Emptying out the ancestral coolbox after a summer of doleful picnicking, little did we expect such an excrescence of overripe sound. Fortunately, a night’s submersion in the autumn chill of the local crypt took away most of the gamier notes and added an al dente frosting of melancholy. Unaccountably, the shade of Arthur Lowe also seeped into the proceedings. A bit of a jumble, then, but that’s autumn for you.
