The Waterboys - The Whole Of The Moon (Island)

Mike Scott is getting to sound more like a cross between Bob Dylan and Cat Stevens with every record. But nasal whines aside, the four tracks on the 12 inch single, two from the album This Is The Sea, draw out the drama in Scott's barnstorming pop poetry to raging effect. Should bring water to both your eyes and your mouth. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, October 19, 1985)

The Big Supreme - Please Yourself (Polydor)

This is the best I've heard. And I'm not saying that because I know Barry Flynn... I really like this. I thought the last single was a definite cert, but "The Smile And The Kiss" was the best. Actually, I've got some demos of his somewhere. If this is a hit I'll have to dig them out and flog them! (Owen Paul, No 1, March 28, 1987)

A supremely bold record. It begins with some ominous piano, which sounds like someone's just DIED. Then, BAM You're hit with a punch drunk Martin Fry going for a Motown-y form of on-beat dance insistence. With lots of chunky boss. and some 'parting the Red Sea' choral bits, it's all very body-building and the best Big Supreme single so for. Which only just excuses the vile stripey blazers worn by Barry and the girls on the sleeve. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, March 7, 1987)

Hey! Meet The Big Supreme, who - PRESTO! - are all set to be pop stars! "Please Yourself" is a monstrous sound, a remarkable mixture of Pete Burns, Julian Cope and Pete Wylie. They also look rather fetching and are obviously destined for much greater things. Gulp. (Barry McIlheney, Smash Hits, March 11, 1987)

Frankie Goes To Hollywood - Watching The Wildlife (ZTT)

Here's an odd claim to lay at the feet of big, brash, bulging Frankie - their new single is a grower. Not a slap-bang-mind-that-axe-m'dear-disco stormer; a grower, as in rather excellent string arrangement, muted chorus and unusual hooks. Whether the great British pound in your pocket will decide to leap generously across the counter is another matter considering the muted reception 'Warriors' received. Still, here's hoping. (Paul Simper, No 1, March 7, 1987)

The fact that you're supposed to get a CONDOM with the cassette version of this could lead to irksome speculation about the title. So let's just say that giving away prophylactics is a GOOD IDEA, and if this piece of swinging, brassy, orchestral bombast wasn't all swollen up like an inflated Durex, it might have been too. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, March 7, 1987)

Let's Talk About (Safe) Sex: Not only was the single one of the first to be released on cassette (Cassetted) but it also came with a free condom. Not sure how many twelve-year-olds bought that.

Happy Mondays - Forty Five EP (Factory)

Infused with the tired old independent spirit, a group of postmen and ex-postmen from Manchester make the ridiculous claim that they are real people, and trundle through a raucous guitar scramble of a song. A worthy skitter, but nothing to write to Tony Wilson about. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, October 19, 1985)

OMD - La Femme Accident (Virgin)

OMD have been scientifically proven (by moi, actuellement) to be one of the most irritating groups in the universe, so this pleasant, wistful, plinkety-plunk ballad comes as a bit of a shock. Mind you, it's spookily reminiscent of "Can't Get Used To Losing You" by ageing TV crooner Andy Williams the man responsible for inflicting those beaming Mormon songsters The Osmond Brothers on an unsuspecting world), which might explain things. But is it fate, or mere coincidence? Brrrr! (Vici MacDonald, Smash Hits, October 9, 1985)

OMD are supporting the Thompson Twins in America at the moment, which must explain why they're down enough to release a third mediocre single from the Crush LP. Three minutes of plodding and plucking through this slight nursery rhyme won't even dislodge one of Alannah Currie's silly hats. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, October 19, 1985)

This week's art lovers appreciation award goes to (drum roll please) OMD, who have produced a swirling little ballad in the classic mould of Andy Williams' "Can't Get Used To Losing You", and have carefully packaged the splendid item in an equally tasteful sleeve. The third, and possibly the best, single to have been lifted from the pristine Crush LP even sees Andy McCluskey warbling along a la Feargal Sharkey at one point! Play it to your Mum and watch her swoon. (Anna Martin, No 1, October 26, 1985)

Ian Dury - Profoundly In Love With Pandora (EMI)

Mr Dury teams up once more with his old pal, multi-instrumentalist Chaz Jankel, for a tune already familiar to those TV addicts amongst you (it's the theme from The Secret Diary Of Adrian Mole Aged 13 3/4, you see). Ian is at his very best here with lyrical gymnastics and a soft sweet chorus. A hit (I hope). (Paul King, Smash Hits, October 23, 1985)

The theme from the TV series from the book - The Secret Diaries Of Adrian Mole Aged 13 3/4. No doubt the TV exposure will ensure some sort of a chart position, but as a record it's a limp souvenir. As an Ian Dury song it's a liquefying embarrassment. To be theme and not heard. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, October 19, 1985)

It was a bit inevitable, I suppose, that this theme to The Secret Life Of Adrian Mole Aged 13 3/4 would surface as a single - Dury's first in ages. It's a whimsical song that fits in well with the TV series about teenage traumas, but doesn't stand up that well in its own right. Cute though ...  (Karen Swayne, No 1, October 19, 1985)

Note: Interesting that all the reviewers mentioned the TV show, but each titled it differently. Paul King was the one who got it right.

