I rushed to buy this numbered silver vinyl when it was reissued in 2024, because it was limited to a thousand copies and I have the self-control of a magpie near a shiny bin lid. In hindsight, the panic was unnecessary as it has since reappeared as a similarly limited turquoise version, and the original silver is apparently limbering up for yet another return. This album clearly sells well enough to keep the pressing plant in fresh colours and furnish the marketing department at Music On Vinyl with smug grins.
"The Golden Age of Wireless" sounds like a clever bloke with a stack of ideas, a sharp ear, and just enough mischief to stop things getting precious. It sits in that sweet spot where the tunes are catchy enough to whistle at the kettle, but the details keep tapping you on the shoulder like, "Oi, did you hear what I just did there?"
Despite Dolby's reputation as a computer boffin, this album actually sounds like it was played rather than programmed. There are songs here that strut, songs that glide, and songs that behave like they have been left alone in a room with too many ideas and a fresh pot of tea. When the album goes for big pop moments, it lands them with a grin rather than a grimace. When it gets a bit odd, it does so with purpose.
My favourites are a neat little tour of Dolby’s range. They also make a strong case that he didn’t need the Fairlight to be inventive, because most of this record was already up and running before that chapter began. "Windpower" has a propulsive swagger, all clipped rhythms and crystalline PPG Waveterm sounds. Underneath, the Simmons drums keep shouldering the track forward until it lands, part punchline and part propulsion.
"Flying North" has that lovely sense of motion and air, the kind of track that makes you stare out of the window with a thoughtful expression, even if you are actually just stuck at the traffic lights outside Aldi. And "Europa and the Pirate Twins" is pure storybook pop: odd, cinematic, and confidently bonkers in the way only a properly talented writer can get away with. It is the musical equivalent of finding a treasure map in your coat pocket, then realising the treasure is a chorus you find yourself humming absent mindedly.
Lyrically, Dolby comes across as the kind of narrator you would trust to fix your toaster, then accidentally end up discussing philosophy with you while he is at it. The words are playful, sometimes sly, and often sharper than the music’s glossy surface suggests. It is pop with a brain, but thankfully not pop that makes you feel like you have accidentally enrolled in an evening class.
What surprised me most, listening now, is how well it holds up. Plenty of records from this era sound like they are stuck in a time capsule with a complimentary can of hairspray and an unsolicited shoulder pad. This one still feels alive. The arrangements have space, the hooks do their job, and the humour keeps it from turning into a po-faced exercise in cleverness.
Worth noting, especially if your brain automatically shouts the title in Magnus Pyke's voice, is that "She Blinded Me with Science" is not on this album (as per the original UK tracklisting). You might expect that to leave a crater, but it really doesn’t. "The Golden Age of Wireless" stands on its own perfectly well, like a dinner party that somehow goes better once the loudest guest has taken their leave.
If you have only ever known Thomas Dolby as "that fellow with the catchy single", this album is the friendly proof that he was doing far more than making a pop culture splash. Start with "Windpower", "Flying North", or "Europa and the Pirate Twins" and you may find yourself eyeing up your own household appliances as potential bandmates. 4/5
