The Fall - Call For Escape Route (Beggars Banquet)

I'd love to know just how many takes it needed to get Mark E. Smith's lead out of tune. Maybe the guy has a natural talent for it. Similarly, it must have taken hours of valuable studio time to get that tinny guitar sound just so; time that could have been spent writing a decent song. (Dave Ling, No 1, October 27, 1984)

Queen - Hammer To Fall (EMI)

The fourth single to be taken from The Works. Just who are Queen trying to kid? I saw them play a stunning concert at Wembley recently but I remember writing "tuneless dirge" in my notebook alongside "Hammer To Fall". Why should I change my mind now? (Dave Ling, No 1, September 15, 1984)

There's something decidedly suspect about grown men poncing around in frocks and false boobs, and Queen are certainly old enough to know better. That they get away with these sort of antics says something for the loyalty of their fans, but this mess of a song will test the dedication of even those misguided souls. An overblown, melodramatic piece of nothing. (Karen Swayne, No 1, September 22, 1984)

When people start referring to their musical output as 'product' - as Freddie Mercury did on Radio l's Saturday Live the other day - it's a sure sign that the tinkle of cash registers has become more important than artistic integrity. This time it's Brian May's turn to put a bit of money in the bank and, although his song's about as modern as his stage outfits (i.e. prehistoric), it's bound to be a monster hit. How depressing. (Vici MacDonald, Smash Hits, September 27, 1984)

Giorgio Moroder With Philip Oakey - Together In Electric Dreams (Virgin)

Philip Oakey is perhaps better known as the voice of the Human League whilst Giorgio Moroder is the maestro behind film scores such as Midnight Express and producer of the likes of Donna Summer. The resulting combination is not the titanic musical equivalent of King Kong vs Godzilla but rather, methinks, the chance to get in on the Electric Dreams Hollywood film bonanza. Sadly, what could have been a thriller in Manilla sounds rather like a low down in show town. (Pedro, Record Mirror, September 15, 1984)

The title track from one of the best films I've seen all year, Electric Dreams. Giorgio supplies the dazzling synthwork and Human Leaguer Phil(ip) Oakey lends his voice to a surprisingly catchy song. There's even a guitar solo in the middle, which adds a touch of variation and originality. You can dance or headbang - take your pick. (Dave Ling, No 1, September 15, 1984)

Bonnie Tyler - Here She Comes (CBS)

The new Giorgio Moroder-ised version of Metropolis has attracted some well dodgy geezers and boilers ... and why he wants to go and ruin such a great film by accompanying it with such dross as this - who knows? On the heels of the camp-fire favourite Freddie Mercury with his "Love Kills" opus, comes the Welsh wench of mammoth proportions ploughing her way through another track from the movie. Fritz Lang is currently turning in his grave. (Dylan Jones, Record Mirror, October 20, 1984)

Taken from the soundtrack to Metropolis, this could well be Bonnie's biggest hit since she made No.1 with "Total Eclipse Of The Heart". Slower than "Eclipse", it drifts along aimlessly on waves of melodic synthesisers . Besides helping out with Electric Dreams, Giorgio Moroder wrote this song, produced it and presumably contributed the keyboards. This time next year he should be a rich man. (Dave Ling, No 1, October 27, 1984)

David Bowie - Blue Jean (EMI America)

Used to be that one thing you could never accuse Bowie of being was ordinary. Until "Let's Dance", that is. Suddenly, in a successful bid for mainstream appeal, he chucked away the weird quality that had in the past inspired so many people. The result was a slick but fairly ordinary pop LP. "Dull, dull, dull," our reviewer commented at the time, and for Bowie that was an unpardonable sin. On this, the first track of the batch that'll make up the next LP, he's stuck to the basic "Let's Dance" rock band format, added (but way in the distance) some wiggy percussion and made a single that can only be described, once again, as dull. At least, by his standards. (Dave Rimmer, Smash Hits, September 13, 1984)

With a legend like Bowie it's all too easy to let the past cloud the present. The prowess and magic of his old gems can often lead to an all too critical eye being placed on his every move whereas conversely, it may allow him to get away with murder. Any hopes of an Ali style comeback could be daunted though. Standards are standards and this is as standard - i.e. mediocre - as they come. (Pedro, Record Mirror, September 15, 1984)

When this record was first slapped onto the No.1 stereo a reverential silence descended on the office. "It's a bit plain," somebody ventured when it was finished, and at the time I agreed. However, as with most of Bowie's recent work 'Blue Jean' is more of a grower than an instant favourite. Not one of his all-time greats. But listen twice before you make up your mind. (Dave Ling, No 1, September 15, 1984)

