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it is only fate, and perhaps the Jazz Butcher's daft name (he doesn't play jazz, and mutilation is not his forte), that has made Robyn Hitchcock the English eccentric college-rock favorite, and Mr. Butcher (real name: Pat Fish) not. On his latest LP, the attention-grabbing songs are the thumpin guitar rambles (pete!/pat) sort of Lloyd Cole on acid (!?) filled with silliness about this thing for Shirley Maclaine, but as usual his best songs are the slow, love-lorn reveries when he stops being weird and is just captivatingly soft and wet. written by: chris heath of details magazine
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