The best album money can't buy...

I'm in posession of a bit of a rarity - something that arrived in the post the other week; and I've been enamoured with it ever since.

I'm a bit of a fan of quite a few MacIdol artists, but there's one or two that really stand out from the pack. One of the less well-publicised of this leading group is the wonderfully generous owner of the Songalong blog, Slumbering.

A few weeks ago, Slumbs asked me about some technical issues regarding putting together an album. I must confess, at this point I got terribly excited - and then I found out that she was putting it together for her "mama-la" as she calls her (what a softie!) for her birthday.

Anyway, I helped her out with some of the issues in my own ham-fisted way and offered swapsies with my album. Slumby refused because "it wouldn't be fair", but as a "thank you" for helping out she said she'd send me a copy. It arrived the other week, amidst the mayhem of getting a new home in order and, she's right: it wouldn't have been fair.

She'd have been ripped off something rotten.

Where most albums I hear are a collection of songs, albeit carefully ordered, we have here a near-concept album of some vision - one woman's rather individual and innocent/knowing vision - that bristles at times with a mordant sense of humour. If Jan Svankmajer was a reclusive female musician from the San Joaquin valley, he might sound like this. I don't know, I'm guessing. I do know I have a stop motion animation video in my head every time I listen to it.

One of the best aspects of Dark Lullabies is that Slumbering knows when to stop. She doesn't push the concept album envelope to breaking point, and she knows she still has a few tricks up her sleeve: not least two of my favourite songs of the year. So she calls the show to a halt, bounces back on as an indiepop princess and... well. This house is brought down every time.

A gothic vision played out in jerky black and white, followed by the gloriously gaudy colours that all the best pop should be splashed with. It's quite, quite wonderful.

It's my copy; and you can't buy it. In a way, that's a tremendous pity.

OK, I can hear Slumbering's objections - there are flaws in the recording, and I can hear them. But then John Lennon used to routinely keep mic pops, flubbed lyrics and the whole nine yards in Beatles songs - far worse stuff than ever surfaces here. So you'll need another excuse, Slumbering.

Of course, if she simply doesn't want to release it, that's fine and I'm cool with that - but quality control is not an issue here. It's quite the statement as an album.

Of course, until it does get released, I have one of the few copies in the world. And you've no idea how smug that makes me feel.

Find out what all the fuss is about by visiting the collection of songs she keeps online; and if Song for my Mama-la doesn't make you melt, then your heart is made of stone.