...and we all know what happened to the Nuclear Pope...

Kicking us off first is band names.
You see, there was a time, I promise you, when band names were actually good. Hard to believe, isn't it? I'll give you a cracking example. You take four young lads, massive fans of Buddy Holly and The Crickets, inventing a style of music known as Beat music, put the two together, and you get: The Beatles. D'ya see what they did there? Not hard, is it? Well, yes. Apparently it is.
Take a look at this little Hall of Shame, which is all too sadly genuine I'm afraid, and tell me, if possible, what the hell any of them were thinking.

1 - The Boxing Ghandis

2 - Psychic Buddhist Gorillas

3 - Crispy Ambulance

4 - Sinus Envy

5 - Fart Kazoo

6 - Why Do You Keep Cutting Off My Hands

7 - Chimney Factory

8 - The Gaza Strippers

9 - Mr.Holland's Anus

10 - Uncle Bob Touched Me

And that really is just a drop in the ocean. Come back next week and you'll see that, unfortunately, we've only just begun.

Now it's time for the bit we all know and loathe:

So, let's get this straight. You're trying to sell religion - not an easy thing anyway in this day and age - so you decide to make a record. Fine. Nothing wrong with that, just look at Gospel music. But, the icons pictured here aren't very...well...iconic, are they? No. They're three men in tank tops who clearly had to sign some sort of register when they left prison, and their mutually-shared wife, whose expression of sheer fear looks like there's horrors in her head that her tongue dare not name. The grip on her right shoulder is a non-lethal version of that employed by Spock in Star Trek, and it tells her: "Don't go to the police or we will kill you." Whatever you do, innocent reader, DO NOT GO INTO THAT RED BARN.

Heyyyy, Laydeeeeez, heeeeeere's Tino!! Oh, what's happening? Tino is not looking at the ladies, he's looking at YOU, sir. The wedding ring blatantly rammed on his finger moments before the photo was taken by his aghast agent fools no-one. POR PRIMERA VEZ. I can think of a lot of things that that might mean in English, but I bet none of 'em are right.

A line-up consisting of, I think it's fair to assume, the founding members of The Country Church. Theirs is clearly is not a question that any man or boy would delight in being asked by these individuals. The man with the glasses seems to hypnotise you. Try it - try looking at the other three's faces for any length of time, but it's old Mr. Glasses who keeps drawing your gaze back. Not even a 'please' at the end of their request either, just a demand of 'Let Me Touch Him'. Note: the answer, in ALL circumstances, must always be a 'No'.

Yes, and I've got a recurring nightmare about those two little girls off The Shining.
Step forward, The McDonald Sisters. Clearly two of Charles Manson's less intelligent disciples, who got lost in the woods on the way to Sharon Tate's house. And confidence is one thing, but the one on the left is almost looking a bit cocky, isn't she? They have a look about them, when you just know they've featured in an Alabama newspaper in a story that ends with the words: "Before turning the guns on themselves."

Finally for this week, we move along to another new section: Albums Everyone Should Own.

When it comes to music, I'm a bit of a...well, I don't know exactly what the right words is, but it should help you fill in the blank when I tell you that my dear wife refers to me as a 'Music fascist'. I'm a bit of a hardliner when it comes to who I allow into my own record collection. But the way I see it, there's only one real pre-requisite: - someone that plays and sings from the heart. That's all it boils down to, really. That's it. Something real, with no ego, and total honesty. And like all people in a similar position, I'm quite passionate about it. For example, In equal length and measure, I'd be more than happy to sit down with you for exactly twenty-four hours and tell you precisely why Bob Dylan and Keith Richards should be granted ever-lasting life, followed by another twenty-four hours telling you with equal precision and passion, why James Blunt and The Kooks should and will burn a million deaths in the very bowels of Hell.

Given that, I'll kick the whole thing off in style.

I own hundreds of records. Despite this, there's no real competition when it comes down to picking my own Desert Island Disc. It's this thing here.

Recorded in a drug-fuelled French Chateau's basement. Forged in a foggy eight-month stint over 1971 and 1972. Simply put, Exile On Main Street is the only record you'll find that has everything on it. Blues, Gospel, Rock & Roll, Country, Rock, Soul, Love, Hate, Truth, Lies and everything in between. It's dominated by a swampy, muddy, all-consuming sound that never lowers the standard for a second.
All told, there's eighteen songs sprawled over two albums that reached number one in both the UK chart and America's Billboard Top 100, selling three million copies.
Exile On Main Street blends all English and American influences that came before it instinctively to produce a new sound and prime example of Rock & Roll at it's fighting and frightening best.
A band has never sounded as switched-on as this. Songs like Sweet Virginia, Tumbling Dice, Happy and Shine A Light inspired countless bands and genres, and prompted a new generation to pick up guitars.
This is what it's all about.

NEXT TIME.....more of the same, PLUS! Musician's mug-shots...When Music and Comedians Collide...and-Comedy Spotlight-Bill Hicks.