It’s not terrible, and unlike the last Four Tops single, I can see how this could be someone’s favourite Marvin Gaye song. But, honestly, this feels like an artefact from some other, cheesier version of the Motown story, and I can’t open up and love it. (5)
One of Motown’s biggest personalities and one of Motown’s biggest voices, and they’re utterly wasted on this thin little sketch, a failed proof of concept intended for two entirely different people; it’s like giving Cézanne a paint by numbers and some chunky crayons. (3)
If it’s lacking a little as a song, there’s very little wrong with it as a record, and as an introduction to a hot new partnership, it’s right on the money. There’d be better songs for these two yet, but this is a fine way to start. (7)
Marvin’s version of Walk On The Wild Side is unquestionably Marvin’s version, not a third-rate copy of someone else’s vision, and that makes it absolutely worthwhile and worth hearing. Not a classic Gaye cut, but cause for cautious optimism. (5)
A quite remarkable record, rough and loud and crackling with energy, out of step with everything Motown was doing at the time and yet pointing a clear path to Marvin’s future. It’s also brilliant. (9)
A tuneless dirge sacrificing melody for a vague melodiousness, sticky with self-satisfied lethargy, inhabiting some sort of horrible hinterland between Mantovani and Manilow. (2)
One of the most interesting and intriguing back-stories of any Motown record ends up with a solid, stolid, forgettable little footnote in Marvin Gaye’s career. (4)
Nowhere near as good as it could have been, nowhere near as good as it thinks it is, and (perhaps most importantly) nowhere near as good as its opening half-minute suggests it’s going to be. (4)
It’s just nice, which isn’t a crime, but which is a crying shame; the two voices go together so well, this really needs a big, soaring chorus, something to show both singers off to their very best. Somewhere in New York, Ashford and Simpson were taking note. (5)
A gloopy, largely shapeless late-Forties supper club pastiche that goes absolutely nowhere and takes too long to get there. (3)
Much, much more than the derivative sum of its musical parts, pretty much entirely thanks to the band and to Marvin himself, now every bit the superstar.
Motown Junkies 