The Tempest - Bluebelle (Magnet)

'Playing tennis with your shoes off . .'So croons Mike Sherrin of Glenn Tilbrook proteges The Tempest as gently strummed guitars waver into an innocently fragrant love song. A heart warming tale. Pleasantly refreshing harmonies and the odd spark of catchy reminiscence are all thrown in for good measure, in a tempting little ditty if ever there was one. This is The Tempest at their best. Listen and melt. (Anna Martin, No 1, October 26, 1985)

Inoffensive acoustic nicety from the Glen Tilbrook-produced Liverpool quintet, whose highest aspiration seems to be the making of pleasing pop tunes. I hereby pronounce their ambition achieved. So now what happens? (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, October 19, 1985)

Sting - Fortress Around Your Heart (A&M)

Considered opinion round these parts has it that Sting is something of a genius, and he certainly shows an intelligence that's rare these days. Taken from his solo album The Dream Of The Blue Turtles - which hasn't a dud track on it - "Fortress . . " proves once again that he's the master of melody and restraint. Class and charm - what more could you ask? (Karen Swayne, No 1, October 19, 1985)

An old turtle whose recent solitary wanderings have been jazzed down by 'musicianly' desires and grave lyrics. This out-take from the album is no exception. It's one of those songs with a surprise chorus that jumps on your back when you least want it to. For what doth it profit a man if he gains his dignity, but loses that magical touch? Many Yankee dollars, by the look of the US charts. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, October 19, 1985)

Dee C Lee - See The Day (CBS)

Dee's career-by-association has been pretty well chronicled, from young gun in Wham! to Style Councillor, but the lady's always aimed for a solo career. The voice that's just helped "The Lodgers" up the charts is given full rein here on a lush ballad that could've been done 20 years back by the likes of Dusty Springfield or Pet Clark. It's a progression from the poppy soul of earlier releases, and a move that should establish her as a name in her own right. (Karen Swayne, No 1, October 19, 1985)

Paul Weller's sidekick, currently prominent on the Style Council's "The Lodgers", swims bravely through a swelling soundtrack ballad for a non-existent Sixties movie, but ends up drowning in the strings. The cover of Weller's "The Paris Match" on the B-side is a much more suitable frame for D C's voice. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, October 19, 1985)

Dee's excellent voice is showcased warmly on a song that Dusty Springfield (veteran British pop singer) or Tony Hatch (veteran British pop composer - he did the Crossroads them, fact fans) would have sinned for. A brave production and arrangement for the lady better known for her Style Council-ing. (Paul King, Smash Hits, October 23, 1985)

Siouxsie And The Banshees - Cities In Dust (Wonderland/Polydor)

Looks like Sioux has spent her absence from the music scene on her hols in Greece - judging by the rather tasteless picture of an ancient couple bonking on the record. Our travel correspondent says that this is the sort of thing you get on beer mats in dodgy tavernas out there along with lecherous waiters. The song itself has an unusually catchy, funky feel, but the usual lyrical concerns of the Banshees are present and correct - y' know, dirt, dust, decay, death, that kind of thing. Well, they couldn't write about beaches and suntans now could they? (Karen Swayne, No 1, October 19, 1985)

The Banshees have returned from a sojourn in Italy inspired, apparently, by Pompeii (ancient city preserved forever by a volcanic eruption thousands of years ago). The song moves in early Simple Minds territories and, surprisingly enough, the Jim Kerr-type vocal inflections work well. Anyway, I love Siouxsie Sue. (Paul King, Smash Hits, October 23, 1985)

Still possessed of the finest sorceress caterwaul in the business, Siouxsie briefly gloats and croaks over the demise of a civilisation as her fellow statues stir up a scattering of underground sound effects. Meanwhile, the rest of the world wonders where the dip and drive of "Dazzle" has been buried, and waits for the next earthquake. A private record, to be bought for old times' sake, for the lupine massacre of sound on the B-side, and for the sake of a little sanity amid the surrounding musical insipidness. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, October 19, 1985)

Marc Almond - Love Letter (Virgin)

