I was listening to Otway and Barrett on Spotify today, and suddenly remembered that the reason I very first listened to Otway was because someone I fancied at the time was into him.

Has anyone else got a similar confession?

The most heinous incident of this was my Marillion period.

The things we do for love, eh?

Ah, Spotify, it opens up whole new worlds. I realised the other day that I'd never really listened to much death metal, and at the click of a mouse there was a whole lot of it.

Slightly disappointed really; I was expecting to be a lot more scared, but you can't hear the words.

So I'm imagining a new genre in my head, involving tinkling pianos and clipped, precise vocal stylings a la Noel Coward, where the lyrics are all about raping horses or whatever it is that Slayer are bellowing about.

Or has it already been done?

The following brief exchange with the missus...

"What's that horrible noise?"

"That's Sonic Youth, dear."

...got me thinking about the areas where we cross over, where we agree to differ, and plain no-go areas.

When we mutualised our CD collection the only two we had in common were Mezzanine and Automatic For The People.

She brought some pretty cool classical shit to the party. Our first date was John Adams at the Proms.

We both rock out to eels and Lemon Jelly.

I can't play Juliana Hatfield or AC/DC unless she's out of the house. She can't play Jamiroquai unless I'm out of the house.

Anyone else like to share their experiences of compatibility or otherwise with wives/partners/housemates?

I'm sticking this up

partly for a chuckle at the sartorial nadir that was 1985 (the sunglasses! the sleeveless t-shirts! the mullets!) but mainly to hymn the delights of Clive Gregson. Great voice, great songs, great band. And yet he's not particularly well known. Could it be - sorry to be blunt, and harsh - because he's not just challenged sartorially but aesthetically also? Can anyone proffer examples of ugly but successful frontmen?