Here is a classic sixties song that I had never heard until a version by Misty Miller popped up in Lena Dunham’s excellent medieval comedy Catherine Called Birdy and sent me delving for the original.

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Here’s one of those songs I haven’t heard in years (decades?) but it comes right back to me the moment the needle touches the groove. I was never a fan of jazz-funk but you’d have to have a heart of stone, and feet of concrete, not to be moved physically and emotionally by the infectious groove, skittering bassline and blissful vocal of Southern Freeez.

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When I first heard The Allergies I assumed they must be some long-lost American band from the early seventies. In fact they are a white duo from Bristol.

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Merle Haggard’s self-penned number from 1974 has all the elements of the perfect Christmas song – a sad, sentimental, yet optimistic lyric, and a cracking tune.

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Considering rule one of punk was to adopt a convincingly anti-social working-class persona, Rikki And The Last Days Of Earth made a rookie error. They had the look – all leather and spiky hair – and they were certainly early adopters, releasing their first single in May 1977.

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I’ve had this terrible seven-inch EP by lower-league punk group Riff Raff in my collection for nearly 45 years and I had no idea until literally just now that the singer is Billy Bragg.

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Of all the crimes committed in the name of music, few deserve a capital sentence more than this 1979 performance by Punishment Of Luxury. As you would expect from a group who had the truly terrible idea of marrying punk to its polar opposite, prog.

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This is one of the odder oddities of the punk era, even by the oddball standards of Stiff Records. Digging it out from my collecton, I have a confession to make – I had mentally filed the band as Joe ‘King’ Carrasco and the CLOWNS.

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Not only is this one of the catchiest songs of all time but the story behind the song is remarkable… and lives up to the title.

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