A strange choice for the follow up to "Stories Of Johnny". Marc contracts a touch of Bronski-itis and flutters his eyelashes on a lullaby vocal set against a galloping electro beat. In a sprint to the finish he just about keeps up with the rhythm to bring off a minor victory for perverse synchronicity. Get the 12 inch for the full, long-distance drama. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, October 19, 1985)

He's known as "The Boss" round these parts, actually. But at the risk of getting the sack, I have to say that this one's a mite tiresome, what with a jittery synth backing that sets the teeth on edge, and a more repetitive and simplistic lyric than one expects from such an accomplished storyteller. Not one of his best. (Vici MacDonald, Smash Hits, October 9, 1985)

Subtitled "a simple message of undying devotion", this finds the willing sinner in a very romantic mood. The sleaze of old has been replaced by a lush melodrama, with Marc's vocals mixing sweetly with those of a choir. The hi-energy synth beat saves the thing from drowning in schmaltz, giving it a remarkably cheery sound after the depths of despair that the Almond of old indulged in. It must be love ... (Karen Swayne, No 1, October 19, 1985)

The Style Council - Waiting (Polydor)

If this type of woozy, late-night soul ballad is basically about making lurve, then this is positively SAFE SEX. Safe, (which is fine) as in very sensitive, very produced, very doleful ... but MUSHY. It drifts away in a cloud of gentle, dreamy bleu-urgh which at less than Gauloise length is all over a bit quickly. The presence on the B-side of Paul mooning over a string quartet ("Francoise") adds to the LP's impression that as a POP group, the Smooch Council have (for the moment) come and gone. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, March 7, 1987)

One of the better tracks from the feeble Cost Of Loving LP, "Waiting" shows Paul Weller to be a lot happier at singing romantic ballads than grunting his way through all that uptempo "soul" stuff he's become so fond of in recent years. The back sleeve contains yet more ramblings from "The Cappucino Kid", this time a Sherlock Holmes-style short story about "the case of the twitching farmer". Weller is cast as Holmes with Mick "Morten" Talbot taking the role of the bumbling Dr Watson. How apt. (Barry McIlheney, Smash Hits, March 11, 1987)

Erasure - Victim Of Love (Mute)

As ever, the play off between synthi textures and Andy Bell's unimpeachable voice is a wonder to behold, and Vince's sneakily simple melody is well up to standard. But the instant replay stomp can't go on forever and at some point V and A will have to e-raise their aims above the giddy and glib. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, May 23, 1987

It's Immaterial - Rope (Siren)

You're either very irritated or completely beguiled by It's Immaterial. Their songs reach out for that strangeness, that twitchiness that Talking Heads used to deal in. You either twitch along or leave the room. Here, they've re-invented a non-existent traditional folk melody, laced it with ghostly fiddling, and set it to a skipping drum machine. All pastel hues and shadowy word play, it makes for a nervily merry English voodoo pop. Stay with it, and twitch. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, March 7, 1987)

Itsy (as we fans call them) have had an undeservedly hard time following up "Driving Away From Home". "Rope" could just be the one to do it, ridiculously catchy, hopelessly cheery, and it has a 79-year-old banjo player, one Tarrant Bailey Jr, rocking out. Not a lot of singles can say that! Probably their strength (all their songs are so different) is their weakness (nobody knows it's them). All the same, 'tis a harsh and cruel world that cannot find room for It's Immaterial. (John Aizlewood, No 1, February 28, 1987)

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)

The Winterbabies - Bossa Nova Suicide (Stiff)

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)

Kraftwerk - Telephone Call (EMI)

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 Triffids - Trick Of The Light (Island)

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)

Big Pig - Hungry Town (A&M)

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)

Belouis Some - Jerusalem (Parlophone)

And did those feet in ancient time... dance to some better tunes than this one? Yes, probably. It's smooth 'n' moody, a tinge on the pretentious side and sounds as though he's recruited David Bowie on vocals and Sooty on xylophone. And as for the lyrics - what on earth is he going on about? "You paint your face like it's Jerusalem," indeed! (Lola Borg, Smash Hits, July 2, 1986)

Mr Some has tried for a big pop song here. One of those epic musclebound ballads, awash with splendid synthesised atmospherics, which rises to a swollen-hearted chorus and makes you think of...it all! He wants to be as dramatic as David Bowie, and as subtly supple as Japan, all at the same time. As an idea, it's wonderful. As a record, it plods. (Roger Morton, Record Mirror, July 26, 1986)

My gawd, a Belouis Some single that hasn't previously been put out! Yippee!
"Jerusalem" sees a drop in pace after his last couple of re-releases.
Unfortunately this strategy blows up in his face as this rather laboured song just forces home how average a vocalist our Nev really is.
I wouldn't bother putting it out a second time either, Parlophone. (Dave Ling, No 1, July 26, 1986)