It is 1980, and here are some nice-looking Australian soft-rock explorers, gazing back into the future from which they came. What is that pyramid? What is that font? And why are these people calling themselves, “Air Supply”?
Oh, I just dropped the needle, and now I know. The first song is the title track, and for two verses and a bridge, it is simply a breathy and pleasant confection happily destined for all of the forthcoming elevators of our lives. But wait! what is that? It is Russell Hitchcock's brilliant and deadly laser falsetto, and he is severing our heads from our bodies. We are writhing. We are obliterated. Three and a half minutes later, Air Supply is piling all of our carcasses back on the spaceship that they rode in on and battening down for their return trip to Then. We are pelts from a hunting expedition across space and time. We are gloriously and forever Lost In Love; it is a cookbook.
The rest of the record? It’s OK. If you’re here today to read this, you’ve heard a few of the tracks. But those songs are there only for utility and decoy, because 12 mixes or 45 minutes of "Lost In Love" would’ve disintegrated all of the stereos in our land. The officials would’ve grown suspicious. They might have positioned a better defense for the next time, had Air Supply ever decided to come back to take more of our kind.
Fortunately for you, they did not. Do not attempt to avenge my death.
All of the stars for this one perfect song, highly recommended
Never liked that song much.
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