It’s often said the press at the time treated Slowdive badly, but that’s not the whole story. Select was a glossy monthly magazine in the UK, and Andrew Collins gave the album a glowing reviewing.

Slowdive, so damagingly lumped in with the shoegazing movement of 1991, herewith provide us with the second Cocteau Twins album not by the Cocteau Twins since Heaven Or Las Vegas. No mean feat. Their sidewinding guitar fondue-scapes are far more involving and rich than the band’s rather limp reputation might have you believe. It’s not going to unlock the serial killer that exists within us all, but there’s a time and a place for its gently undulating Radox Symphony in ten parts whose defiant dopiness makes for an essential easy listen.

Their debut, Just For A Day, was the blueprint; this is the actual cathedral, a formidable, mature work, its tunes fully realised, its occasional vocal weaknesses (from both Neil Halstead and Rachel Goswell) no longer fatal. Goswell, in one moment, as it happens) smoothly folded in a cooing harmonium, the dub influences of the Souvlaki Space Station and the transfixing acoustic guitar end-piece, ‘Dagger’, would not disgrace a This Mortal Convention, but I think it’s a reliably sensitive album for all sorts of self-exploration and gently fondled contemplation.