Guitars nip and chatter while a singer with the sleepy drawl of a British Jack Nicholson gets all sardonic about hanging out on the corner with his stinky friends. Not much of a song tune-wise, but the sound is dashingly gloomy. You can dance to it, you can call it "art" if you so wish - either way it's shimmeringly cool. Single Of The Fortnight. (Tom Hibbert, Smash Hits, November 6, 1985)