ABSTRACT
[The late sixties were] a time when, having purchased a new gatefold album, you would get it home and religiously study every image, comma and hieroglyph on the sleeve for any last nuance of possible meaning. It was vital to believe that the group were trying to contact you through the images, and were saying deep things through the juxtaposition of totally disparate things. I scrupulously read all the lyrics, all the credits, and spent hours thinking to myself: “Now what do they mean—Printed in Slough?” 1
