Reverb-TV Matt Lidis Column

Two Caucasian adult males. Ages indefinable. Standing in front of a background of exotic looking green leaves. Both wearing Hawaiian shirts tucked into white-belted black leather trousers. They had backcombed, bottle-blonde mullets. Both were clutching glasses containing what, ostensibly, was a tropical cocktail. Both glasses had a florescent novelty straw that curled round the outside of the glass towards the owners' grinning mouths. One straw was bright green, the other bright orange - the same orange that bordered this incredible scene. This was the cover art for the 1984 hit single Agadoo by Black Lace.

Even as an infant I knew there were powerful forces at work. Equal parts harmless fun and crushing misery, this unforgettable sleeve served as a perfect indicator of what the grooves of the cheap vinyl within it could yield with the aid of a needle.

During the countless number of times I pushed pineapple and ground coffee at subsequent school discos, childhood birthday parties and irony fuelled adult piss ups; the sound of those synthesised calypso beats would always bring that disturbing cover art to mind. Agadoo sounds like the sleeve and the sleeve looks like Agadoo. Having a basic grasp of human psychology, I know that we have no choice but to associate the sight and the sound in this situation, especially when the contents are so saccharin, but there's a lot to be said for cover art.

In the early 60s record companies began to realise that the cardboard container for their goods that up until then merely served as a list of contents (see a grinning Jim Reeves bravely contesting for cover space with the tracklisting) could now serve as an another facet to the recording inside - both commercially and artistically.

The portable billboard/blank canvas that the 12" album sleeve provides meant that making eye catching album covers could sell records in a way that appealed to music lovers. The world of photography, art and graphic design all had chance to capture minds and wallets via the records racks and music pages. Over the decades these images have become synonymous with the songs. Sometimes operating on a higher level - every day of the week people who probably don't even own Abbey Road can be seen posing for photographs on a certain North West London zebra crossing.

I've got no place sitting here rattling through all the iconic album sleeves there have been through the years, there are plenty of coffee table books out there that serve that purpose. But, as technology over the years has shrunk our recorded media, from cassette to CD to minidisc and beyond, our cover art has shrunk away with it. The paper dressing on our sonic salad now missing in the age of the download, we are often faced with nothing at all to please our eyes whilst we listen. Nothing to hold in our hands. No sleevenotes to read. The music, for that is what is important here, has been forced out naked into selling its binary code cold and raw on the streets of the internet.

The amount of free music out there can lead to a download swamping. When I first found out that there was free music on the internet I went crazier than a bald monkey-touching pervo on whizz in a massive swimming pool. I opened my aural passages wider than a big old nasty hooker's snatch and accepted all contenders with open ear drums. But not for long. The sheer amount of nasty surprises out there meant my town slag approach to the digital revolution evolved into a much more refined and chaste pursuit. I know you can argue that it's all free and we don't lose anything by giving some files a chance, but I just miss rummaging through a record shop bargain bin and something beautiful catching my eye.

Over the years I've bought a lot of records simply because they had a lovely cover, that have turned out to be complete gash. But, once in a while, there is a gem to be found by this supremely judgemental approach to buying sound based on vision. And, rather than visiting a website that will offer you some free files you might like to take home for nothing based on the other bands you like, finding something beautiful by your own means is a rare experience. It gives you a sense of romance, luck, justification and also helps to forge a bond between you and the people that chose that beautiful image for their album sleeve.

Music is what is important here, but the lack of something tangible to treasure, something to maul whilst you are listening seems to devalue music in a way that is hard to define. But, I'm pretty sure that Morrisey's choice of The Smiths' cover art raised the devotion-o-meter a couple of points for most of their fans and the sleeve of Agadoo served as some DANGER BEWARE wasp-tail like natural warning to music purists everywhere.