Manchester’s Alabaster de Plume is one of the most underrated artists working in Britain, a jazz-folk boundary-pusher with a quiet, and quietly disturbing, music box aesthetic whose flourishes reward repeated listening. Laconic, spoken-sung lyrics disavow cynicism and safety and advocate risk and vulnerability in ways raw, raucous and wry; think John Cooper Clark dining with Fellini, or Donovan on a day trip with Sun Ra and Bowie. A double album recorded over a two-week period at Dalston’s Total Refreshment Centre with a different set of musicians each day – without rehearsal, with no playback – Gold’s 19 filmic tracks were fashioned cut-and-paste style, each unfurling unhurriedly, sometimes cacophonously, often on dreamy tangents. The likes of pianist Matthew Bourne and synth wizards Danalogue and Paddy Steer – another unsung Manc visionary - feature through a work whose highlights are many.

Among them, the louche ‘Don’t Forget You’re Precious’, a sort of Gen X ‘Everybody’s Free to Wear Sunscreen’ lifted by choral harmonies and de Plume’s side-blown tenor sax; ‘Do You Know A Human When You See One’ with its dark, Weimar-era underbelly; and ‘Again’, which features the ghostly, gorgeous vocals of Guinea-born Falle Nioke. Each a mini sermon. Each sparkling with take-it-or-leave it bon mots. This is one of the best: “I will not be safe,” intones de Plume at one point. “I will be magical.”