When I buy the new Goldie album I am pretty excited because I get a free poster of the man with it. My anticipation is further built up from having seen the genius' face on all the covers of the music magazines I read. I make a cup of sugary tea, light up a smoke and put the album on ready to give it my full attention. I strongly believe in the almost forgotten notion that music is made to be listened to and not just to make noise in the background.

And track one called Mother starts. Seems a little familiar, kind of like Inner City Life. And twenty minutes in not a single drum, not a single bass. The song still has forty minutes to go but I’m giving up hope. It sounds like dolphins farting under sea except that dolphins have some redeeming qualities and Mother doesn’t. Goldie is riding the wave of The Great Drum n Bass Swindle. Malcom McClearan has nothing on this joker.

Track two has Goldie reading an old suicide note but it’s a far cry from Kurt Cobain on the MTV unplugged album. I want to feel his pain, I want emotion but I don’t get it. It sounds like Goldie has been listening to Yes albums and this is not a good thing.

Still no beats, then silence but the CD is still playing. Oh a hidden track with more prog rock and David fucking Bowie. And that’s that, clocking in at 74:10.

There is another CD but I’m not bothered.

O.K. I take a shower and light up another cigarette and put the second disk in.

It’s fucking brilliant. The tracks smash and bash against one another. I dance in the sunshine coming through the window. The whole thing grooves and shuffles in all the right places. And on this disk the guest include KRS ONE and Noel Gallagher, not some fifty year-old who still doesn’t know his sexuality. How long does it fucking take you mohawk fool?

Anyway I’ll be playing disc two a lot more than the first one.

I immediately put the poster up.