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Yet when I popped the disc in the CD player and pressed play, I became thoroughly confused. Instead of more sophisticated, spine-tingling pop, I got angular, lurching rhythms and complex, meandering melodies that never quite caught fire. Even the artwork seemed dull and lifeless. Combined with the pretentious title and toe-curling sleeve notes, the whole package felt less like a musical landmark and more like a sixth-form art project that had somehow secured a record deal.
Fast-forward more years than I care to mention and I rediscovered the album thanks to a disappointment. While mooching around my favourite second-hand record shop, I turned a corner and saw one of my Pet Shop Boys collecting holy grails clinging to the wall in one of those PVC sleeves reserved for records that are about to cause a domestic argument. I carried my treasure to the counter with another other selection I had made. The owner immediately took the Pet Shop Boys record from my hands and said, "Oh no, I’ve already sold that to a lady who just came in and reserved it for her boyfriend." I gave the polite laugh one uses when a joke is taking slightly too long and reached for my credit card. We locked eyes. He placed the record behind the counter and repeated, "Sorry, that one is sold."
Apparently moved by the sight of a grown man becoming visibly crestfallen over a Pet Shop Boys record, the owner offered an olive branch, "Tell you what, by way of an apology, take that other one for free." So I left with a complimentary copy of No-Man’s "Only Baby", which was not the treasure I had entered the shop seeking but was at least considerably cheaper. I knew the song, of course, but because it appeared on "Loveblows & Lovecries" I had rarely played it. Still, I felt I owed my unexpected gift at least one spin.
As the opening bars began, I found the familiarity comforting and also realised that the song was much better than I remembered. I decided to revisit the parent album to see whether I had been too harsh all those years ago. I cannot pretend that I now like this album as much as "Flowermouth", but I do like it enough to buy this transparent teal vinyl limited-edition reissue from 2026, complete with a poster. This is, of course, exactly what every middle-aged man needs: a giant 30-year-old photograph of three slightly fey young men for the living-room wall. The vinyl itself is yet another GZ Media abomination, although it sounds acceptable once thoroughly cleaned and approached with suitably modest expectations of sonic fidelity.
As "Sweetheart Raw" begins, the first thing you notice is the superb fretless bass, which oozes quality. A glance at the credits reveals Mick Karn, prompting the inevitable response: of course it is. Richard Barbieri is credited on keyboards and Steve Jansen handles the drum programming, effectively turning the track into a No-Man composition performed by most of Japan. At this point, my younger self begins to look less discerning and more wilfully inattentive. Why on earth didn’t I listen to this more?
"Lovecries" is a fine composition, but the funky rhythm programming feels forced and out of place. Underneath it sits the natural sound of No-Man, apparently being prodded towards the dance floor by someone from the record company holding a clipboard. Art rock and early-1990s trip hop were not impossible bedfellows, but here they seem to have spent the night arguing over the duvet.
"Tulip" shoehorns in some Nellee Hooper-style piano riffs, while Steven Wilson offers a creditable Nile Rodgers impression. There is more funky guitar on "Break Heaven" which gives the song a lift, but the ill-suited TR-909 beats do little for "Beautiful and Cruel". The album’s finest moment is the closing track, "Heaven’s Break", which sounds much closer to the No-Man of "Flowermouth" that I fell in love with. It is telling that the less the production tries to sound fashionable, the more timeless the music becomes.
I do like this album, but I remain frustrated by the make-up it wears. I can hear the real No-Man beneath the beats and housey piano riffs, yet it often feels as though record-company demands led them to repaint their compositions until they were barely recognisable. Tracks such as "Heaven’s Break" sound genuinely unsullied and are all the better for it. So my younger self was not entirely wrong: "Loveblows & Lovecries" is still awkward, over-dressed and occasionally desperate to impress. What I missed was the quality underneath. It was not a sixth-form art-rock project after all, although the sleeve notes may still deserve detention. 2.5/5
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