The first result of all that beavering away in the studio with musicians from all over the shop that David Sylvian's been up to for the last several months, and one that suggests he's been spending his time well. By all accounts one of the least weird tracks on the forthcoming solo LP, this is quiet, un-Japan-like, almost jazzy and utilizes the talents of trumpeter Jon Hassell to an effect that's both relaxing and uplifting. Can't honestly say that I understand what the song's about, mind, but I do know that it's Single Of The Fortnight. (Dave Rimmer, Smash Hits, May 10, 1984)
The reluctant pop star returns, and Japanophiles won't be disappointed. There's no great change in style, but it's still all a bit self-consciously arty and angst-ridden for my taste. Sylvian's voice is a Bryan Ferry derivative, and tends to drone on in a melancholy fashion without ever really getting anywhere. A hit though, naturally. (Karen Swayne, No 1, May 26, 1984)
I don't think I'd be wrong if I called H2O a formula band. The trouble is, the chemistry that created "Dream To Sleep" has gone awry. Here they're searching around for a different sound. Endgames and Bourgie Bourgie do this sort of single ten times better.
Back to the lab, boys. (Frank Hopkinson, No 1, May 12, 1984)
Yello are Swiss and utterly bonkers. They make dance records that you can't dance to, full of lyrics that make absolutely no sense at all. This is probably deliberate. Often they also have lots of wiggy chanting and funny noises, just like this one (helped out, incidentally, by Billy Mackenzie who used to be [in] The Associates). Damn good, actually. (Dave Rimmer, Smash Hits, July 30, 1986)
If any of you read the penpals section of No. 1, you'll probably have noticed that Yello are very popular in Australia. For once I actually agree with the generally awful taste of the Australians. With their breathy vocals, Queen-type harmonies and strange noises all incorporated into a highly danceable rhythm, it's hard to see why Yello aren't massive over here. This could and should be the one. 5/5 (Mark Booker, No 1, August 2, 1986)
Old Bob attempts a cover version of an old song by soul songbird Cherrelle and this is much better than the original.
Bob is having trouble with one of his 'chicks' in this ditty. He just can't get rid of her. 'Hey babe, I didn't mean to turn you on' (what a lad, eh?) he croons over a staccato funk guitar rhythm.
Yes, a funky little number all round and oh, the video to this is exactly the same as the last one. 4/5 (Andrew Panos, No 1, July 19, 1986)
Ah yes, the man who does those sensitive, esoteric videos. Regular Palmer stuff here; clever clever rhythms, laid-back singing and all that business. You know what I mean, don't you? (Stuart Bailie, Record Mirror, July 19, 1986)
A little chubbier around the cheeks perhaps and a little thinner on top, but pre-Bros heartthrob Nick has lost none of his talent for writing classic songs. "You're My World" steams along breathlessly, crafted with care, precision and heart. (Robin Smith, Record Mirror, August 27, 1988)
Cute name and a nice line in acoustic guitar and piano, ruined by a smug spoken vocal. But then ideal husbands so seldom are, I suppose. (Sunie, Record Mirror, October 23, 1982)
A French classic dating from the start of World War 2 and quite possibly the song that started the whole shindig. A great tune, actually, remembered here in all it's Gallic and garlic glory by the beret-wearing, accordion-totin' Holes. Very Nice, if you'll pardon the expression. (Fred Dellar, Smash Hits, October 14, 1982)
In a week when most have forgotten about simple things like melodies, beats, style, feeling and simple entertainment, along come Gary Kemp and the lads to show how it can be done. Remixed but hardly remodelled from the True album, they can start to make room for that gold disc right now. (Mike Gardner, Record Mirror, August 6, 1983)
Make no mistake this is not a Number One. Bereft of the magic of "True", this works hard to be special and it shows. Consolidating Gary Kemp's chances of soundtracking James Bond films, "Gold" is elaborately classy and eminently tasteful...like the rest of the True LP, which you've probably already got. Still, you could always buy this for the nice David Band poster bag. (Peter Martin, Smash Hits, August 4, 1983)
Has Cubby Broccoli been told about this record? Someone nudge him, quick
