One ecord at a time: 504. Tim Bowness - Butterfly Mind

It dawned on me, somewhat alarmingly, that this record came out four years ago, which means I have been blogging about my collection for at least that long. Time clearly flies when you are busy collecting limited edition vinyl with the enthusiasm of a slightly unhinged magpie. 

This particular specimen arrives on 180 gram transparent green wax, tucked inside a die cut sleeve, and is hand numbered to just six hundred copies. Pressed by Optimal in Germany, it sounds lovely, and the package even includes a CD, a signed postcard and a fridge magnet. Obviously. Because what self respecting limited edition would dare show its face without a fridge magnet these days.

Before you drop the needle, a word of advice. If your ears have recently been exposed to anything resembling pop or rock, take a moment to reset. Maybe breathe deeply. Maybe stare thoughtfully into the middle distance because, aside from a couple of tracks, the album is a drifting, laid back, prog tinged wander through soft laments and gentle instrumentation. Nick Beggs pops in to provide some bass, Ian Anderson contributes woodwind, and Steven Wilson, who presumably pops round for tea often enough to count as family, handles the mix. At times it is so reminiscent of No-Man that I half expected the packaging to apologise for the confusion.

The opening track, "Say Your Goodbyes Part 1", sets the tone nicely with a delicate start that eventually firms up into something a little crunchier. "It’s Easier to Love" is pleasant but overstays its welcome by several minutes. "Lost Player" floats along in a wistful, elegiac haze and boasts a melody I genuinely adore. This dreamy spell is abruptly shattered by the synth bass stomp and monosynths of "Only a Fool", propelled by drumming that appears to be fuelled by three coffees and several cans of energy drink. 

"Glitter Fades" perks things up with some catchy drum programming that helps break the overall spell of drifting sameness, but many of the other tracks struggle to make such a distinct impression. There is no faulting the performances and plenty of the songs are undeniably pretty, yet the whole experience drifts into a slightly bland, monochrome haze. Dare I say it, by the end I found myself growing a little weary of those endlessly soft and gentle vocal tones.

A beautiful record, thoughtfully assembled, and unquestionably atmospheric. Just be prepared to float for quite a while. And do not forget your fridge magnet. 2.5/5

One record at a time: 503. Beloved - Conscience

Back in 1993, when CDs ruled the world and vinyl was taking an extended tea break, "Conscience" slipped out with only a handful of LP pressings. Naturally, this meant that the original vinyl soon became the sort of item collectors stalked.

Fast forward to recent years, and with demand still bubbling away and the rights having returned to Jon Marsh, electronic specialists NewState clearly spotted a chance to make a lot of fans very happy. On paper, the reissue sounded downright irresistible: remastered audio spread across two slabs of heavyweight white vinyl, limited edition, full colour sleeve and wraparound artwork. All very fancy. All very take‑my‑money. Then you actually play it.

This is where the warm glow of nostalgia smacks straight into the cold wall of reality. Some tracks are different mixes that do not match the originals. There is added noise on almost everything. The sibilance is, quite honestly, among the worst I have ever heard. I would love to tell you that the sheer brilliance of the music rises triumphantly above the overbearing compression and the extra noise. I really would. But I can't.

And that is such a shame, because the album itself remains wonderful. "Conscience" felt like a natural step on from their debut "Happiness", with the new husband‑and‑wife duo of Jon and Helena working beautifully together. There is just enough pop threaded through the dance elements to keep things interesting, long before their next album "X" would wander a little too far into clubland and lose some charm in the process.

One of my favourite memories is hearing someone play an advance copy of this album in an HMV before the album was released. The moment Jon sang the opening lines of "Spirit": "So welcome back again, On the right track again" I saw a couple of people drift towards the B section of the CD racks, only to be met with crushing disappointment when they found nothing there.

The singles "Sweet Harmony", "Outerspace Girl" and "You Have Got Me Thinking" deserved far better chart positions than the public gave them. They are still great songs. Even better is the killer trio of "Celebrate Your Life", "Rock to the Rhythm of Love" and "Let the Music Take You", a run of tracks I always looked forward to. The only stumble for me has always been the closer, "Dream On", which drifts a bit.

