Return of the living dead

I'M KICKING myself, and anyone else within footshot, for missing the reportedly transcendent 40th anniversary Odessey & Oracle shows performed by The Zombies in London recently.

Consolation of a sort is provided by Repertoire's recent "anniversary edition" double CD reissue of the masterpiece in question, and the compilation album in front of me which is nicely tricked out in florid Odessey-style psychedelic artwork, namely The Zombies And Beyond.

Before the Odessey event, original Zombies Rod Argent and Colin Blunstone had spent a couple of years performing extensively with a touring line-up comprised of Rod's cousin, Jim Rodford, on bass, Jim's son Steve Rodford on drums and Keith Airey on guitar, and this compilation is based almost exactly on the set they put together for those shows.

For casual punters, this means a generous representation of hits from every stage of Colin and Rod's careers: another outing for the deathless She's Not There and its innocent beat pop follow-up Tell Her No, the Odessey cornerstone Time Of The Season (a huge hit in the US, inexplicably ignored in the UK), that brace of lovely Colin Blunstone solo hits from the early 1970s (Say You Don't Mind, I Don't Believe In Miracles), Argent warhorses Hold Your Head Up and God Gave Rock And Roll To You, and the 1980s Colin Blunstone and Dave Stewart cover of What Becomes Of The Broken Hearted.

An additional three flawless tracks from Odessey just underscore why you really, really need to buy the whole album, four "new" tracks from Colin and Rod's noughties rejuvenation prove that they're still firing on all creative cylinders, and a handful of left-field flankers are in situ to provide a little thrill for the Old Faithful among us - notably Colin's lambent Caroline Goodbye from 1971's One Year album, and a great, questing Zombies single from 1966, Indication.

I'm well aware of the fact that I haven't so much reviewed this album as merely named the tracks on it, but that's only because this stuff hardly needs reviewing. Just saying the titles of the songs is enough to make your legs give way and your tear ducts prickle, and the fact that there is enough of an audience out there now to merit this compilation's existence is the happy ending The Zombies always deserved. Buy several copies - and don't forget to bung Odessey & Oracle in the bag while you're about it.

Elsewhere in today's pile, it cheers me no end to acknowledge the presence of a new album by my chums Garfield's Birthday, namely Let Them Eat Cake - blessed for the most part with the band's most muscular production to date (take a bow, Al!) and crammed end to end with characteristic Teenage Fanclub-style melodic robustness.

To hear the big old harmonies of Punch & Judy Man, Take A Ride and We Know Your Name is to be reminded of the Stiff Records slogan "pure pop for now people", while The Bastion Of Teenage points a wry finger and makes you relieved that you don't have to be a teenager anymore.

Speaking of which, an exhausting listen to the debut album by Sam Sparro has reminded me that I can't get far enough away from dancefloor action these days. It ticks all the retrocentric 1980s boxes, plus some unedifying bonus ones, to such a relentless degree that it will surely sell in the quatrillions.

We're talking about slap bass on 21st Century Life, squelchy synthesised handclaps and a queasy helping of New Order glumness on Sick, a close-miked Prince falsetto on Hot Mess, and a primitive Grandmaster Flash groove on Clingwrap. Cottonmouth is effectively Body Talk by Imagination, with a sneaky nod to Strawberry Letter 23 by Shuggie Otis in the first piano trill. Overall, I suppose it is a superior product of its kind, but still...help me out here.

Also not my bag, I fear, is the debut album by young scenesters Cajun Dance Party. It's all very brash, widescreen and confident, in an Arcade Fire way, but I simply can't get on with Daniel Blumberg's vocals: that over-emphatic, spitty, breathless, gasping, yelpy, yowly thing that everyone seems to be doing now.

Time Falls scampers off with the prize for the most annoying melody I've heard in aeons, and I must shamefully admit that I can't really tell them apart from The Kooks - or anyone else.