My word! Terence Trent D'Arby slams back like a greased fist - with an album that provokes us into a vertical position and never lets up until it’s done.
Once again he’s proving that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, but you can teach someone else’s two-year-old child to say “Vulva” at breakfast.
The pieces of music that form this round platter snuggle up against one another so tightly it’s as if they’re second cousins who are worryingly close in a ‘not-illegal-but-may-produce-web-toed-children’ kind of way.
The ear is treated to a lilting brace of melodies that remind you of the sounds heard the first time you ventured secretly into the abattoir to see where Uncle Maurice worked only to find him with his arm entirely inside a dead lamb, as if it were a glove puppet, wanking himself off with its lifeless jaws.
And this means only one thing - Mr. D'Arby has yet again set the standard for modern soul music just like James Brown and Sir Edward Heath before him.
If you only buy one album this year, then buy this one. But if you buy two, then get The Kooks and The Feeling. And just borrow this off a mate or get a tape of it or something.