I’m an anglophile. I drink tea instead of coffee. The BBC is my primary news source, and I spell words like “colour” using the British variants. I’d rather be called a “slag” than a “skank.” Heavy precipitation actually makes me feel less depressed.

Until very recently I considered this an affliction, if only because all things English are stereotypically characterized by what fellow Americans consider an annoying bent toward pretension, emotional chilliness, and unbridled cynicism—attitudes that, as you may imagine, I hardly need help displaying without being identified as an anglophile. Lately, though, there seems to be a shift toward our historical oppressors. Stand-up comedian/ennes like Eddie Izzard appeal to America’s fascination with gender-baiting and the subversive. New classic television like Da Ali G Show is proving that the British humor that actually gets imported has more to offer than references to Greek philosophers and men in dresses. And where do you think Burberry plaid came from anyway?

Not surprisingly, my fetishism extends to my taste in music. One might even say that anglophilia finds its most widespread American manifestation in a love for British music. In the 90s, America revived Beatlemania, and in the process unwittingly set the stage for Oasis to hit the top 40 stateside. Britpop ruled college radio. In the past few years, nu-Britpop acts like the Kaiser Chiefs, Kasabian, the Futureheads, and Bloc Party have been giving American Blur fans who think nothing noteworthy has happened in rock music since Parklife something to do with themselves.

When it comes to music, my anglophilia runs a little deeper than more recent Britpop. Starting with The Village Green Preservation Society, I love everything that makes a subject of its own Britishness, all the way up to Britpop godfather Morrissey’s solo work to the particular East London-isms of grime sensation Dizzee Rascal. The more stilted and mannered, the better. Every few weeks I’ll revisit England here and share some of the highlights from my favorite British music, as a gift from one anglophile to an imagined other. This week, three shoegazer classics:

One of my favorite detours British indie music took from straightforward rock was in the direction of dream pop, and dream pop has never sounded more ethereal than it does on this EP by the original shoegazer icons, the Cocteau Twins. Sandwiched between Treasure and Blue Bell Knoll, fans often complain that this EP is one of the most overlooked, too often losing out to Love’s Easy Tears for critical acclaim. Its first track, “Aikea Guinea,” is one of the most beautiful songs I’ve ever heard and showcases some of the best of Liz Fraser’s legendary vocals.

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Often called “the black Jesus and Mary Chain” and unfairly written off as derivative, duo Alex Ayuli and Rudi Tambala joined forces in London in 1986. After collaborating on the wildly successful M/A/R/R/S single “Pump up the Volume,” organized by the visionary behind both Beggar’s Banquet and 4AD, Ivo Watts-Russell, A.R. Kane released their first full-length, Sixty-Nine. Complete with shoegaze’s trademark chorus and tape echo guitar effects, Sixty-Nine listens like a prophecy of what the 90s would sound like. Tracks like “Dizzy” and “Spermwhale Trips Over” evoke predecessors the Cocteau Twins without imitating them.

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If you’re aren’t convinced that I’m a true anglophile yet, you’ll believe it when I say that I much prefer Slowdive to their (mostly) Irish counterparts and one-time Creation labelmates, My Bloody Valentine. Eno-produced Souvlaki is why. The guitars here often reference Vini Reilly while layers of echo, reverb and feedback unfold on songs like “Machine Gun” and “Souvlaki Space Station” to reveal vocal melodies and harmonies so soporifically gorgeous it’s hard to resist falling asleep on the spot. By comparison, Loveless seems dissonant and energetic.

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