Hustle into bed - delicatessen

The reasons for choosing to puchase an album are many and varied, well that's bleeding obvious, yet it is interesting to reflect on why. Why that moment? Maybe it caught your eye in the rack, maybe you remember a half-mentioned anecdote which rendered the band suddenly fascinating? Delicatessen were of the latter proposition; in my student days much time was spent in Record Collector, a store in Broomhill, Sheffield which had rack upon rack of second hand CDS, a treasure trove of obscure delights. I chanced upon (amongst other things) this 'hustle into bed' - the only thing I knew about the band was that the singer was allergic to water or something equally bizarre. It also had a song named after a letter sent by Jack the ripper and a suitably seedy vibe from the moulded greens of the front cover artwork. Re-emerging from isolation amongst a pile of unloved singles (now off to the charity shop) it is a strange album, full of asthmatic gasping singers, gin-soaked violins and deep melancholia. Not one for a quiet Sunday afternoon unless there is a bloody knife on the butcher's block.