from some of the most beautiful stuff I’ve ever heard to utterly dull, without very much changing.

Scott Walker runs deep through this record, but could never have made it.

Some absolute gems on this; some arch-mediocrity, too.

Ethel-Ann Powell changed my life.

Sounds like playing ball games while day drinking in the garden.

If you love the sound of being trapped in a washer dryer, this one’s for you.