Keith asks me what I think of the new album. 'Well,' I blurt, 'it sounds like the Dartford Delta.'
‘Yeah it’s your style.’
‘Really. Please tell me more Simon.’
‘You’ve mastered the lazy swampy Delta sound...but from a distance,’ I flounder, ‘the way I see it Bill and Charlie are employees. They take their lead from you so they’re always a fraction of a beat behind. You’ve come up with a unique sound.’ Unique, good word.
Silence. No invitation to Redlands for me. (Not a bad thing in retrospect.) And it probably didn’t do my career any permanent damage. Fuck it. The music press was crowded with willing sycophants. The time was ripe for something more abrasive.