Because of atrocities committed by the likes of the Nice, Spinal Tap and Soft Machine, there is an argument that jazz should not be allowed anywhere near pop. Mr Scruff - aka DJ Andy Carthy - has flown in the face of this advice for years, cheerily fusing saxophones and scat with breakbeats.

Trouser Jazz kicks off in similar fashion, with Avalanches-type playfulness and an inventive, mix-and-match approach to samples. However, things are soon scuppered as the powerful jazz curse - which dictates that anyone from a pop background who dabbles with the magic falls prey to indulgence and unlistenable noodling - wreaks terrible vengeance.

Druggy scat singing and titles such as Valley of the Sausages are bad enough, but the appalling nadir arrives with Ahoy There!, featuring a Captain Pugwash-type rambling over a cheesy sea shanty. One for compulsive Muji shoppers, goatee-bearded trendies, smokers of "jazz cigarettes" and Madonna, who is apparently a fan.