A beautifully gentle and textured version of this song, led by some great group harmony vocals. These are backed by a gentle bossa nova beat, electric harpsichord, and strings which sweep in and out. Gentle and addictive listening.

There is something magic about a song like �All Men Play On Ten� in this post-Spinal Tap Metal world. Such an earnest rock anthem, in such an irony saturated market� You�ve got to have respect for Manowar. Is it a mark of defiance or of ignorance and stupidity? Hard to tell. Maybe both. But then this song is essentially about doing things their own way, and not listening to anybody. So who cares anyway? Well, it�s worth listening to Eric Adams for 4 minutes at least. He has a message for us all. He�s no puritanical, know-it-all, he�s a reformed character preaching a rock�n�roll gospel. Believe it or not brothers, he too has fallen. There was a time when he did it for the money, yes that�s right, he sold his soul to the loud music-hating devil. And the devil said hmmm Mr Adams, for your money I have some things I need you to do for me, adjustments as it were. Eric said, well okay, what do you suggest? The devil demanded that he turn down his amps, �why be proud, don�t play so loud, be like us and get a sound that�s real THIN�. OK, I reckon I could do that, just a bit, said Eric, a little put out. But the demands didn�t end there, Eric was pinched and plucked for his silver dollar, �wear a polyester suit, act happy, look cute, get a haircut and buy small gear.� And inevitably it all got too much. Eric�s no pigeon weaver, and he got real mad, and he turned to the devil and said, �HOLD IT, RIGHT THERE!� And good for him. For this is a great track. Very catchy.

A bewitching song about a young woman who, to win the hand of a handsome knight, does her rival sister in. The dead girl then comes back to haunt the �black-haired bride� as a harp fashioned from her breast bone and three locks of her hair. �Cruel� may seem too kindly a description of a girl who when her sister pleads, �Oh Sister, Sister, let me live, and all that�s mine I�ll surely give� says, �It�s your own true love I have and more, but thou shalt never come ashore� before abandoning her body to the rough North Sea. Cruel? Should the sister therefore be scalded for her little� transgression? She�s an evil and monstrous sister, surely? But then this is centuries past, a time when sibling murder and human harps were commonplace. I am not likely to understand in this more civilised 21st century. Which may be why the kids don�t really dig British folk music anymore, or the mighty Pentangle. And it�s a crying shame because this is a stunning track, hauntingly sung by Jacqui McShee. I hesitate to use the term �masterpiece� in case that great oracle of musicaltaste.com, fmars, overhears and tells me that I�m wrong.

The late eighties wasn�t the ideal time for Mark & The No-Marks� deranged hybrid of English folk, free jazz and ghost puppetry, but there never has been an ideal time. Exclamation Mark, dressed up in his ridiculous David Crosby-esque green cape, refused to pander to contemporary fashions and trends, and even seem to resent any acclaim or approval, as if it was a sign that he was doing something wrong. This may explain why he hated this live favourite, scornfully introducing it at shows as �our sell-out�.

I chose the track not only because it�s the only thing that was ever officially released (along with its b-side, an utterly spastic reworking of the Monkees� Theme called �March of the No-Marks� replete with Tube station announcements- �this is the Bakerloo line service to Elephant & Castle�- and girls yelling, �Mark NO! No MARK!!!� at the singer) but it is also by far the best thing they ever did. And it was still far, far from sell-out material (it barely sold any). It is the only No-Mark record you need to hear. All of their less grating eccentricities are here, the schizophrenic dialogues, the lyrical obsessions with pylons and German bunkers, the shoddy jazz drumming, the demonic chanting, the cackling, the mewing (!), but this time it�s all held together by an ace nagging riff, and a supremely warped and swashbuckling chorus where an increasingly unhinged mark sneers, �it�s cooool not to care, sooo cooool not to care�� before he eventually loses all sense entirely and barks breathlessly, �NOT NOT, it�s not sooo care! COOL!!!�

Mark of course was incensed that their label released it as a single and vowed never to �bow to the pound� again. And as a result retired to his studio cave, muttering that their forthcoming album, �a didactic concept album about animal reincarnation� would be their most progressive work yet. And disastrous. If the rumours are true �My Family Are Other Animals� was abandoned after a record company executive visited the studio, described the tapes as �utter utter shit�, and then tried to throttle Mark with a microphone cable.