You know, it's really odd that I should come back to this record. At some point in my life, I did listen to Triple J an awful lot, though no more, thanks to the pointlessness of much recent derivapunk. These days, any coincidence between my recent record buying habits and the Jays' playlist is purely coincidental.

But I digress.

What I meant to say was; in the period 1992-1998 I listened to Triple J a lot. During 1996, Triple J featured Tight Sweater one week, and basically flogged much heck out of "Fun For Me", "Day For Night" and a couple of other tracks. Hence I was sort of familiar with them, though I had no idea of their make up - I imagined them to be a bunch of soul train misfits who had somehow fell in with an acolyte of the New Wave Of British Dance Music. The Designers Republic connection didn't hurt, either. But at the time, being largely broke, I just didn't buy the album. So it didn't actually occur to me that the band consisted of one Irish temptress and, err, an acolyte of the New Wave Of British Dance Music.

Fast forward to last year, when I ended up buying them in reverse order: Last year's Things To Make And Do has more live instrumentation, less busy percussion, still with tongue-in-cheek verve. I Am Not A Doctor is challenging, upping the weirdness factor, but after a few listens the songs start breaking inside your skull to stay there. As for Do You Like My Tight Sweater...

Well, it's brilliant, isn't it? There's the songs I mentioned, of course, Roisin's goofy tone reigning supreme on "Fun For Me", a more cruisy approach on "Day For Night". Then there's episodes of putting on the ritz ("Lotus Eaters"), jungle experimentalism ("Butterfly 747") and out-and-out silliness ("Killa Bunnies"). It's all good - except, perhaps "Party Weirdo", which gets a little tedious, enough that I skip it on most listens. And near the close, a moment of bittersweet melancholy in "Where In The What If The What Is In Why?", that asks a whole lot of dumb questions that aren't so dumb, and broaches that sense of mortality that permeates some of my favourite pop moments. I'm a sad tomato.

Would it be a case of drawing a long bow to describe Moloko as the dance music equivalent of The Pixies?