Time is called on the contrarian investigation of the post-Britpop era: Mogwai and Earl Brutus weren't quite obscure enough, I feel; and neither Telstar Ponies nor Freeboy have graced YouTube with their presence. So let's skip back a few decades, and consider a 1960s that fabness and groovydom forgot. I'm particularly intrigued by the moment (about 1:44) at which the choreographer suffers some sort of cerebral catastrophe. Thanks to my sister-in-law, Siri in Sorrento, for alerting me to this one.
PS: Alistair@ Unpopular has brought out a fanzine. Yeah, a proper one, on paper. With a free badge! I feel 17 again.