A little self indulgent, with "Voices of Old People" and the Bookends Theme. They take themselves too seriously. Rescued by the classic Mrs Robinson and Hazy Shade of Winter. Old Friends is another high point, with poignant strings and a wistful air. Hazy Shade of Winter was born to be a heavy rock song - the detroit snare on every beat and that killer riff should not work in a folk context, but they do!
Wayne Coyne concocts big daft lovely soundscapes with enigmatic lyrics, and it all leaves me cold. Soz Wayner!
Hard to believe I was in my 40s before I first heard the entire album. It continues to grow on me with repeated listening.
Nite Klub a new favourite - the sound of late 70s London clubbing and a really nice bassline with a little popping. Terry's voice was quite raw and unprocessed on this, which lends it an innocence. When you're young and broke and fed up of racism and injustice, do you moan about it or form a band and make some of the most danceable ska ever written? I can't give this a 5/5 but I would give it a 9/10 if the option was there. This is going on my rotation list and will buy the album.
Exquisite production by Quincy and the vocal harmonies are immense. The best use of a minimoog on bass ever. The worst song on this album was cowritten by Paul McCartney!
The singles are 4s, most of the rest are 2s. Very much of its time. I don't quite get Prince. He could have had an outstanding rock band but he chose pop and manufactured funk.
French African doesn't do it for me
A good rock album destroyed by overproduction.
Neil Hannon has one foot in the 21st century, the other in the 20th and his posterior balances lightly on the 19th. This Elizabethan cad muses about the NHS whilst jauntily bashing a harpsichor in his red velvet smoking jacket. The wit of Wilde combined with the pointed derision of Churchill, are delivered with tongue firmly lodged in cheek. For all the epic lyricism and arrangements, the songs are as ephemeral as candy floss.
Dull, except for Tina's playing
This album is as close to perfect as any I have heard. Food for the brain from Paddy McAloon, and the ears from the band and producer Thomas Dolby. Glimpses of heaven appear when Wendy Smith's vocals blend with lush pads. These songs were written by a child, performed by children, but sound like they were created at the end of long, well-lived lives. There are moments where the synth pads date the recording, but that's the closest that I can come to a criticism. Someday I will write a song nearly as good as the worst song on this album... maybe.
