Aesthete, poet, impressario, musician, conceptualist and the last Gentleman of pop, Bertrand Burgalat has one of the best ears in the business and the rare facility to revitalise classic pop principles.

As a big sound producer in the tradition of George Martin, Burt Bacharach and John Barry and the owner of the Felliniesque Tricatel Records, Bertrand valiantly upholds artistic and technical ideals long ago discarded by a music industry that has sold its soul.

At a time when it might be celebrating Bertrand's refined, detailed, souflee-light sound and embracing the new perspectives his sensitivity and incredible energy offer, the industry is a creaking, paranoid, increasingly conservative place and for the moment whilst dismal accountants and glorified pub rock prevails, our stylish hero remains a maverick, outside of the discourse, perhaps forever destined to roam the margins.

As the greatest of all mavericks, Orson Welles, famously commented when accepting another meaningless award on behalf of 'all mavericks', "I spend 80% of my time trying to generate backing for my projects. Its no way to spend a life"

Somebody has to wake up to the fact that Bertrand is now at his artistic peak. Posthumous accolades of genius, thirty years down the line, when the rest of the world has finally caught up with him, are of no use whatsoever.