This record could not be more 80s if it was wearing a Frankie Goes To Hollywood t-shirt while sipping a white wine cocktail sat in a wine bar idly flicking through a copy of The Face. Unfortunately the 1980s revisited here is not the grainy kitchen sink angst of the The Smiths or even the bright pop tones of Stock Aitken and Waterman. No, it's far worse than that. This is a rehash of the awful jazz-lite music of such acts as Sade, Matt Bianco and Working Week. A kind of retro fake jazz, full of shape throwing posers in pin striped trousers with no fire in their souls. I thought this kind of music died when they stopped manufacturing Ford Escorts.

The slap bass and faux Chic guitars of Twlight World set the tone for much of the record. Storm Gordon's vocals are airy and polite, the lyrics sweetly sung but the whole thing is so dreadfully dull. Lost On You throws a few squawking dub effects into the mix but they jar with the slick backing track. If this wasn't painful enough, a saxophone then bleeds its awful tones across the track. I guess I should declare that I have always had an issue with saxophones. To my ears they have always sounded like the devil breaking wind. There are saxes all over this record.

Family Way starts pleasantly enough; an acoustic guitar and those sugar sweet vocals. Then the bongos arrive and the whole thing goes down hill quicker than elephant on a sledge. It reaches a nadir when the sax parps up. The songs are drowned in a quagmire of dated production. The bass and piano of Rocking Stone sounds like Everything But The Girl before Todd Terry remixed them back to life. The opening minute and a half of Cherry Blossom Rain offers up a brief glimpse of hope: raindrop piano notes trickle slowly down as Storm Gordon's voice finds the pain in the silences. Then the band kick in, a wah wah guitar line shouts loudly above the backing, bongos and - yes - that saxophone again.

Then the band commit an act of butchery that would have made Sweeney Todd smile: they take Prince's I Wish You Heaven, bleach out the funk - and turn it into a nursery rhyme. It makes Simple Minds' take on Sign Of The Times sound like a work of genius. Really, it's like getting a five-year-old child to try and paint the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Imagine a wedding band comprised of off-duty priests and you get some idea of the lack of sex or swing involved.

On Comfort Of Strangers Beth Orton's songs have been given room to roam, resulting in a fragile and bruised collection. It's a shame that Storm Gordon didn't take a similar approach with the material here. When the songs are allowed to escape from the stylistic straightjacket they prove that beauty lurks beneath the surface. There is an undeniable graceful bleakness to Carrion Crow: a lone cello sends out mournful fragments of melody to tint the whispers of acoustic guitar. The lyric exposes the base nature of desire and the strength of the sexual instinct. It is wonderfully played and haunting.

If you spend your weekends polishing your vintage 80s car and ironing your Farah slacks then this will be heaven in a CD box. If you have better things to do with your time, like picking up litter, then avoid.

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