I'll ignore the oxymoron of this title and claim the fact that I recall living in an eighties swilling with a glorious music culture. I think fondly of New Order, The Fall, Smiths, The Clash, The Cure, Sonic Youth, Aztec Camera, Prefab Sprout and, with Dexy's, ABC, Frankie and Japan in the charts, some of the greatest pop music ever made.

I do not, however, spend long days yearning for a return to a different, darker eighties that included Kajagoogoo, Aha and, worst of the lot really ... Bros!

There was a moment, back there, when girlies of dubious sexually driven musical taste glanced in their direction, as they fled from hotel to limo, gleefully clutching their modicum of teen beat infamy. Mercifully for them, no Limahl mullets or Flock of Seagulls angular hair creations clutched their craniums; just sharp, ageless James Dean-style wedge cuts, which is their one saving grace.

Fans will, no doubt, point to When Will I be Famous? and I Owe You Nothing when recalling the glory days. Both tracks, obviously are included here among 19 sundry also-rans, all over-fed by a lush sub-Trevor Horn over-production, mostly courtesy of Nicky Graham. Beyond that rack of clich however, lies nothing more than the dry, desperate writings of a band clawing their way to a shallow fame. Tellingly, there are no sleeve notes here, just adverts for more Bros products, be it Matt Goss t-shirts or polyphonic ringtones.