It's 1994, and I'm sitting on the sofa next to my girlfriend Annette. The house is affordably damp, and lord knows we need the money because we spend everything on records and gigs. Sitting in front of the stereo is my housemate and best friend Sleepy Steve. He is holding a demo tape that he swears will change my life. A bit melodramatic, I think, but his enthusiasm is irresistible. I give Annette's hand a little squeeze, and she gives a little squeeze back. In my head I'm going to be The Guy That Changed Music. Life is pretty damned fine.

He plays the demo. Recorded on one side of a cheap C60 cassette, it sounds raw and comes with the thrilling sense of hearing something incredibly new and exciting. We have no idea that the internet will make such means of distributing new music seem quaint in just another decade. For now, tapes are the door into the underground. The future is still scrawled in biro on inlay cards, and the inlay card to this tape contains just three world in big, black block capital letters:

CAROLINA CAR CRASH