Vinyl Release

Lana knows what I'm on about. In the song 'Brooklyn Baby' from her brilliant 2014 LP Ultraviolence, Ms Del Rey complains, 'They think I don't understand the freedom land of the '70s'. She was born, you see, in 1985 and Lana - known to her mum and dad as Elizabeth Grant - is deemed by those who should know better to be too young to appreciate the '70s aesthetic.

Following on from last month’s Vinyl Release about brilliant records that nobody else likes but you, I bet I’m not the only one who has an album that, although you’ve played it on and off down the years, even the decades, you can’t decide whether it’s any good or not. On one occasion it may sound great. Significant even, a landmark piece. Other times it just sounds... well, rubbish.

It’s October 1989 and we’re chatting with Kate Bush on the occasion of the release of her sixth LP, The Sensual World. This is an album that not only sounds utterly sumptuous but, looking back on it now, appears to predict the spiritual and social upheaval we’re entering today with the growth of artificial intelligence.

It may well have something to do with the wretched state of the world right now but have you noticed how the 1990s are back in vogue? Celebrated by those who lived through it as a halcyon decade on a par with the legendary 1960s, the '90s are being glowingly reassessed as a time of growth and hope when world politics had not gone totally crazy, we weren't all existing on the breadline, the arts were actually appreciated as something inspirational and worthwhile, and anything seemed within the range of possibility for just about everyone.

It's complicated. There's a song on Blue, Joni Mitchell's fourth LP, which is not the album we're here to celebrate. The track's called 'A Case Of You' and compares the giddiness of getting drunk with being in love. But that's not the type of case I have in mind. The case I'm thinking about is the one associated with a courtroom when the prosecution and defence argue over someone's guilt. In other words, the case of Joni Mitchell.

We've just cleared customs at JFK and the six of us have piled into a stretched limo laid on by a mate who's in New York working with The Spice Girls. Karen, the limo driver, takes us straight to a club none of us will ever know the name of. It's one of those exclusive establishments with a frontage resembling a hole in the wall. No signage or anything as gauche as that.

What if you could reinvent your life and have another go at it, starting somewhere, somewhen else? Me, I'd opt to have been born a decade earlier and I'd have moved to Los Angeles in 1965, aged 17. That way I'd have been hanging around the Sunset Strip in 1967 where, at the Whisky A Go Go alone, I'd have seen Love, The Doors, The Byrds, Jimi Hendrix, Buffalo Springfield, Moby Grape, Spirit, Janis Joplin, and Them with Van Morrison. I might even have hopped a short haul or thumbed a ride to Monterey where the Pop Festival was, as they say, happening.