Aha, the scent of Scottish vinyl wafts enticingly my way. My ears detect an unashamed ghost of Caledonian pop past - not necessarily a bad thing while there are suckers like me to lap it up without question. Janglier than an epileptic tambourine with sweaty, panting tongue wedged firmly in cheek. Bounds along with consummate verve and lashings of Hibernian charm. (
Lesley O'Toole, Record Mirror, August 16, 1986)
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