It's Disco but not as we knew it. Friday night down at Le Beat Route and the joint was steamy, sweaty just a-sizzlin' and a-fizzin' with New Romantic dolly birds and Thin White Duke wannabes in pegged strides and George IV ruffles a-posin' and a-dosin' on Pernod and Malibu with the little cocktail stick umbrellas stickin' out.
You can't beat this for straight up jazz funk North London soulboy terror. The unit is tight, the horns are completely funked, and there in the centre of it is Tony Hadley looking every bit as disturbed as he does in the official late-night-Greek-Street music video of this thumpin' number.
His hair is slicked back but strands of it flick out of place as the heat rises giving him that Norman Bates just-out-of-the-shower look. His skin is perfect, his manicure is second to none. But his eyes are intense, dark, out for blood, his head jerking upwards after every line, like involuntary salutes, his furrowed eyebrows just that little too close together. You wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of him in a dark Soho alley. Look at him, he's Patrick Bateman with a microphone. But, oh, the funk, brother, the funk.