It's not often a song appears that just reeks of money. You know, the song that wears a big neon sign above its head that says: "no expense was spared in the making of this record." The kind of song written by the most A-List writers, performed by the most in-demand hired guns in session-land, produced by the most talented bods ever to sit behind the console and drenched in effects, orchestration and an enormous blizzard of top-quality cocaine.
When Grace Jones made the transition from model to singer, I'm pretty sure the conversations between her manager and the record company bosses involved the words "money", "no" and "object". This record is utterly loaded, obscenely wealthy. Even the echo chamber sounds like it was coated in some rare metal in order to achieve exactly that effect.
But hell, it's a terrific tune, comparable in some ways to Frankie Goes to Hollywood's "Welcome to the Pleasuredome" - the slow-burning groove, the luxurious effects and well-dressed synth effects and the crystal-clear voice, enunciated to the last degree. Jones' voice is quite something - it occupies some no-man's-land between male and female, yet here it's as pure, clear and unsexy as can be. Maybe all that money couldn't buy her soul.