- Mrs Kemp's boy Gal has written the best Bond film song for donkey's
years. It's big, bold and dramatic, with big Tone Basseying away like a
good 'un. Smashing. PS - if they've got any sense they'll ditch the
ludicrous Roger Moore and cast Steve Norman as 007 in the next one. (Sunie, No 1, August 6, 1983)
This is simply gorgeous. Rose and Jill are Strawberry Switchblade and on this, their debut single, they deliver deliciously sad and reflective vocals over some luxuriantly delicate music. Helped out by the Madness rhythm section, Scottish pal Roddy Frame of Aztec Camera and Nicky Holland, the song is an immediate classic. (Peter Martin, Smash Hits, August 4, 1983)
Considering this has two of Madness, a Fun Boy sideperson, Atzec Camera mentor Roddy Frame and the much lauded Glaswegian duo themselves, this is a mite disappointing. It sounds like a computer designer's dreamy summer single, and turns out wimpier than Clifford T Ward. Anyone ready for the Caraveilles revival? (Mike Gardner, Record Mirror, August 6, 1983)
Strawberry Switchblade are two girls who obviously hanker for a return to the summer of '67 - they warble away to a Simon and Garfunkely-type tune with the air of ones who know they were born too late. Even with the aid of a couple of Madness chappies and Aztec Camera's Roddy Frame, the best they can come up with is a weedy, reedy ballad. Decidedly wet. (Karen Swayne, No 1, July 30, 1983)
It's a bit of a slow burning single with a long fuse, but "A Far Cry" develops into a mellow sultry number, chilling yet warm at the same time. Let it run its fingertips up and down your spine. (Robin Smith, Record Mirror, April 1, 1989)
After years of sometimes scurrilous Alarm bashing, even I've got to admit that "Sold Me Down The River" is a darn fine single, ripe with luscious Celtic guitars and trembling emotions. The flip side features a Welsh version of the song where Mike Peters inflicts some very serious damage to his tongue. (Robin Smith, Record Mirror, April 1, 1989)
I've never like the pompous rock approach that Ultravox indulge in for single after single. But surprise, surprise! I do like the simplicity of this, Midge's solo effort.
It's a song that soars along at a steady pace, very reflective and rhythmical.
Bland, but so much easier on the brain. (Debbi Voller, No 1, September 7, 1985)
Take the opening of Queen's "Radio Gaga" and the sound of Midge at his mighty organ and what do you have? Well, a hit obviously. But this is slightly less pretentious than recent Ultravox offerings so let's be grateful for that at least. (Andy Strickland, Record Mirror, September 7, 1985)
In which Midge wonders whether he'd stand more chance with some young lady if he was, well, a whole list of things. I usually find Mr Ure's taste in melodies a little too dramatic, but here it suits the song perfectly. Not bad at all. (Dave Rimmer, Smash Hits, August 28, 1985)
Hmmm. Would you believe Dexys meets New Order meets the Bunnymen? No? I thought not, but it is a fact that the strings on this record do insist on playing one of Peter Hook's most famous bass riffs. It's all a bit messy but at least there's a bit of life in it. Dreadful name though. (Andy Strickland, Record Mirror, July 6, 1985)
Who can resist the posturings of strutting rock idol Russ Abbot? The cover of this package holiday classic shows Russ drinking stout while such giants of pop as George Michael, Strawberry Switchblade, Elton John and even Mike Read cavort on the beach around him. They should be so lucky! Why, they're not fit to kiss the turf upon which this cerebral God of music and merriment daintily treads! (Tom Hibbert, Smash Hits, July 3, 1985)
Imagine "Atmosphere" with slightly different words and you'll see why a break in a Siberian salt mine isn't such a bad proposition after all. Anyone who buys this deserves to lose their ears in a painful way. (Mike Gardner, Record Mirror, June 22, 1985)
Russ Abbot knows as much about making good pop music as I do about llama breeding. No doubt this will go down a storm on those dreadful 18 to 30 mud wrestling jaunts which I keep reading about in the papers.
Abysmal piffle. (Max bell, No 1, June 22, 1985)
Hello birds, hello trees, hello sky...
...Ms Bush may have her limitations as a lyricist but for every ounce of tweeness she lavishes on the words she supplies a greater amount of musical light and shade.
