Flicking idly through the Guardian a couple of days back, I noted that an old heroine of mine has got a new album out.
I've been caught by this sort of thing before - an admired musician from my youth resurfaces with a new album, I rush straight out and buy it looking forward to either a wallow in nostalgia as they strut through some new-but-oddly-very-familiar material, or a thrill as a new musical direction and technical skill enhances the old tunes and style.
I then get horribly disappointed as the new album turns out to be a load of old tosh hurriedly thrown together to squeeze a bit of hard-earned out of people exactly like me. Yes, Pete Shelley and Howard Devoto - I mean you and your dreadful, lazy "Buzzkunst" effort of a few years ago.
So - I checked out Poly Styrene's new release very carefully on You Tube and the like before making any rash purchasing decisions. Only to learn that Poly is seriously ill and hospice-bound in her hometown. She's 53, for gawd's sake, and fighting for her very life.
This is not an "in memoriam", nor a trite "get well soon" - just a tribute to very poorly woman who has given me huge pleasure and some insight through her work (the idea of feminism was strange one to a fourteen year old wannabe punk until Poly blasted the world with her version of it) .
This is Poly Styrene in her pomp. As one commenter on You Tube put it "what a brilliant fucking noise".