If you ask any industry bigwig right now what�s gonna be the next big thing, they�ll all say the same, �Sea Shanties�. Every one of them. You think I�m joking? Well listen up ignorami because I�m not.

You might have noticed ripples rolling in from the Indie scene on both shores of the Atlantic, as The Coral, The Decemberists, and others, have romanticised the plight of the seafarer, but now Shanties are due to hit the mainstream, and hard. As I write this Richard X is in his London studio working on the final mix of �Salty Seadog�, an explosive slab of �neo-shant� purred over seductively by Rachel Stevens. Cathy Dennis, my old pal from our days changing skates at Norwich Rollerama, told me yesterday that she�s just sold three �Shanties� to some �top name artists�. For legal reasons I�m not allowed to say who, but let me assure you these are white hot names. The kind of names that kids get on their knees and pray to. So, you see, Shanties are big business. I�ve also heard that Jennifer Lopez, J-Lo, �Loopy� Lopez, Jell-O, whatever, never one to miss a passing fad, is rumoured to be changing her name to One-Eyed-Jenny. Make of that what you will, might just be street talk. Now what concerns me is the forthcoming release from Britney Spears. This you may have heard about. It�s called, �Wingin�, Blingin� and Not!�, and it�s a �fresh� adaptation of the 19th century poem/song, �Winkin�, Blinkin� and Nod� by Eugene Field. I know this song from the glorious version by Cass Elliot�s pre-fame folk trio, The Big Three. It�s less a shanty than a bewitching lullaby, intended to lull a child into restful slumber, as Winkin� and gang sailed not in rusting trawler through the bleak North Sea, but, �in a wooden shoe/off on a river of crystal light/into a sea of dew.� And it contains some of the most hauntingly beautiful oooh ooohs and aahh ahhs ever waxed, as Tim Rose and Mama Cass harmonise the rolling waves of slumber. Nevertheless because of it�s sea-faring theme (�we�re going fishing for the herring fish/that live in the beautiful sea�), it�ll probably get caught up in the nets of the inevitable �Sea Shanty Fever� cash-in compilations that will soon litter our shores like syringes and floor tiling. I wanted to draw your attention to it now before it gets beaten blue and bloody by the Spears, and rattles out over supermarket tannoys the world over.

This is quite a serious question if you ask me, but then again, this might not concern too many people and unfortunately The Crooner isn't able to give an answer. But if you expect some mockingly ironic, tongue-in-cheek lyrics about mademoiselle Longet it surprisingly isn't. It's quite on the contrary actually, a heartfelt homage, though rhyming "footsteps on the sand" with "pussywillowland" might appear cheesy of course. The music itself is a fluffy piece of indie-pop with a bittersweet tone, with soft male vocals, soft synths, a great vibraphone playing throughout and some airy, well, Longet-esque female vocals in the background.

Powerful vocals... the verses have a strange and different tune- they sound almost like Celine's making it up as she goes along, but in a good way. Even if this isn't her most heartfelt song, it is very good and fun to listen to.

Beautiful, uplifting synth-crossed acoustic sound with their typical hint of sinister mood lingering throughout. Streaming trumpet, whirling keyboard and delicate vocals singing of a hit and miss existence. "Take a walk in the park, take a valium pill/Read the letter you got from the memory girl/But it takes more than this to make sense of the day/Yeah it takes more than milk to get rid of the taste." This and "Electronic Renaissance" are my two favorites by this group, and incidentally stand apart in sound from everything else they've created. Do your ears a favor and hear it...

A bewitching song about a young woman who, to win the hand of a handsome knight, does her rival sister in. The dead girl then comes back to haunt the �black-haired bride� as a harp fashioned from her breast bone and three locks of her hair. �Cruel� may seem too kindly a description of a girl who when her sister pleads, �Oh Sister, Sister, let me live, and all that�s mine I�ll surely give� says, �It�s your own true love I have and more, but thou shalt never come ashore� before abandoning her body to the rough North Sea. Cruel? Should the sister therefore be scalded for her little� transgression? She�s an evil and monstrous sister, surely? But then this is centuries past, a time when sibling murder and human harps were commonplace. I am not likely to understand in this more civilised 21st century. Which may be why the kids don�t really dig British folk music anymore, or the mighty Pentangle. And it�s a crying shame because this is a stunning track, hauntingly sung by Jacqui McShee. I hesitate to use the term �masterpiece� in case that great oracle of musicaltaste.com, fmars, overhears and tells me that I�m wrong.