"Running Up That Hill" is one of her atmospheric epics, full of tension and controlled emotion.
A Monster hit beyond doubt. (Max Bell, No 1, August 10, 1985)
Now this is how to return in style! Yet more modern experimenting with pounding, percussive rhythms and electronic sounds, but with its melodic strength, intriguing lyrics, (about deals with God) and coolly restrained performance, this sounds not unlike Eurythmics before they went off the boil recently. It's definitely, what's the expression? Look, I'll come back to you on this one...
...provocative? Piquant? Tantalising...
...interesting? Yes, that's it, interesting! And therefore it must also be Single Of The Fortnight! Don't you just love a happy ending? (Ian Cranna, Smash Hits, August 14, 1985)
I may be the most narrow minded person in the world, but I can usually see other people's point of view. In this case I'm afraid I can't. Especially when it's written badly all over her back and shoulders. But the single's nice. (Damon Rochefort, Record Mirror, August 10, 1985)
Yet another song prised off the Synchronicity LP which is an infuriating mixture of the brilliant and the routine. This is one of the brilliant. Sting strings together chilly pictures of people and animals in pain in a voice that sends icicles up your spine. A Grower. (Ian Birch, Smash Hits, January 5, 1984)
My problem with The Police has been that even though I've liked almost everything they've done - almost! - I've never ever liked it the first or second time I've heard it. The first three times I heard "Every Breath You Take" I couldn't remember what it was called or anything about it. At the moment this just sounds like another good Police single, but just how good I'll only be able to judge in about a month's time. (David Grant, Record Mirror, January 7, 1984)
An eerie little song from the bountiful Synchronicity LP which emphasises the gap between The Police and nearly all their rock/pop contemporaries. Like "Every Breath", this is very simple, very subtle and very classy. Now perhaps Sting and Michael Jackson will get on with some new material. (Paul Simper, No 1, January 7, 1984)
A scrupulously clean record, which sets Deborah King's unvarnished voice against Keith Bayley's bleak landscape of rhythmic tension. A Tracey Thorn scraped to the bone, a Carmel for the great outdoors. Clarity, brevity, poignancy - enough said. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, November 16, 1985)
Ah,. this is more like it. these boys are also 'indie' types, but the spitting guitar, jerky rhythms and witty lyrics (and record sleeve graphics) show a pop panache not too dissimilar from the Jesus & Mary Chain. "Cleaning out the ears of bored casual teenagers everywhere", it says in their press release. And I can't think of a better record for the job. (Adrian Tierney-Jones, No 1, November 16, 1985)
Executed in their usual wonderfully melodic style, The Big Dish have once again juggled with the right ingredients - catchy tune, tantalising riffs and highly competent playing - and created yet another tasty sampler. Their fourth single to date (although this has actually been released before) verges on almost perfect pop - powerful, opulent and polished. A worthy release that should hopefully see the Scottish fivepiece receiving their just desserts! (Anna Martin, No 1, November 1, 1986)
The Big Dish are one of those staple meals which are so tedious you need to go heavy on the spices to make it palatable or interesting. However, here you have the blandness in all it's jangly guitar glory. (Mike Gardner, Record Mirror, November 9, 1985)
Super. Sexy. Scintillating. Dexys are set to soar up the charts again with their first single for two years.
