This is just about as good as any pop record that had ever been made up to that point, and while it would still be years before Motown approached anywhere near this level of quality on every release, it’s still an essential inclusion in any Motown best-of shortlist. In a word: marvellous. (10)
Slow as molasses, a rather striking contrast to the rollicking A-side; a genuinely strange, and not entirely comfortable listening experience. (5)
Considering the grim spectacle of a hectoring, dour session of po-faced sermonising conjured up by the title and group name, this one comes as a relief to say the least. (6)
If this unstructured, forgettable mess had been the A-side, it’s possible we’d never have heard of the Temptations again. One to miss, I’m afraid. (2)
If it’s not an obvious starting point for one of the great groups of all time, it’s a likeable (and danceable!) little record on its own merits. (6)
The song works well enough rearranged for a female vocal group – Flo, Mary and Barbara provide decent support for Ross as she struggles her way through the material – but it just doesn’t suit Ross’ voice, and (as was discussed when talking about the Miracles version) I really don’t think the song is anything special to begin with, despite the critical praise that has since been lavished on it. It’s an average B-side with a quite pretty tune, and no more than that. (4)
Poor Flo gamely gives it her best shot, interspersing the first line with a charming series of saucy, throaty giggles and delivering a really committed vocal performance, giving much better than the piss-poor material deserves, but it’s a hopeless battle; this record is an unsalvageable dud. (2)
It’s an indicator of where the HDH stable would eventually ply its trade: knocking out a straight pop song with a strong hook and effortless charm, but twisted ever so slightly so that the tune grabs the ear and forms the beginning of an involuntary smile.
This is a worthy successor to My Beloved and Angel; that should be enough for anyone. (7)
Parks can’t be accused of holding anything back, giving a full-on hellfire gospel-rock-blues-whatever performance with echoes of James Brown, but it’s wasted on a standard-issue doo-wop backline that seemingly can’t quite decide on what it wants to be, and an underpowered groove that never gets properly into it.
It’s not a fantastic song (it’s pretty simplistic and it doesn’t do anything unexpected), but it will get you dancing; this is probably the jauntiest, most alive dancefloor single the label had released since Barrett Strong’s Money (That’s What I Want) almost two years previously, a neater and more commercial song than the Contours’ similarly torrid Whole Lotta Woman a few months before. (6)
Motown Junkies 