Back in olden times, when everything seemed to last forever and change was slow, yet absolutely guaranteed, a wee thang called punk rock came to town & damned (no pun intended) my beloved prog to a somewhat glacial state. My regular trips to Listen Records store in Glasgow (you remember record shops, di'ncha?) where flicking through racks of luvverly gatefold sleeves (which still remains one of any true ancient music lover's biggest thrills, to this day) yielded the prog knowns & many unknowns, upstarts like the Pistols and Sham 69, rudely intervened. Confession. I succumbed to some of these post-prog warriors & although I could never bring myself to ACTUALLY be a punk, masqueraded as a 'Proto Office Numpty Clash Elitist'...or, er, Ponce (don't type that bit). Unbeknown to me, when The Clash fired out Police&Thieves in '77, it had already been recorded by one Junior Murvin. Can you imagine. A reggae-ist with the surname Smith. Anyway, here's our boy, lookin' well shit-faced. RIP Murv.