PAUL YOUNG

NO PARLEZ

Paul Young’s debut album is such a second-hand vinyl staple that it’s become a hack shorthand for disposable 80s music. This is, it can’t be emphasised enough, absolute toffee: there’s a reason that No Parlez sold two million in Britain alone.

Its familiar hits helped usher in the sound of the second half of the 80s: no Paul Young, no Simply Red or Wet Wet Wet. Love Of The Common People and Wherever I Lay My Hat (That’s My Home) are classics now, but nobody knew what to make of Young when he landed in the middle of synth-pop’s imperial phase.

Once the public recognised Young’s easy way with a tune, No Parlez stayed in the UK albums chart for more than two years thanks to word of mouth. There’s a lot more going on here than those hits imply: the buzz lasted largely because it’s a highly diverse record, far stranger than it’s now generally given credit for.

Young does a decent impression of his producer

Laurie Latham’s other client Ian Dury on Ku Ku Kurama, while the title track’s mix of prog and gospel, Paul’s rumbling voice far deeper than you’d expect, is startling for anyone who expects another Come Back And Stay.

It kickstarted bassist Pino Palladino becoming a session musician legend for his fretless playing assuredly driving the melody, but Palladino is right to say in this issue that Young’s whole band were immense here – The Fabulous Wealthy Tarts should have become massive on this form.

Young is modest about his own writing talents, but the smooth Tender Trap shows he and Ian Kewley could create fine pop-soul themselves when they finished a song. The 2CD reissue drops previous extras (covers of

Pale Shelter and Don Covay’s It’s Better To Have) in favour of CD2’s complete mixes set. Fair enough. No Parlez needs care and attention, and this edition offers that. Forget the clichés and rediscover one of the oddest, most rewarding albums ever to make it big.