So many musical acts these days seem to be half-dead already by the time anyone notices them. Call this the fickleness of fashion perhaps, which spits out the husks of most things without digesting them. We’re often left with the spectacle of success rather than the product of any genuine talent. And then, against this tide, there’s Brian Eno and David Byrne, thank god.

Everything That Happens Will Happen Today, apparently. It sounds, in all aspects, a little like the past, a little like something Miranda July might say and a little like a kind of alternate future, which we never quite got around to stepping into. Eno, who is not as famous as he should be for creating the Windows start-up music and for being a signed up door-knocking Tony Blair supporter, cites the harmonising influence of American gospel music, which is there, no doubt, but is rendered slightly eerie, slightly cold, by the sprawling electronic fields, and by Byrne’s lyrical knack for the unnerving, domestic portrait. 

There are half a dozen absolute knock-out tracks, the best of which, Strange Overtones, is an instant classic, and a couple which are slightly more jagged, less instantly friendly. But what shines through everything, darkly at times, is a yearning, a not unhappy nostalgia for both past and future, in the midst of the glittering, half-real present