The Style Council - Come To Milton Keynes (Polydor)

An offbeat and disappointing effort from Mick'n' Paul, a reliable pair whose singles have consistently satisfied even if their albums haven't. With tongues firmly in cheeks they tell the tale of a couple 'moving to a new town' in search of work but finding a situation equally as desperate as before. 'I may slash my wrists tonight,' sings Weller in the middle. I'll join you if I have to listen to this rubbish again. (Dave Ling, No 1, June 29, 1985)

Waft along with Mick and Paul as they cycle off into those beautiful sunsets that exist only in some advertising executive's mind. Drink in that light, happy beat, that sweet irony on the Weller breath, that sharp, strong production. One of the most immediately accessible tracks on the Our Favourite Shop LP and another top 10 hit for the Councillors. (Eleanor Levy, Record Mirror, July 29, 1985)

Prefab Sprout - Faron Young (Kitchenware)

The Sprouts finally deliver a single worthy of their adulatory press. Sprightly and catchy, Paddy McAloon's pleasantly sincere vocals make you ignore just how pretty darned weird are the words he's singing. (Eleanor Levy, Record Mirror, July 29, 1985)

The Sprouts' attention to detail is what raises them above the dross. Quite what Paddy McAloon has in mind when he chants 'you give me Faron Young, four in the morning' is open to the individual's interpretation, but somehow it doesn't seem to matter. The musical arrangement is pleasant and the bit at the end which sounds like toads singing round a campfire is a stroke of genius. (Dave Ling, No 1, June 29, 1985)

Having previously dismissed P. Sprout as flitty and too clever by half, I now find myself forced to eat my words. This is an English truck-drivin' song about having to eat Yorkie Bars in the horrific surroundings of motorway "service areas" and listening to the ghastly weepies of country crooner Faron Young on a crackling in-cab radio. At least, I think that's what it's about. Anyway, the lot of the lorry driver is not a happy one and "Faron Young" (the song not the singer), with its deft quotes from C&W banjo-pickin' and steel guitar music, is witty, charming and quite excellent. (But I still say this group has a stupid name.) (Tom Hibbert, Smash Hits, July 3, 1985)

The Fall - Couldn't Get Ahead (Beggars Banquet)

Psychobilly was a name coined to describe wild and wonderful horror folk the Cramps. This latest from the dear old Fall could fit such a description equally well, although the Manchester band owe far more to the living than the dead. The whole thing bops along jerkily but with a total joy and life that's brilliantly infectious. Wild. (Eleanor Levy, Record Mirror, June 29, 1985)

Mark E. Smith is without doubt the man with the most revolting voice in modern day music. A tuneless dirge with puerile lyrics presumably written on his tube ticket to the studio, "Couldn't Get Ahead" is an utter embarrassment from start to finish. I've always placed pride before a Fall, maybe it's time Mr Smith started doing the same. (Dave Ling, No 1, June 29, 1985)

John Foxx - Stars On Fire (Virgin)

Unlikely as it may sound, the man whose "Underpass" single inspired a generation to pick up a Casio synthesiser has ditched his robotic style for something altogether more human. That's not to say he sounds any better though. The keyboards are still in evidence, but his songwriting hasn't improved during his lay-off. Tell this Foxx to trot off. (Dave Ling, No 1, June 29, 1985)

You can't help feeling John has missed the boat. His time should have been at the turn of the decade when "Underpass" just about summed up that whole synthesiser sound around then. In truth, his work has improved a hundred-fold. This is an enjoyable, Beatles-ish song, but "Europe After The Rain" was better, and that failed to make him a star and I don't hold out much hope for this either. (Eleanor Levy, Record Mirror, June 29, 1985)

The Bolshoi - A Way (Beggars Banquet)

In these days of increasing musical mimicry it's pleasing to see a young band attempting to do their own thing, Marquee regulars The Bolshoi are one such a group. Admittedly there's a sprinkling of Simple Minds, U2 and a host of influences fighting to get out, but they don't override what the Bolshoi are trying to get across. An interesting hotchpotch of ideas, but hardly Top Fifty fodder. But with experience and application, who knows? (Dave Ling, No 1, April 26, 1986)

Blancmange - I Can See It (London)

Hardly an obvious hit for Blancmange, especially after the way that their last single "Lose Your Love" failed to set the world alight. This newie is quite an anonymous offering by comparison. In fact, without knowing who the artist was beforehand you'd be hard pushed to guess correctly - until the Indian noises start creeping in towards the end. That's not to say it's an awful record, just stunningly average. (Dave Ling, No 1, April 26, 1986)

