You emerge knowing that you have witnessed a ritual of compelling power, even if the significance of some of the symbolism that has been added to the piece in Mihai Maniutiu's staging remains uncertain. Music that isn't about the so many men but about so many times; eras, stages, movements, moments celebrated or wasted. When you were out dancing, out drinking, doing something every boogie night, sure of everything, certain of yourself. Not knowing that the longer you lived the less you'd know, that there were melodies that did not linger, but would one sour day have the power to haunt.Still, you close your eyes, lend an ear and it's almost yesterday once more. You almost remember what it was like to have more future than past, and whatever hurt you suffered could be mended in 48 hours: "Living for the Weekend", "I'm Getting Over You", "I Will Survive", "Don't Stop Till You Get Enough".You grab another record, drop the needle, listen again And again Listen for ghosts.

The ghosts of who you were without you realising it, and the chances that slipped through your fingers, out of your bed, out of your orbit, off your chart. It's not merely the ballads - the usual suspects: Mitchell plugging "Electricity", Midler sighing "Hello, In There", Simon saying loving you is the right thing to do- but the burning harshness of disco - "This Is It", "Hit and Run Lover", "You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)" - to the catchy shallowness of electro-pop: "Don't You Want Me Baby?". Leave the kitchen, go into the front room, dig out dusty singles, ancient LPs. In a sort of mild panic you play them, one by one, over and over, slowly amazed at just how many names, faces, places and feelings were discarded in the journey to Here, at just how much you've casually buried. You switch him off, add the coffee mug to a sink already choking on its duties.