No Shame
Good Girls Don't Last

THE REVIEW

In 1989, producer Ric Browde, who believed he had reached the gates of heaven's administration after working successfully with Poison and Faster Pussycat, made a massive blunder involving Columbia. Considering himself an exceptional talent scout, he picked up four girls in London who couldn't play or sing and took them into the recording studio. What came out of it? "Good Girls Don't Last", an album with a prophetic title because these infatuated claimants to the Vixen throne lasted only for this one record.

Perhaps they weren't even put in the position to work properly, because I believe good old Ric spent the recording day doing other things. The fact is that glam shouldn't have known this episode.

There is nothing here that we haven't heard before, nothing that makes you want to reach the end, nothing at all that makes your hair spontaneously tease up. This jumble of cumbersome notes struggles to stand on its feet. And when you want to give it a chance, you can't help but attribute it with pachydermal movements.

The list of merits for this album strikingly reads "not received." On the other hand, the flaws had to line up to all get in. A pitiful and boisterous mimicry of Vixen who had just released their self-titled, doesn't honor any of the names in the CD booklet.

10 tracks of perfect anonymity seasoned with an indecorous cackling by a singer who, lacking a voice, lets as much air as possible through her nose. The instruments are guitar, bass, and drums, all played in an elementary manner, like a rock primer. A coating of insipidness wraps this unwelcome service branded No Shame and Browde, who could have spared us his non-production and saved me the 3,000 lire I spent, trusting the cover at a Bologna stall.

For me, this album is worth a florin.