I couldn't claim in 1984 to have wildly diverse and eclectic tastes. I liked pale anaemic white boys who plucked fenders or rickenbackers and then retreated to their garrets to collapse on a chaise longe with a Penguin paperback and a glass of absinthe.
That didn't mean I didn't like Chic or Sister Sledge records. What do you take me for. A madman? This was one of the best. It's up there with anything on Marquee Moon or Remain In Light in terms of its astonishing ease and liquid grace.
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