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
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