Until I was fourteen years old, my definition of a good band was a hot bloke singing songs about lurve. Nik Kershaw, Simon Le Bon, Boy George, Morten Harket, Matt Goss. (Matt Goss?! What can I say, we all have our pasts). Then in the summer of 1991, I went on holiday to Crete and Clare Horwood kindly copied me some cassettes for my Walkman. One
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