I’m going to see Shakatak on Thursday night. Or am I?

Half-forgotten and seriously underrated, Shakatak were hugely popular in the 1980s when their sweet brand of jazz-funk could be heard blasting out of Cortinas – including mine – all over London. So I’m digging out the white socks and black Weejuns to go and see them at the Pizza Express in Soho. Trouble is, I don’t know who they are. Unusually for a band whose records I bought, I could neither name nor recognise a single member of Shakatak. They may have all been replaced over the years and I honestly wouldn’t know. But if whoever is playing on Thursday night can still sound like this, I honestly don’t care.