Yes, after the customary void, the Runners are back with an absolute gem. First came the power and soul of "Geno", then a break, then the Irish tinge of the Too Rye Aye album and "Come On Eileen", another break, and now, a hybrid of the two with Kevin Rowland's distinctive wail over the top. If this doesn't hit number one I'll eat my words. (Mark Booker, No 1, November 9, 1985)
Kevin Rowland's in this pub with this bloke called Bill who keeps saying, "Tell me what she's like" to him, right? "I'm trying, Bill, I'm trying", Kevin replies - trouble is there's this half baked Irish showband with a doddery old fiddle player blaring away in the corner so Kevin can hardly hear himself think. And anyway he's getting quite drunk and so keeps losing himself in the middle of sentences and howling along with the showband but not quite getting the words right or the tune for that matter. Bill never does find out what she's like (whoever "she" might be) and Kevin wakes up next morning with a massive hangover and the awful, dawning realisation that last night he made this simply ludicrous pop disc... (Tom Hibbert, Smash Hits, November 6, 1985)
Prefixed "An Extract From...", this is the single Kevin vowed would never be. But since the massed ranks of the lost soul rebels and intense emotion circle devotees have been conspicuous by their absence in supporting the Don't Stand Me Down LP - here it is. It's deftly edited from the full track and consists of a barrage of barbed poison arrows aimed at easy targets, while attempting to describe the love of his life. It's a curious and stodgy updating of Van Morrison's Caledonian soul vision of over a decade ago, but it has charm. It's the sort of thing you'll adore for five minutes and hate equally soon after. (Mike Gardner, Record Mirror, November 9, 1985)
After the national papers' acres of coverage for Lady Teresa Manners and her tiresome antics, you'd expect her record to be something out of the ordinary. But it's not. It's not even bad, just very very ordinary. (Phil McNeill, No 1, February 8, 1986)
The notorious Lady Theresa Manners - daughter of the Duke of Rutland, denizen of the gossip columns and bore of this parish - releases a stodgy synthesizer based debut that would invite jokes about Berk's Peerage if it had any character to get worked up about. Surrounded by such spiffing pedigree chums as Lord Michael Cecil Bunter (surely they call him Bunty?), she proves that though she's thick with aristocracy, her voice is so thin it could conceivably be suffering from anorexia. (Mike Gardner, Record Mirror, February 1, 1986)
Methinks Mr Gabriel has lost his acute sense of drama in his wanderings through ethnic musical styles. His invention and melodic touch, his previous strength, doesn't hold the attention with the ease of yore. (Mike Gardner, Record Mirror, December 4, 1982)
A sequel to the wonderful "Shock The Monkey" and an even closer look at
the absurdities of human behaviour. This time it's all the daft things
people do when getting nervous at parties that comes under the
microscope, uneasily backed by lots of brittle drum sounds. Have we
progressed much since Quest For Fire? Not according to this. (Ian Birch, Smash Hits, January 1983)
Five tales of loony Anglo-Saxon melodrama crossed with cartoon sketches of World War II in a coating of early '70's 'rock'. There's never been anything like this before and, quite probably, never will be again. (Tim De Lisle, Smash Hits, December 9, 1982)
With luck this could slip into the charts by a side entrance. It has a sturdy melody, confident vocals and plenty of mystery and imagination in the words. Clever lad, our Fad. (Ian Birch, Smash Hits, April 15, 1982)
Everyone's doing it. The cult chaps of yesteryear are now leap-frogging over each other to get into the charts. The 'Beeks stand a good chance. The song is instantly likeable and producer Clive Langer has topped it up with an extra zing. (Ian Birch, Smash Hits, April 15, 1982)
This record is so ridiculous I couldn't help but smile. Although the singer sounds like Minnie Mouse and the jokes wear thin fairly fast (yes, a note of cynicism has crept in - but I'm just thinking of my reputation), at the end of the day, who cares? Lines like "My name is Bond, James Bond/My hair is blond/dyed blond" never did anyone any harm. For juvenile delinquents everywhere. (Ursula Kenny, No 1, September 28, 1985)
Q. Is it remotely possible that the Toy Dolls could release a record even more excruciatingly awful than "Nellie The Elephant"? A. Yes. (Lesley O'Toole, Record Mirror, October 5, 1985)
The most amazing thing about this record is Jim's bizarre alien dreadlocks on the poster bag. He looks like an insect in a ballet outfit, but don't let that put you off the record. The song is a very sincere love ballad. I'm sure it could have moved me even if I hadn't been so preoccupied with the record sleeve. 2/5 (Ralph Tee, No 1, July 12, 1986)
