A tiny nugget of sparse beauty. Punk as fuck.
Nothing is wasted here, bass, drums, guitar, backing vocals adding minimal textures to carry Freda's direct, heart rending vocal, which itself is virtually vibrato-free. An astonishing recording when put in context of the overblown rubbish which dominated the charts at that time (most times, come to think of it).

An antiwar anthem that has even more relevance today than back then. Payne often sounded too girlish to pull off the sophisticated soul Invictus produced for her, but here she's fully in command. Maybe it's the gospel-esque fervor of the arrangement and the backing singers, but this is an awfully passionate song - to a heart-breaking degree. The highlight of Freda's funky, underrated album Contact.