“If Anne Pigalle provided the final, torch‑lit monologue of ZTT’s first great era, then Act were the epilogue — the last fully staged production before the label stepped into a different decade and a different identity.”

The ZTT Collectors Page on Facebook is throwing up some great insight, as well as some musical gems. I wouldn’t claim that I’m a ZTT collector; G Force knitwear and Forest retro kits are bothering my bank account more than rare mid 80’s 12 inches. But Act were a new one on me.

There’s a three hour plus compilation on Spotify. I thought I would give a few tracks a listen on Thursday morning. A couple of hours later and I still hadn’t come up for air.

At a push, Propaganda were my fave ZTT artist. Frankie were the BALLS, Art of Noise in the original guise were the oddities. The brief Grace Jones flirtation is pop perfection.

Overlaying all ZTT artists for this period was the hybrid aesthetics of Trevor Horn’s crisp, industrial production, and Paul Morley’s, ahem, artistic vision.

The Act compilation has all of the above. It could quite easily be Propaganda with a little more pop polish. There’s even a BONKERS cover of Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now.

I’m struggling to think of a contemporary label, or even a musical movement, that carries the same ethos and defining principles of early ZTT. Motown had it in spades. Ditto for Factory. ZTT was perhaps the last manifesto label.

I’d love to read a definitive history of the label. I’m surprised that nothing has yet been written. Maybe the magic behind the curtain is best left undisturbed? Careful what you wish for, etc.

With a spare hour or so out on the Eastern fringes of the Olympic Park to spare, I had a second shifty through the Bowie Archives at the V&A Storehouse. I was a little underwhelmed when the Archives first opened last year. I was in search of Bowie, but instead found a very sterile, soulless experience - something that could rarely be said about Bowie himself.

With the hype for the Storehouse having died down, pre-booking tickets are no longer required. Tuesday lunchtime was pretty quiet at the Storehouse. It led to a more relaxed atmosphere, and not the desire or need to read EVERY Bowie artefact on show, clambering to make sure that I hadn’t missed something.

It remains a revolving display of items on show. The bulk of the Archive is still behind closed doors, waiting to come out once the current run of themes and rarities have run their course. There’s no linear or chronological curation. The Archive is all the better for this.

I really enjoyed my return visit, floating between the various cabinets, and taking a pick ‘n’ mix approach to the detail I wanted to zoom in on. One of my favourite items remains the letter penned by Bowie’s old man back in the mid 60’s, giving him a character reference and asking a music mogul to give him a break.

The costumes on show remain the obvious big hitters. I was struck once again at the petite waistline throughout his career - all the way from Ziggy through to the Earthling late 90’s Union Flag branded jacket. I took a few moments to lose myself in the big screen action. Fashion hit the spot for me on Tuesday.

I’ve listened to this on AirPods. I’ve listened to this on a pair of bass boosting, noise canceling big beasts; I’ve even gone old school and played this on CD through my amp, with bass boosted. Yet it still sounds SO tinny. That’s the appeal, right? You’re always half a track away from a possible film soundtrack. It all adds to the sense of suspense, even if the bass has got lost down the back of the settee.

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Not more punk ska. I wanted to really dislike this. But the uplifting horns on the opener We Will Fall Together got me in my groove. There’s almost a South American feel to the sound, fused with elements of Irish bawdy barroom songs. Mixing pop and politics always helps. Quite a statement of an album. It probably sounds even better at 10pm, rather than my 10am airing.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Twee, cute, dreamy.

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Live albums rarely work. I want to hear the music, not the whooping. Once the audience gets settled, My Morning Jacket have some cracking tunes. It sounds like the melodies however are cranked up for the live crowd. I would have preferred an unplugged format for this album. It worked for Nirvana - probably the best and only decent live album.

⭐ ⭐

I never really got the whole ska punk thing. Slapstick does little to convince me otherwise. I love ska, I love punk. But only in their purest forms. You’re better off listening to Sandinista! from start to finish. So there

⭐ ⭐

He’s so London, he’s so South, etc. Transpontine soul floats all over geography. There’s no mistaking where this album was recorded, despite the generic Geography title. It’s laid back S ldn, and not the SHOUTY SHOUTY version that sometimes boils over in the summer. A half decent spring moment captured, ahead of the more livelier days ahead. Enjoyable, if a little bland.

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And so farewell Andy Kershaw. I was very saddened to hear of his death. I admit to not knowing that he was seriously ill. He seemed to be the type of character that was always there - cutting his broadcasting teeth on Whistle Test, being the wonderfully rude and inappropriate host at Live Aid, his out of place Radio 1 show, transiting to Radio 3, and then even finding a new home in the DIY world of podcasting. But alas, no more.

His random podcast over recent years is actually far better than his wonderful Radio 3 shows, before he got the boot at the Beeb. Kershaw finally found a platform where he didn’t need to hold back and could Tell It Like It Is. In the murky world of post-legacy media, this can often be a euphemism for right wing nut jobs going off on one. But not for Kershaw. If anything, the opposite was true.

Sure, he was flawed at times with a complicated personal life. Who isn’t? It was quite something to be able to rebuild his career, despite both the BBC and the tabloids seemingly doing all that they could to hold him back.

At the core of his dogged determinism was the music. It wasn’t his ego or even financial reward; he had no shame in passing around the begging bowl on his podcast, pleading literal poverty to keep the lights running on the random pods. You sense that he felt it was his mission to get the music out there and share his love of it with others.

I’ve been introduced to many amazing artists thanks to Kershaw. The podcast title of Andy Kershaw Plays Some Bloody Good Records was true to form. What we now broadly know as World Music reaching a larger audience is largely down to Kershaw. His knowledge was vast.

And o farewell Andy Kershaw. He didn’t give a shit, right up until the end.

A new one for me. I wouldn’t describe this as country, despite what Wiki tries to tell you. It’s more in the tradition of Steve Earle. It’s the kind of music Alabama 3 might be making if they came from, erm, Alabama and not Brixton. I could have done without the talky talky bits. Otherwise a very classy alt Americana album.

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