Who else but Kraftwerk (those Germans famed for making quirky electro-pop tunes about very boring things like driving along motorways) would make such a brilliant song about dialing a wrong number with virtually the only words being a haughty voice droning, "The number you have reached has been disconnected"? or fill it so charmingly with all those clanky parps, rings and squeaks that we probably won't be familiar with for much longer if British Telecom continue on strike? Wonderful. (Lola Borg, Smash Hits, February 11, 1987)
Hasn't been much chartwerk for this lot since the New Romantic days of 'Computer Love' and 'Neon Lights' but this understated story of love-on-the-line might just sneak Kraftwerk back into the directory. Unless you're otherwise engaged. (Paul Simper, No 1, March 7, 1987)
The mechanical men with the bioplasmic hearts haven't exactly changed the computer programme over the years. No BAGPIPES here, and no blues howling. It's still computer disc heads falling in love with sad, shimmering tunes. But with the metronome percussion more defined, its now possible to dance to Kraftwerk without pretending you're a goddamn ROBOT. It's almost hummable hip hop, and it's as engaging as ever. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, March 7, 1987)
The best record without a doubt. You can sing The Beatles' "I Am The Walrus" along to it. It's really good. Obviously someone spends the majority of his time listening to their Sergeant Pepper LP. You say it's actually by XTC? Really? They've definitely been studying The Beatles! It's the only single of the lot with a sense of humour. Single Of The Fortnight. (Roland Orzabal, Smash Hits, April 24, 1985)
XTC poke their tongues into their cheeks before taking a magical mystery tour into "I Am The Walrus" - land. Not bad. (Mike Gardner, Record Mirror, April 20, 1985)
Smart-arse white funk with a pompous vocal and a lot of corny wacka wacka guitar playing. No reason for cracking open a bottle of fizz. (Neil Tennant, Smash Hits, May 12, 1983)
Stiff go disco shock! Unfortunately, this is aimed at crippled penguins. (Robin Smith, Record Mirror, May 7, 1983)
Virtually just drums and voice, this is different. Refreshing and uplifting, Jeanette's voice is strong enough to carry her through a song without the aid of music; and [also] does so on the B-Side.
If this gets more airplay it could be big. (Debbi Voller, No 1, May 14, 1983)
Taken from the next album Tinderbox, this finds Siouxsie and Co back in classic form. It has all the eerieness and menace you could want and for once Siouxsie is actually singing (as opposed to intoning in key). All those hours with the vocal coach have finally paid off. Chalk up another Banshees hit. (Pat Thomas, No 1, March 1, 1986)
Grab a look at that cover. Did they get Paul King to model for it? Will Woolworths allow it into their chain stores? Actually there are very few things in my life more painful than having to listen to the vocal contortions of Souse. Very fast, very unpleasant. Enough said. (Robin Smith, Record Mirror, March 1, 1986)
Siouxsie's not a 'singer' like Aretha Franklin but she makes great use of what she's got and she always sounds exciting. She sings with a lot of sex - that's what I like. This is a great Banshees record. Obviously, they've got a bit of a 'formula' but I like their sound. I used to go and see them quite a lot when I was younger, when I was a punk rocker. Single Of The Fortnight. (Dave Gahan, Smash Hits, February 26, 1986)
Another one of those jangly guitar songs which tells a rather obscure "angst" story. this one's about having people "inside me now". Mmn. Prefab Sproutish and very endearing at that. (Sylvia Patterson, Smash Hits, March 12, 1986)
The comeback of the media darling turned media brat. It's not that expectations weren't exactly high - they just weren't there at all. Which is why George and Co will be grinning all over their faces. I can't say "Move Away" is classic Culture Club because their music always left me cold, so that would be an insult of the vilest kind. What it is, is a sparkling production (Arif Mardin lending a hand), a creditable performance, and a very clever, radio-orientated pop tune. The seven inch is predictable Culture Club, the 12 inch is a revelation. George's tremulous warbles are pepped up with the sharpest of sharp production. Two years ago it would have been a hit just because of who it was by. Today, it might just make it on its own merit. Life's full of surprises, isn't it? (Eleanor Levy, Record Mirror, March 8, 1986)
Note: it's interesting how far Boy George's stock had fallen - the single was ignored for review by both Smash Hits and No 1 - both previously featuring Culture Club to a significant level. It was a good single, though. Anyone else remember Boy George appearing in the "A-Team" TV show?