So yes, a great album, but this vinyl pressing does it no favours whatsoever. Whether the problems are down to this disastrous white vinyl edition or whether the universe is simply refusing to let "Conscience" sound good on wax, I cannot say. What I can say is that the regular black vinyl version, which is supposedly on the way, has had its release delayed at least three times. It does make you wonder if the poor thing is proving too difficult to get onto vinyl in a form that does not make you wince. Until then, my advice is simple: adore the album, avoid the pressing. 3/5

One record at a time: 502. B.E.F. - Music For Stowaways

Some albums are made for the charts, some are made for record executives, and one was made for a very specific little plastic box clipped to someone’s belt in 1981. The Stowaway (soon to be known to the world as the Walkman) was the new futuristic toy of the time, and British Electric Foundation clearly thought: “Why not make something specifically for people wandering around with headphones on, pretending they’re in Blade Runner?”

The result is a fascinating electronic experiment from Ian Craig Marsh and Martyn Ware, freshly departed from the original Human League and brimming with ideas. I’ll admit I bought my copy before ever hearing it, which is always a high‑risk hobby. But in this case, the gamble paid off. The album has a raw, exploratory charm: you can practically hear two musicians revelling in their newfound creative freedom. It’s part time capsule, part art project, part "let’s see what this button does".

The opener, "The Opium Chant", is a strangely hypnotic swirl of repetitive refrains and dub influenced delays. It is the sort of track that makes you stare into the middle distance and forget what you were meant to be doing. Perfect if what you were meant to be doing was not very important in the first place.

"Uptown Apocalypse" drags in members of Clock DVA and the results are exactly what you might expect and yet somehow more listenable than they have any right to be. There are more melodic moments too on the record. "Wipe The Board Clean" is surprisingly tuneful, while the instrumental version of "We Don't Need This Fascist Groove Thing" is perfectly fine, but we've heard it before.

The standout is "The Old At Rest". This track is ambient perfection, created on a handful of synthesisers that leave enough space between the layers for the music to breathe. Put it on with a good pair of headphones and feel your everyday stress melt away in a gentle wash of electronic calm. 

The rest of the record offers up serious, early electronic explorations packed with interesting ideas. In fact, I would go as far as to say I prefer this to the early Human League material. Controversial perhaps, but I have said it now and there is no turning back. 

Cold Spring Records resurrected the album in 2023 and released two coloured vinyl versions and a standard black one. My copy is one of the 500 yellow editions but the wax itself isn't as vibrant as the cover. Whilst the sleeve proudly sits on my shelf glowing like a radioactive banana, the record inside is more of a sickly mustard colour. 

"Music for Stowaways" remains a quirky, innovative snapshot of early‑80s synth culture, and the yellow vinyl reissue turns it into a collector’s gem. It may no longer fit into a Stowaway, but it plays beautifully on a turntable — and that’s probably for the best as all of the rubber belts in my Walkman have long since perished. 4/5

One record at a time: 501. Rick Astley - Whenever You Need Somebody

Every now and then, I spot a record in a charity shop that looks far too pristine to ignore. That’s exactly how I ended up walking out with Rick Astley’s "Whenever You Need Somebody" tucked under my arm. In a moment of impulsive optimism, I forgot one tiny detail: I didn’t like Stock Aitken Waterman in the 80s, and nothing in my life since has suggested my opinion should change.

But here’s the thing. Despite the manufactured pop beginnings, I’ve got a real soft spot for Rick himself. He’s a genuinely talented multi‑instrumentalist and songwriter (you might guffaw but have you listened to songs like "Angels By My Side"? - I'll take your apology when you come back). The poor bloke just fell in with the wrong crowd that's all.

Naturally, "Never Gonna Give You Up" kicks off the album. If you don’t know this track, you’re probably legally classified as deceased, so I won’t insult either of us by describing it. It's pop perfection whether we like to admit it or not, and SAW knew it.

The title track was also a hit, though it has that unmistakable SAW "we made this in an afternoon" energy. It’s catchy enough, but let’s not pretend it has the sheer gravitational pull of Rick’s signature hit. It’s fine — which is exactly the problem. Fine is rarely memorable, and SAW had a habit of aiming squarely for "good enough to sell, not good enough to last".

