A steady diet of filterless cigarettes is probably the cause of Richard Butler's gravel-pit groans, here interspersed with the sax lines that were so successful on "Heaven". Nowhere near as vibrant as "Pretty In Pink" this is strictly for US audiences crying out for a pit of pretension in rock instead of the home-grown capsleeves, denims and cowboy boots. (
Frank Gillespie, No 1, January 17, 1987)
A fairly pensive ditty from the band now elevated to a much deserved level of stardom, courtesy of "Pretty In Pink". Difficult to elaborate really. Not one of the Furs' finest moments, and Richard Butler still sounds like his throat is locked in combat with a spoonful of gravel. Oh for another "Love My Way". (
Lesley O'Toole, Record Mirror, January 10, 1987)
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