Those sweet sing-along harmonies, that happy skipping beat - this could have been by The Osmonds if it wasn't for Pete's lovable drone - although he actually seems to be singing in tune these days. The Buzzcocks were always the only band from the punk era you could safely take home to meet your Mum, and Shelley's little boy charm still shines through every plaintive cry for affection. Gone is the overt technology of "Homosapien" and back comes love and sorrow. How 'girly' - but how sweet. (Eleanor Levy, Record Mirror, March 8, 1986)
"Waiting For A Hit" should've been the title for this one. Poor ol' Pete, he writes some brilliant songs but they never make the impact they deserve. Pete Shelley used to sing with punk band The Buzzcocks who had a string of hits back in the 70's, but for the last four years or so he's been playing solo with his much loved computers. Sadly this new release isn't one of his shining moments. It's a little too repetitive and probably won't help the situation. 2/5 (Debbi Voller, No 1, March 8, 1986)
'Ultimately butch', 'a devil of sophistication', 'a man for all seasons', all this and more, is the enigma of Julian Cope. As everyone knows 'ol Copey's been away, getting his head/act together and no doubt trying to find where he's coming from, and more important, going to. This piece of platter is very strange to say the least. Disjointed beyond belief, but nonetheless weird and quite wonderful at the same time. Amazing, in a funny way. (Gary Crowley, Record Mirror, November 12, 1983)
Unless you have fond memories of The Moody Blues' "Question" or Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody", Cope's three part epic shouldn't seem familiar. It fuses an urgent rock song, a pleading ballad and a harmony chorus, tosses in the theme tune from Hawaii Five-0 and then wraps itself up in the lush string arrangements of Paul Buckmaster (who applies the same magic touch to the new Nick Heyward album). The work of a genius and absolutely wonderful. (Mark Steels, Smash Hits, November 10, 1983)
As someone who finds great solace in the radio on that long and lonely drive back from clubland in the early hours, I feel that Tom's captured the mood perfectly in this poignant and not-a-little sad song. (Mark Steels, Smash Hits, November 10, 1983)
Uncle Tom has changed dramatically from a leader of men to a solitary soul. Here he takes a jazzy stroll through late night Berlin and has the chart sense to mention radios once he gets to the chorus. Funny that such a decadent city should succeed in reviving so many of our jaded stars. First Bowie, now Tom. Is Berlin a health spa? I think we should be told. (Mark Cooper, No 1, November 5, 1983)
Records that boast radio in the title are usually quite desperate affairs. Seeing as most DJs are stupid and totally clueless, the play a 'radio' record automatically and no doubt enliven us all with some inane comment. Tom Robinson knows this and cannot be trusted for pandering. I'll say no more. (Gary Crowley, Record Mirror, November 12, 1983)
Having seen Jerri Kelly on Pop Quiz the other week, he reminds me more and more of a little ashen faced Pinocchio, almost afraid to speak.Their singles have that kind of restraint about them - gentle tap tap tapping rhythms and twee lyrics - and tend to get lost in the rush of the singles issued every week. For instance, whatever happened to "Set Me Apart", released only last April? This, I fear, will follow it. By the way, the single comes in two different sleeves - the Jerri Kelly one (which I got) and the Peter Coyle one. (Linda Duff, Smash Hits, July 5, 1984)
[Richard] Jobson looks like Kermit the frog on the sleeve, which conceals a rather tender ballad. Shame the AS haven't done what they were capable of chart-wise, but then again, open-hearted angst isn't exactly commercial, is it? Very fine nevertheless, with its finger on my heartbeat definitely. Pardon me while I wallow.... (Nancy Culp, Record Mirror, January 31, 1987)
I've always had a soft spot for Richard Jobson - can't think why. Perhaps it's because he's a bit of a Renaissance man, writing books and poetry, acting and singing with a modicum of success. The Armoury Show have been on ice recently while their leader was off on some secret cultural mission to China (strange boy). Now they're back with quite a nice little debut for a new label. I don't know if it's strong enough to take them back into the charts, but you can expect to hear a lot from them this year. (Pat Thomas, No 1, January 31, 1987)
The girl on the cover is sexy; the record is monotonous. That's all I can say. (Simon O'Brien, Smash Hits, May 22, 1985)
Personal note: one of the few singles reviews from back in the day that I remember word for word. Confusingly, the standard UK picture sleeve featured Glenn Frey on the front and not the model.