A few cuts were produced by Phil Harding, which lifts things slightly, and there’s one track handled by Daize Washbourn, but it is all fairly standard eighties pop fare. The back cover proudly reels out the classic SAW gag “Drums by A Linn” and Fairlight programming is credited to Ian Curnow.

There’s a rumour that EMI deliberately sabotaged Rick Astley’s chances of hitting number one with his version of "When I Fall in Love" by sneakily reissuing the original Nat King Cole recording to dilute his sales. According to the theory, this cleared the path for EMI act Pet Shop Boys to glide straight into the top spot instead.

Of course, this overlooks a couple of awkward details — namely that "When I Fall in Love" had already stalled at number two for weeks, and the Pet Shop Boys were actually battling "Fairytale of New York". Still, why let facts spoil a perfectly good conspiracy theory? Besides, Rick’s version of "When I Fall in Love" is pretty dire, so perhaps everyone involved was simply doing a public service.

This record is an oddly charming time capsule. Yes, the production occasionally sounds like it was knocked together with one eye on the clock, but there’s something undeniably likeable here — not just because the songs are catchy, but because Rick Astley is clearly capable of far more than the tightly controlled pop machine allowed him to show. It’s the sound of an artist who hadn’t yet escaped the conveyor belt.

As far as charity‑shop gambles go, this one’s a mild win. Maybe not a jackpot, but definitely better than multiple copies of "The Best of James Last" that were lurking beside it. 2/5

One record at a time: 500. Art of Noise - Impressions Of For+ever And The Making Of Moments In Love

Nobody makes their back catalogue work harder than ZTT and the Art of Noise. If there is a tape, a demo, a studio sneeze, or someone once accidentally brushed a synth with their elbow in 1984, you can bet it will eventually be pressed, given a catalogue number, and fired into the shops as a “limited edition archival release”.

I honestly thought the well was dry after the 2006 four‑CD monolith "And What Have You Done With My Body, God?" — a title which now feels more like a plea from the archive itself. But no. This latest instalment appeared last year, suggesting there are still mysterious boxes in Trevor Horn's loft labelled "Do Not Use – Really, We Mean It This Time".

And yet, a quick peek at Discogs reveals that ten of the thirteen tracks on this record have already been put out before. So it’s not so much "previously unreleased gems" as "you’ve probably heard these already, but here they are again… surprise!?" Then comes the double whammy: this record combines two of my absolute least favourite vinyl tropes — Record Store Day and a poor GZ Media pressing. 

So, archival release or shameless cash‑grab? Honestly, it’s a bit of both. You can call it "preserving musical history" if you squint, but there’s also a definite sense of someone shaking the vaults to see if any loose coins fall out. And let’s be realistic: there’s a reason most of this material stayed unreleased for so long. Listening to some of these mixes feels a bit like watching deleted scenes from a film you love — there’s a reason they didn’t make the final cut, and no amount of historical curiosity can disguise the fact that they were deleted for a reason.

Now, let me be clear: I adore the track "Moments in Love". It’s a masterpiece. It’s serene, iconic and hypnotic — but do I need thirteen versions of it in a row? Absolutely not. Nobody needs that. Even the most devoted Art of Noise completist would probably step outside for fresh air around track six just to remember what silence feels like. It’s the vinyl equivalent of ordering a three‑course meal and getting three plates of slightly different mashed potato. Impressive commitment, questionable decision‑making.

And yet, buried within the repetition are still those unmistakable flickers of beauty. The original DNA of the song remains magical, even when wrapped in variations that range from "pleasant enough" to "did someone lean on the Fairlight?" But the truth is simple: the unreleased tracks aren’t particularly vital, and the previously released ones aren’t different enough to justify their presence here — unless you're the sort of person who owns more than one copy of "Tubular Bells".

I still love "Moments in Love". I probably always will. But even I have limits, and thirteen iterations of the same track is a stretch worthy of Olympic classification. This one’s for hardcore fans, completists, and people who feel physically uncomfortable leaving a hole in their Art of Noise collection. Everyone else can stream a couple of tracks and call it a day. 2/5

One record at a time: 499.Adamski - Doctor Adamski's Musical Pharmacy

Sometime in 2025, I picked up the CD single of "Flashback Jack" by Adamski from a charity shop for 50p. I enjoyed it, and when I stumbled across the LP of the parent album, "Doctor Adamski’s Musical Pharmacy", in my usual emporium not long after, I couldn’t resist.

