IN 1981, I was invited to join the pioneering, category-busting and extremely eclectic independent label Cherry Red Records and, once signed, was invited into the despatch department to take my pick of anything in their back catalogue.

It was thus that I got hold of a copy of Miniatures, a compilation LP put together by former Mott The Hoople keyboard player and Cherry Red collaborator Morgan Fisher, released a year before. A vast number of luminaries had contributed 51 tracks, all under a minute in length.

Some of it was great, some weird but the album was unique and memorable and therefore brilliant.  

And so I was intrigued when at some point early last year, I think, or the year before — possibly: lockdown has liquidised time — Barry Lamb invited me to contribute to a new project, Miniatures 2020, which was intended to be a 40th-anniversary celebration of the same format.

I was honoured and knew exactly what my contribution would be. A very, very long time ago I had written a surrealist poem set in Flanders called Mountaineering In Belgium. I thought it would be ideal for the project because it is batshit weird.

And I was right. Some of Miniatures 2020 is weird and, of that, some is good weird and some batshit weird. But the album is unique and memorable and therefore brilliant.  

So, job done, 40 years on. However, when it comes to a review — and you can make your own mind up about my contribution — there is a major difference between the two projects.

Due to the constraints of the vinyl format, Morgan Fisher’s original was only 51 minutes long, ie 51 tracks. With the CD format, such constraints are out of the window and, blow me, there are two CDs, and 129 tracks.

Normally when I review an album I stick it on, have a look at the sleeve and let it wash over me, often while doing something else.

But with Miniatures 2020 there was no question of that. The sheer amount of care, effort and brain-busting commitment which Barry Lamb, William Hayter and Big Al Davies have put into it, and the incredible diversity of the material, meant that it demanded 100 per cent concentration, eyes glued to the beautiful 64 page booklet.

And there had to be notes on each track because otherwise I wouldn’t have a clue what was what after I had listened to it.

By the time I have finished writing this I will have spent at least half a day engrossed and writing. Fitting, therefore, that Barry Lamb’s track is called Eilkrankheit. Not as well known as schadenfreude but another genuine adoption of a German term into our language.

It literally means “hurry sickness” but is defined as fatigue or stress resulting from intense activity. No stress, Barry. It was an absolute pleasure. Although your track is batshit weird, so that makes two of us.

So here we go. 129 tracks, remember. I listened to them all.

Favourites: Tom Robinson singing a surreal sea shanty about doing a group selfie, Rosie Abbott sounding like 1970s Radio Tirana might have done if it broadcasted from Skegness, Toyah sounding like a railway station announcer arguing with Laibach, Wavis O’Shave doing Chicory Tip on glue, Peter Blegvad being downright spooky, Emperor Rhubarb just playing a minute of bliss, Findlay Napier singing about a mayfly, Billy Bragg playing Beethoven on guitar amd Sonja Kristina singing about an ornamental violin.

Then there’s Kevin Hewick and Martin Newell being heartwarming, Jaded Teatime Orchestra playing a dentist’s drill, Andy Ellison being surprisingly conciliatory, John Otway being wistful, Clive Pig being porcine, John Greaves doing Jacques Brel on acid, Jake Burns and Sensible Gray Cells being very tuneful and Helen McCookerybook singing about moths.

Oh, and Frenzied Melon and Pariah State Building, just for the names.

But well done everybody and well done to the compilers. Buy it, grab a beer, sit down and immerse. Available from: roughtrade.com/gb/various/miniatures-2020.