Annabella - Fever (RCA)

She's back. Back! Annabella Lwin, the girl with the striking hair and the tingling squeak who rocketed to fame for two seconds with Bow Wow Wow - back! And her voice - husky and controlled - is sounding quite marvellous. Unfortunately for her, though, some studio personage who shall remain nameless (i.e. producer Jimmy Lea of Slade) has gone very wonky: in an attempt to soup up the sound of this much-recorded cracker of the '50s, he's stuffed in everything he can lay his hands on - ZTT/ Propaganda electric shocks, Van Halen squiggling guitars, Sade-type "sophisticated" flutings, Slade-type unsophisticated clonking - and he's ended up with a nasty mess all over the place. Boo. (Tom Hibbert, Smash Hits, April 23, 1986)

Former Bow Wow Wow star Annabella's second solo single (I think), and she's improving all the time. Though nothing to get excited about, "Fever" (produced by Slade bassist Jimmy Lea) is a million miles from the ineptitude that was "C30 C60 C90 Go". At least she's singing these days, and although she'll never be another Sade, that's a step in the right direction. Come back in twelve months time. Next! 3/5 (Dave Ling, No 1, April 26, 1986)

Agnetha Faltskog - I Won't Let You Go (Epic)

The Bet Lynch of a famous Scandinavian soap opera returns. While fellow Abba stars Bjorn and Benny go on to musicals and Frida becomes a big hit with the squaddies, Agnetha comes up with a sub-standard bubbly Euro-disco record and flashes those eyes of hers seductively on the cover from behind a dead animal skin. (Eleanor Levy, Record Mirror, April 6, 1985)

Three years on from 'Under Attack' - Abba's final chart entry - blonde singer Agnetha surfaces with a chirpy attempt to recapture past glories. But without the songwriting genius of Bjorn and Benny, she struggles bravely with a number which wouldn't have made an Abba B-side. How the mighty have fallen .. .  (Dave Ling, No 1, April 6, 1985)

If Abba were Sweden's No.1 export in the 70s ahead of Volvo and Saab, Agnetha's solo efforts to date must count for all of two estate cars and a hatchback. "I Won't Let you Go" is a happy little melody sitting on top of a very dated disco beat. I suppose if they could beam her back to 1976 this might do well in the Eurovision Song Contest, but now.. . Can't see John Peel playing it. (Frank Hopkinson, No 1, April 27, 1985)

Alone Again Or - Dream Come True (Polydor)

Scotland's Alone Again Or recently guested on tour with The Associates. They must have raised a few eyebrows with their hard-edged funk. Their bassist is obviously a big fan of Level 42's Mark King, but unlike most bands of their ilk, Alone Again Or have the knack of writing material which holds the listener's attention to the end. That said, it's unlikely to get a second spin on my turntable. (Dave Ling, No 1, April 6, 1985)

Who Cares - Doctor In Distress (Record Shack)

The aptly-named Who Cares? are yet another Band Aid-style collective of almost-popstars with social consciences. The aim behind this one, however, is to persuade the BBC not to axe the Doctor Who series. Subversive, huh? All profits go to Cancer Relief. And the record? Suffice to say that the brain behind it should be given a lobotomy. (Dave Ling, No 1, April 6, 1985)

Scary Thieves - The Waiting Game (Parlophone)

With a tour supporting Nik Kershaw already under their collective belts and a sleeve designed by No.1 reader Beverly Hollanders, the future looks good for Scary Thieves. Their sound is rich and textured, but somehow the song doesn't seem right. Something a little more uptempo next time, maybe? (Dave Ling, No 1, April 6, 1985)

Prefab Sprout - When Love Breaks Down (Kitchenware)

The Sprout's Paddy McAloon has a knack of writing really intriguing lyrics and then setting them to strange, almost awkward melodies This one's got puns aplenty, an echoey, haunting tune crafted with the help of Phil Thornalley and well deserves to be a hit. (Dave Rimmer, Smash Hits, November 22, 1984)

Previous to this, I'd always envisaged Paddy McAloon and company to be one of those depressing vegetarian long mac brigade bands that I despise so much. It came as a great relief to discover that they produce the kind of melodic pop music that most bands can only aspire to - a kind of 10 c.c. meets Spandau Ballet. Must get the office veggies to lend me their old Sprouts. (Dave Ling, No 1, October 27, 1984)