Recorded on his trusty Ensoniq SQ80 keyboard, with drums from a Roland TR-909 and a Yamaha RX120, the album captures one of the stars of the embryonic rave scene being pushed into the limelight by a major label. After scoring a huge number-one single six months earlier, Adamski’s second album was always likely to do reasonably well—but its Top 10 chart placing proved that dance music really did have commercial potential.

The massive hit single was, of course, “Killer”, and it felt revolutionary to me back in 1990—I hadn’t really heard anything quite like it before. Seal’s vocal was obviously a big part of the song’s success, but the bassline and drum programming were streets ahead of anything else around at the time. Sadly, I couldn’t afford the CD single when it came out, but my admiration for the track must have been well known as one of the Christmas cards I received that year featured a choirboy doctored to represent Adamski, complete with keyboard rig and an ADAMSKI number plate.

Beyond “Killer”, the album drew some criticism on release for being inconsistent and lacking cohesion. I can’t say I’m surprised: Adamski emerged from a frantic rave scene that was never going to be easily packaged as a neat, conventional pop product.  

So whilst there aren't many other conventional songs on this album, there are plenty of rave tunes to keep you moving. The crusty bass samples on "Eighth House" sound throaty and deep enough to rattle the bass cabinets of any nightclub and the wobbly synth lines of "Future Freak" are irresistible (Adamski must have thought so too as the song is on the album twice). 

Other highlights include the single "Space Jungle" in which Adam channels his inner Elvis. Whilst his vocals are never going to trouble Pavarotti, Adam is more than capable of carrying a melody and their naivety is really endearing. Personally I like this album and think it features some really great ideas. Whilst everything might sound a bit lo-fi and home-made today, it possesses a charm that endures. 3.5/5

Not quite the end of 'One record at a time' posts

After four and a half years and nearly 500 posts, I’ve finally done it: I’ve reached the end of my vinyl shelves. Every last record reviewed, every obscure pressing dutifully described, every questionable 80s sleeve design immortalised. For a brief moment I thought, “Well, that’s it then — early retirement from blogging.” But then I remembered the notes app on my phone, where I’ve been quietly hoarding a list of albums that slipped through the cracks. Seventy of them. Seventy.

These are the stragglers — records I bought after I’d already passed their alphabetical place in my reviewing journey. Some are re‑issues, some are second‑hand gems, and a few are things I can only assume I bought during moments of poor judgement or sale‑sticker enthusiasm. Only a handful contain new music, but there are enough oddities in the pile to keep me occupied (and mildly confused) for the rest of 2026.

As I began to take stock of my journey so far I discovered some unexpected stats. I always assumed my audience was largely UK‑based — you know, friends, fellow collectors, the occasional lost Googler trying to identify a record they found in their loft. But apparently only five per cent of my traffic comes from the UK. Most of my page views are from the USA, which is understandable, but a full twenty percent purport to originate in Singapore. Even Iraq is in there at one per cent.

Now, I’d love to believe I’m a cult international sensation, but let’s be honest: it’s probably just British readers using VPNs that make them appear to be blogging enthusiasts from around the world. Still, I’ll take it. Nothing boosts the ego quite like discovering you’re "big in Singapore".

Most views are via google.com with gearspace.com another significant source. I can usually tell when a post gets liked in a forum like gearspace as the views tend to spike for a few days. The most searched terms on the blog are "fairlight" and "fairlight cmi".

The most popular "One record at a time" post has been Kraftwerk "Trans Europe Express" with "Reproduction" by the Human League a close second. Another Kraftwerk post for "Electric Cafe" has also been popular along with "Penthouse and Pavement" by Heaven 17. I've tried to work out why these post get double or four times the views of others but failed to identify a pattern.

Sometimes I think a post becomes popular as it refers to a rare record and people searching for it on Goole will get a result from the blog. Sometimes a post that is particularity acerbic or complimentary might see a peak in popularity, but again, this isn't consistent. I've also wondered if the photo makes a difference and that people find the blog after an image search—but I've no evidence one way or another. So I'm just going to carry on posting as I was and hope all the people in Singapore like it.