If you wanted to prove that pre-Beatles British pop was rubbish, this might be a good record to pick. Pop is at its worst when you can detect self-satisfaction, when you feel it’s been made by people who think they have it all sewn up. Cliff sounds smug and bored here, but even if he gave his all he’d not save a record that takes pains to emphasise its own feebleness.
Take the lyrics. “Your love means more to me than all the fishes that are in the sea / But like those fishes my heart starts to swim because I / Love you”. This is nonsense – hearts swimming is a queasy metaphor, and anyway fishes (yes, even all the fishes) aren’t anyone’s idea of an emotional touchstone. But Cliff sings this with a teacherly precision and patience, forcing us to pay attention. Worse, the pause before “Love you” is marked with a pert little double-beat, emphasising the hook just as you realise that nobody’s bothered to write a chorus and that this two-word nothing is meant to be the payoff.