Herbert and Charles Webster, a match made in heaven. This used to get played at The Gold Bar, Ganton St. in days of yore. Or did it? I don’t own the record unfortunately, but I’m sure Kevin Harding, my erstwhile partner in crime, did. I remember him calling me from a gig for some reason just to tell me he was about to play something “achingly hip’, and it turned out to be this. Truth is I like this record, but it’s a massive piece of hipster Camembert. Described as many things on its Discogs page, all of which stretch the boundaries of categorisation, the closest being “deep house”, the furthest being “future jazz”. It’s anything but futuristic. It’s wine bar elevator music, if that makes any sense. Papering the walls with a soft, touristic ambience as it wends its many way through an imagined Parisian parallel universe that only exists in a brochure well, also in some very touristy areas which are best avoided. Still, it does the trick and if anything can provide an escape from this shitty British excuse for a summer, then why not?
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