A tease of a song taken from the Australian six-stringers' 'Calenture' LP. Smiling spiralling guitars and levitating keyboards build and build, and then refuse to give you the expected chorus splash. A fine, airy piece of guitar pop with a touch of Lloyd Cole in the vocals and a lyric which contains the line 'The rim of her mouth was golden.' Too many fags I expect. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, January 16, 1988)
Splendid name. Lots of heavy skiffle disco tribal percussion. A Wailing harmonica, an oinking digeridoo, an Annie Lennox-ish singer, and a song about world hunger. yes, it's a mess, which they try to excuse by being Australian. But are they? Could be George Michael making a pig of himself? Nah, just some Aussies making a sow's ear of a dance record. Are there no abattoirs in the outback? (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, October 3, 1987)
An enormous clap of thunder, horns winking in the distance and then an absolutely huge slab of European disco drama in which Neil Tennant, sounding oddly like Princess Stephanie (and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that), sings 'When I look back upon my life/It's always with a sense of shame'. the tune is impossibly grand but, um, haven't we heard it somewhere before? We have. It's Cat Stevens antiquated chestnut "Wild World" almost to the note - and a very nice tune that was too. This is going to be such a massive hit - an undoubted Number One in at least 500 European countries - that it might well blow your hat off. (Tom Hibbert, Smash Hits, June 17, 1987)
Sounds a bit like that "It's Raining Men" song by the Weather Girls! I think the video will have a lot to do with whether or not this record makes it - they definitely seem strong on image (two picture sleeves for the price of one!). There's a strong beat there but it gets you going in places and then suddenly dies down a bit, like a Frankie Goes To Hollywood song.Just when it was getting exciting as well! They're not the sort of band whose records I'd buy, anyway, though I might dance to them in a club. (Neidet Salih, No 1, June 20, 1987)
Rumbling and dark, slow and brooding, a lot of evocative "things"... this is a chanson of quite epic and majestic proportions. It was produced, mixed and co-written by Iggy's ski-instructor i.e. Dame David Bowie which is jolly odd in itself. Why is this so wonderful when everything on Bowie's own LP [Never Let Me Down] is so useless? Probably because Iggy isn't a chameleon - he's just a bloke who can out boom and out croon anyone on the planet including Mick Hucknall even though he's approximately four million years old. This sloping and slippering heart-churner is all about how nobody loves Iggy. Fortunately, that is not true. Bravo wrinkly! (Tom Hibbert, Smash Hits, June 17, 1987)
Ross: David Bowie has a lot to answer for.
Sean: I'll just say, oh dear.
Ross: There you go, a wee short one. (The Soup Dragons, Record Mirror, June 20, 1987)
I love the 60s Phil Spectorish production on this. The song's not bad - but it doesn't move mountains or anything. This is the first thing I've heard from them and on the strength of the production I wouldn't mind listening to some more. (Kim Wilde, No 1, April 18, 1987)
A bit "Needles And Pins" and a bit "Back Of Love", but a damn fine record even among those odious comparisons. The MLD's have delivered what they promised, and that's a relief. (Nancy Culp, Record Mirror, April 11, 1987)
I suppose if you're going to murder someone else's song you should at least be brazen about it. That's something this cosmetic counter duo most definitely are. A singer straining on the wrong side of Phil Oakey, an OTT orchestration in the manner of The Damned's "Eloise" (and it didn't do them any harm, did it?), and a Sarah Brightman School Of Acting In Pop Videos award in the passion department. A hit - no doubt about it. (Eleanor Levy, Record Mirror, February 21, 1987)
Owen is the kind of bloke it's impossible to dislike: he's inoffensive but not bland. In fact his records are quite a tonic. This one is a re-release from the times when Owen's claim to fame was being a mate of Charlie Nicholas ('Flamboyant' Arsenal footballer). It's almost as catchy as "Favourite Waste Of Time" and even if you don't like it you'll be humming along in no time. Can't help thinking though that his breezy take life as it comes kind of songs are only suited to the summertime. What's going to happen in winter? Perhaps Owen will have to hibernate... (Ro Newton, Smash Hits, August 27, 1986)
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