Being someone with a liking for sensitive artists with meaningful lyrics and guitars, I think I'm supposed to like Prefab Sprout. Hmmm. Pleasant tale of woe, but with all these people rolling about in ecstacy over them I expected the Earth to move. Not a wobble. (Eleanor Levy, Record Mirror, April 6, 1985)

 "When Love Breaks Down" is a moody and haunting masterpiece which meanders along on gentle ripples of acoustic guitar and melodic keyboards. (Dave Ling, No 1, April 6, 1985)

The Sprouts are very odd indeed. They look really plain and wear things like string vests, come from Newcastle, call their LP Steve McQueen - and write brilliant songs about Mexico and love. This is acutely observed, intelligently written, quite sad but kind of, you know, uplifting, and sounds a bit like Joe Jackson on a good day. A cracker.  (Peter Martin, Smash Hits, April 11, 1985)

Seductive as a sweet, soft focus kiss - quality sounds, arrangement and production. A gorgeous record. Make this one big. A friend. (Paul King, Smash Hits, October 23, 1985)

Phil Collins - One More Night (Virgin)

Already firmly lodged in the US Top Three, "One More Night" sees workaholic Phil taking a breather from his exertions with "Sussudio" and Philip Bailey's "Easy Lover". The tempo recedes to walking pace, the lights dim, the smooch-level goes off the barometer and, well . . . the rest is obvious. (Dave Ling, No 1, April 6, 1985)

In films, no-one cares that Clark Gable probably said 'Frankly my dear I don't give a damn' 120 times before he got it right - it still felt like he meant it - it sounded real. Nor that he was probably thinking more about going and having a piss than about Vivien Leigh - it didn't matter. In records, it's so much harder to get the emotion that love songs such as this demand. "One More Night" probably meant something when Phil wrote it from the heart, but what feeling it may have had has been lost somewhere among the 65 saxophones and 150 pianos. Great for the radio but lousy for the tear ducts. (Eleanor Levy, Record Mirror, April 6, 1985)

This is Number One in America and it'll probably be Number One here. Can this man do no wrong? Luckily, like most of his solo stuff, this isn't a bit pompous, painfully clever or even 87 minutes long (like a lot of his Genesis stuff), it's just an easy, pleasing ballad that floats by quite painlessly.  (Peter Martin, Smash Hits, April 11, 1985)

Foster Pilkington - Listening Land (Arista)

A name to watch, and what a ridiculous name it is too (look who's talking - Ed).
Pilkington, real name Zodiac Lovethrust, is obviously a student of The Housemartins' school of songwriting, featuring a natty line in obscure lyrics and presenting an instantly forgettable end product.
As you'll gather, he's hardly my cup of tea, but somebody out there must like him. 1/5 (Dave Ling, No 1, July 26, 1986)

Poor old Foster, the thinking man's Jilted John. His neurotic live shows make your toes curl with embarrassment, and his constant whinging has all the force of a South African reform bill. This heathen music business is not for you, my man. Stamp collecting would be a much more appropriate vocation. (Stuart Bailie, Record Mirror, July 19, 1986)

The Smiths - Panic (Rough Trade)

I'm sorry to say but I find them very depressing. The lead singer's voice sounds like he's in pain - is that Morrissey? It says in the song 'Hang the DJ' - but where would they be without them? If you don't like DJs, you still like them because they play your records and that's what sells records. I don't think they'd like to hang Janice Long or John Peel, would they? I wouldn't play it though - he can't sing and it gives me a headache. In all his interviews he's Mister Nasty too and goes moan moan moan. (Samantha Fox, Smash Hits, July 16, 1986)

Well, bless me, if this isn't the least bit surprising. Neat, concise and somewhat slight, it's neither a let down, nor a leg up from The Queen Is Dead. "Panic" lollops along undemandingly, while Morrissey's rarefied larynx tours provincial Britain, and concludes that the state's in a state, and we should 'Hang the DJ'. Fine sentiments, of course. Lynch the Queen, the headmaster and the DJ, and life will just be one big picnic by the side of Grasmere, Stephen. With all those sliding Marr riffs, and the singalong refrain, this is in fact disturbingly reminiscent of a decent Slade single. But people got bored with them, too. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, July 26, 1986)

As seen on Eurotube recently, "Panic" is two minutes and 19 seconds of verbal abuse directed at the more faceless of today's popstars.
'Hang the deejay' intones Morrissey, 'because the music that they play says nothing to me about my life'. Which begs the question, does it have to?
All the same, "Panic" is infuriatingly contagious and assuming that at least some DJs remain alive we should be hearing it a lot more over the next few weeks. 3/5 (Dave Ling, No 1, July 26, 1986)