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Bryan Ferry's rendition of this classic John Lennon penned confessional is, not only the most turgid cover version of all time, but quite possibly the most abhorrent instance of yuppie guff committed to any recording medium either contemporary, obsolete or yet to be invented. Ferry is, at the best of times, little more than a Tory supporting upper class mannequin reeking of aftershave and gurning like a cartoon snake in the throes of orgasm, but that could at one time be overlooked by his simple physical proximity to Brian Eno and Roxy Music, unfortunately with this plastic-bastardisation of such a heart wrenching instance of unfettered beauty, Ferry might as well have pulled the trigger on Lennon himself.
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