Ahhh, never was a truer word spoken than when a wise man once said ‘A nostalgic 30-something muso and his cash are soon parted’.

I’ve just got back from a trip into Dublin and am now the proud, if slightly embarassed (by the cost) owner of the 20th anniversary edition of Screamadelica by Primal Scream. Like the similar reissue of The Stone Roses it’s a beautifully packaged piece, with both CD & vinyl versions of the albums, remixes, prints and, possibly best of all, the Dixie Narco EP which was the only release to include the song that gave Screamadelica its name.

It’s incredible really that Screamadelica wasn’t included on the album of the same name: it encapsulates the best of what the band were trying to do, and would have been the best track on the album, which, when you consider what did make it on there, is saying something. It starts with a gentle bongo beat, a vibey melody and a sample that appears to be of a scouser encouraging someone to enjoy a trip, which is probably what it is.

The track rolls on for 10 minutes, soulful & euphoric, and you can almost smell the air of an Ibiza unspoilt by Ministry of Sound package holidays and pissed-up lager  louts. Denise Johnson sings the title of the song as if it were some sort of mantra, and in many ways it was & is. 20 years after its release it still stands up alongside Flowered Up’s Weekender as one of the finest tracks of the 90s and in many ways is the buzzed-up, optimistic ying to Weekender’s twisted, cynical yang.

The only thing that I don’t like about Screamadelica is that it reminds me that I had tickets for Primal Scream’s, now legendary, all-nighter gig at Brixton Academy just after the album was released. But because, the week before the gig, I had sneaked out to see a girl despite being grounded, I wasn’t allowed to go. I’m guessing the band would have approved, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.