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IF THERE'S one thing I've found since the mid-1990s, it's that the 1980s just won't go away.

As a 1960s apologist I naturally find this an appalling state of affairs, as we don't need any more pernicious influences convincing the impressionable young that sequenced drums, quivering "handsome" vocals and honking synths were ok really.

Such is the power of television, however, that a certain confluence of elements can make even the most uninspiring lump of sludge appear iconic and resonant, and so it has proved with the 1980s soundtrack which regularly props up the narrative on the Beeb's Ashes To Ashes.

I've come round to liking the programme now after being initially disappointed - if hardly surprised - that it couldn't match the intuitive balance and potent alchemy of its parent, Life On Mars. I'll often find myself marvelling at the effectiveness and emotional clout of an otherwise naff piece of music in a given scene - which I think has everything to do with the magnetic Keeley Hawes and nothing to do with the fact that I'd missed the song's innate brilliance the first time round.

Aaaaannnyyyway, this unweildy preamble is merely a means of explaining the preponderance of new 80s compilations which are on the market, of which the best by some distance is The Edge Of The Eighties (Sony/BMG). The reason for its pre-eminence is that it seeks to downplay the high cheese content which was such a feature of the day in favour of ostensibly worthier fare.

It's by no means entirely successful in this remit, you'd have to say, as there are some utterly unspeakable horrors on here: Einstein A Go-Go by Landscape, In The Name Of Love by the dread Thompson Twins and Safety Dance by Men Without Hats for a crippling kick-off.

However, a sprinkling of gems redresses the balance beautifully: Pearly Dewdrops' Drops by The Cocteau Twins, Up The Hill Backwards by David Bowie, Whip It by Devo and, particularly, the wonderful Talk Of The Town by The Pretenders.

I still wish someone would ask me to do an 80s compilation, as I'm conceited enough to feel as though mine would have to be the definitive article. This one will keep us ticking over in the meantime, however.

Elsewhere in the crazy world of rock and pop, I stumbled upon an album the other day which is so good, so unbelievably good, that I almost kept it to myself and didn't tell anyone about it.

This was a ridiculous train of thought because it's an album which really needs evangelising about, besides which it deserves to sell by the bucketload so shouting its name from the rooftops is essential.

The album in question, How Will I Know If I'm Awake (Marina), is the debut by a young native of Athens, Georgia called Brent Cash, and it's quite the most ravishing burst of sunshine pop I've heard since Todd Rundgren turned his back on the form.

Brent writes fresh and unpredictable chord sequences which spiral and twist like airborne linguini, and dresses these in luscious arrangements twinkling with Surf's Up harmonies and Sergio Mendes benevolence.

For sure, this kind of thing has been done several trillion times over, but it probably hasn't been done this well since 1968 or thereabouts. Listen to Digging The Fault Line for a compact example of everything that is so brilliant about Brent, with a melody so buoyant it's like riding a thermal and a jaw-dropping Tal Farlow-style guitar solo just to push it even further into the realms of the uncanny.

The modern world can't be so bad if there's room in it for the likes of Brent and indeed Smoosh, who some of you may recall me trumpeting about with all the fervour of a bull elephant in a jazz dungeon when their debut album She Like Electric was released in November 2005.

Asya and Chloe, the sisters who comprise the entire line-up of Smoosh, are now old stagers aged 15 and 13, and their new album Free To Stay (Barsuk) is another tour-de-force of unforced, natural charm and jump-up-and-down enthusiasm.

It's a triumph of directness and simplicity - keyboards, drums, vocals and that's your lot - and waves of joy roll off of it throughout. They absolutely love what they're doing and are audibly having the time of their life, and a copy of this album should be summarily delivered to every studio to gee up those bands who have become so jaded that they don't even realise that they are going through the motions.

7:17am Friday 4th April 2008

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