Art-rock huh? Not when I was a young lad. Back when I was a boy, you knew where you stood with this rock and roll malarkey, oh yes. Songs about love, girls and cars, and certainly none of this hoity-toity book club nonsense. A guitar, drums and a pianola was all you needed, and as long as you had a few slow songs up your sleeve, you could take your pick of village socials. 6 shillings an hour, and your share of cider on the way home. Smashing.

But what’s this? Weird rhythms, songs about Mr Wogan, and heavens, even singers who quote Proust and war generals. Oh no, not in my day. What’s that band called? Les Ferdinand, that’s the one. That lot don’t know what they’ve started do they? And as for this Maximo Park bunch, well, they’re just as bad. Getting young impressionable kiddies to stay out dancing till after Match of the Day, not to mention singing about being happy when “I move away”. Child delinquency, that’s what it’ll start, I can tell you now. Next thing you know, it’s Top of the Pops and hookers for breakfast. Give me Cliff Richard any day. Hrrmph. Now, where’s me pills?

(The editor wishes to note that the above comments are merely the ramblings of a senile old bugger, and Maximo Park’s song is quite nifty actually, with cracking guitars in a Futurehead-style. Plus, it’s the only single on Warp not to feature a power drill or washboard. Enough said really)