Minimum Chips - Sound Asleep (Sound Malfunction)

You will enter my grandmother's house from the rear of the property through the garden gate. You will leave your strapless heels at the entry and walk the length of the pergola in barefoot. You will encounter a few splinters along the way as well as a trail of assorted peppermint patties. Follow the candy. Follow it to the table under the peach tree. On the table you will find a giant seashell. Inside the seashell you will find a gift. You will unwrap this gift carefully as it is specially wrapped in Pauline Kael's original review of Michelango Antonioni's Blow Up. You will discover the latest Minimum Chips CD Sound Asleep. Under the tablecloth you will find a portable stereo. You will use it to play this CD at a rational volume. By which I mean quite loud. You will encounter music to your ears. You will be seduced by a haunting chanteuse. You will appreciate how this Melbourne [Australia, not Derbyshire – pedantic East Midlands ed. > band are an artefact of colossal importance at glamorous parties. Not only that, but thanks to the severe Francophone funk of ‘Black’ and ‘Sleepy Pea's’ joie de vie, you will find music suited to a lifetime of cuddling computerised kittens.

Now if my grandmother happens to wander out and query you about the King of France, blithely dismiss her. And if she plies you for rouge, again, tell her you are thoroughly occupied. We would not want her to interrupt when the seventh and final track is playing. It is called ‘Eating Out’ and is the pièce de résistance despite its criminally short length. You will like its loudness and the variety of space age, Stereolab-type tinkering. As the song kicks in, my grandmother's lover, the dreaded Señor Esposito, is likely to insist on stroking your hair and pirouetting around you in a breathless gaiety. See if he can sweep you off your feet wearing only a paisley kimono; it should be an intriguing moment of decadence for Minimum Chips to soundtrack.